this american life

To the man I owe my lifestyle......

2008-11-19T13:10:00.000-08:00

He was gray at best. Sometimes black and sometimes white. It honestly depended on the mood he happened to be in when you crossed him. He taught me my first cuss word. I know he didn't actually mean to, but I heard him say it so I thought it was cool. I watched him nag and I watched him yell as well as watched him do nothing at all. When I was 4 I remember walking in the mall and trying to hold his hand and his cigarette burned me. He laughed. He once stopped the car in the middle of the road after he had thrown the ball I was throwing into my baseball glove out of the window and started walking home because he was so annoyed. I remember him asking me if I was gay when I was 9. He said I was too much like a girl. I needed to toughen up. He gave me my first cigarette when I was 10. I wanted to know what they tasted like. I blame him for my still desire to want to lite up a smoke every now and then.

I like walking into a bar or club to play a concert and the smell of stale smoke reminds me of him and it welcomes me. I owe my love of music to him. He showed me the ropes. I was educated before I ever stepped foot in a class room. He didn't know much and he wasn't a literate man, but he taught in the way he knew. The language of tough love and records. I heard sing sing sing for the very first time in his living room. On rainy days he would entertain by exploration. He would show us guns or tell stories of his mother whipping him and his brothers with the cord of an electric iron. One day he pulled out some drums and let us play them. When i was 11 he gave me those drums. He made me promise that I would never quit playing my horn. I quit.

He grew softer when he got sick. He was still mean to the nurses and doctors and he cussed them from the pain, but it was more out of fear than anger. I never saw fear in his eyes until I saw hiim helpless in that bed. His life had caught up with him. He was cursed and haunted by the darkest of darks. Unmentionables and things he wished had never happened. I don't know when it happened, but he became a good man. a redeemed man and a forgiven man. Maybe it was when he noticed he was a hero to five little kids running around his backyard riding bicycles as he watched like a king over a kingdom. He was a manly man and liked to prove it. No directions needed. That was how he lived his life. No need for someone to tell him what to do. He would do what he wanted and learn for himself. Maybe thats what killed him so early. I can atribute all of my stubborness to him because it isn't an orderly stubboorness, It is a prideful kind. He was untouchable because frankly he didn't give a crap what you thought about it, he was right in his mind.

The day he died when I was 17, I lost all feeling. I became untouchable and I did what he would have done when he was 17. Put out the fire with pleasure because it's what felt good. I watched him so intently because I wanted to be as gray as he was. I think sometimes I was his favorite. He saw my potential to be him. A prideful, sinful, sometimes hateful, sometimes love filled, dreamer of big dreams. I know now that as I walk in to Tootsies orchid lounge on lower broad I see his picture on the walls with Merle, Jennings, Hank and Cash. He was an outlaw and I follow in his footsteps.

My hope is that I have learned well enough from him to be redeemed before my last breath. I took the good and I took the bad and when I find myself sitting somewhere lonley and in need of a smoke, he is sitting with me telling me it's not worth it and that there are more important things in life. He tells me he is proud of where I am and that I play them drums and that I have seen all he ever wanted to see. I have stood on the stage at the ryman and sang a song to him and looked at Elvis Presley's grave and thanked him for teaching me about him. I am living every thing out that he wanted to because he sold me on the dream and he made it my own.

When 50 years of marraige happens for me I only hope that my love for my wife is as strong as his was for Jo. I just hope that the darkness in my past isn't as dark as his and the 5 years I smoked cigarettes won't have the same effect as his 30. I hear him say my name and that loud cough and wheez......and I say gramps, thank you, I'll see you soon, but not that soon.

The Hall of Shame

2008-05-28T11:34:00.000-07:00

I am so happy to say that I went almost a whole semester teaching without being in a classroom. I have worked the last few years every spring at the metro schools group testing facilities. This place is a warehouse full of boxes and tests and dust and the infamous chalkboard with the hall of shame......To put this in percpective I must tell you that for all of Davidson county schools, the state standardized tests come in this room and out and back in for editing and back out. Thats a lot of schools. My boss who for the sake of legal matters, shall be called Mr. Duetchland, has to deal with all of these schools screwing up. On average each school deals with about a 1000 tests and 9 out of ten times, the school cordinators screw something up, hence the wall of shame. We find answer sheets in books not to mention how many calls Mr. Duetchland has to make to even get the materials back....

What I am saying is the whole school system is a mess. These teachers are on a reward scale so they cheat, kids don't care so they fill in c all the way down and the state is retarted for not putting these tests all on a computer. I have made over 3,000 dollars sitting in a room unpacking booklets repacking booklets filling in social security numbers and counting booklets and answr sheets. Just me, this year alone, 3000. The two other guys that are part timers with me averaged a bit more. The state just wasted 10,000 of your tax dollars to pay me and my friends to sit in a little room and listen to Moody Blues, Supertramp, and Dire Straits...(all Mr. Duetchland favorites) for faling scores. My prediction in district wide the average score for this year........54. Lets just round that 10,000 to the last two years too. 30,000 dollars to pot, to kids who are too dumb to pass......why? we are too politically correct to teach! a 10th grade english test had contents on it i was learning in the 6th grade!

here's to you Tenneessee!

the ony ten i don't see.

Official hall of shame permanant inductie......MNPS Board of Education.

Laziness is bliss.

2008-04-22T13:08:00.000-07:00

So I wonder why time goes by so fast yet so slow. I feel that I have yet again neglected my little writing rabbit trail for the hundred millionth time. It seems so easy to do. I get all excited to write and then something comes along like a tour or lack of internet or even a lack of time? well maybe not a lack of time. but maybe a lack of something to say. I think that is it really. I talk too much as it is and so I plead laziness as my friend.

laziness. sits, waits and procrstinates
it moves slowly with no effort.
it gives us time to do nothing and wait to start nothing until tomorrow.
it is summer's best friend. it's bed is a couch and a clicker and an hd tv.
laziness catches us working and tells us to rest and not let the clutter bother us.
it gives the permission to gain 50 pounds with no regrets. and tells us that what can be put off till tomorrow can really be put off indefinetly. o laziness. you dont need to tell me what to do because i know nothing is the answer.

here's to laziness.
maybe I'll write again soon, and maybe I won't.
rh

Mr. Substitute Teacher Man

2008-01-31T11:48:00.000-08:00

Here I sit at my desk in an un-named high school In Nashville. I leave it annonymous because it doesn't really matter, they are all bad really. I am in charge. I am the man of the hour. I am the teacher for the day. I am the substitute teacher man. I am a ghost. My name is written on the board above the assignment and for some reason they think that the writing on the wall is written in invisible ink! The top two things I heard today were....,"Are you related to Tony?" and, "Can I use the Bathroom?" followed closely in third by, "Hey mister, you got any tissue?"
"Sure there Timquisha, let me pull some out of my....."

I have not always wanted to be a teacher or a substitute teacher. In fact I started subbing for the money when I am home from the road. It doesn't pay much but it's flexible and I don't really have a boss. I have millions of tax payers I have to please, but in reality no one looms over me and tells me to do anything because they really just need some form of grown-up in the class room. Why? So kids don't kill each other. In fact i have had kids fight right in front of me in the class room as if I wasn't there.

I am teaching a typing class today and tomorrow and what amazes me is how the teacher bolted and left no work for these kids. At least nothing I can give them to keep them on task. As I gaze the room as I write, I see maybe 2 out of 28 actually doing what they are supposed to be doing. I know....I am to blame for their not being on task...I should yell at them or unplug the computer they are on, but what's the use? I am the ghost. Here today and gone the day after tomorrow....I have heard more rap music today than takes it actually took eminem to finish a record which was probably in the millions I'm sure. I have seen kids put their assignments on the screens and then minimize it and bring up youtube and watch music videos, and then when I come by they switch it back really quick. Kids today are smart. they are smart enough to think they are getting away with something. They are smart enough to at least type in www.somethingstupidandirrelevantandawasteoftimeetc.com.

I am ashamed to be a teacher right now. What should I teach? What should I do? Yell at a bunch of under-privilged, impovershed, minority kids to pay attention to me? The big tall whitey in the front of the room. I am a ghost. I get two minutes of attention for every 50.....and the sad thing is their real teachers only get 5 more than me. The system sucks. Test scores suck. These kids not only suck at school, they don't care about school. I feel like a glorified prison gaurd. I know I was a little mean to substitutes as a kid, but this is one hell of a bad karma.

"Timquisha, Don't hit Aquintinette with that keyboard! It's not a weapon...SMACK!"

damn. I almost made it through the day without having to fill out a violence report......

I'm not a Roman Catholic, but confession could be fun...

2008-01-29T13:41:00.001-08:00

I've decided that digging through the archives of the mind is one of the most difficult things one can ever do. The deep dark closets and thrown away keys sometimes scare us from the truth. We all have stories that make us laugh, cry, laugh and cry, and then there are stories that we have forgotten about. Why do some things make it into the file and others don't? How do we determine what makes the cut? I am yet to figure this out. I try to think of the deepest darkest thing hidden in there and I don't really find much. There are things that I do remember but have decided i will never ever tell, but those are there and I know them well. I will save them for a priest if ever decide to go to confession....

"How long since your last confession my son? "
"Well father, I've never been. You see, I'm actually not a Roman Catholic."
"Hmm. Then what brings you to speak to God?"
"Well father, I figured that since I don't know you and you don't know me I could tell you every little thing I've ever done wrong and not really have to deal with the shame of someone I know judging me."
"But God sees everything that you do and he knows everything that you think."
"I know that father, but I figured that i should tell somebody else too."
"What are you hoping to hear from me my son?"
"Ummm. I'm not really sure. you're the priest. don't you listen to people's sins all day long and tell them to recite hail Mary's and stuff?"
" Yes, and I act as a voice of God, listening and praying on behalf of all the lost souls, and helping them find peace and forgiveness."
" Let's get this straight...I'm not a lost soul."
" You said that you have never been to confession."
" I haven't"
" Then you have a lot of catching up to do."
" Do I? Well then I hope you don't have a line out there because we'll be here all day......"
" I am at the service of our Lord. time has no matter to me."
" One time I hit my cousin in the head with a pipe......."

I have also decided that I will never go to confession because I wold probably disagree with having to say 498 Hail Mary's over stealing candy and peanuts from the filing cabinet during lunchtime when I was in the first grade.

The mind is a curious thing and why some people's minds work better than others I will also never know. I may think an experience I had was a great one, but to someone else who experienced the same thing with me they may not think so. I challenge you to examine your first kiss, or maybe a relationship. We get dumped and trick ourselves into thinking well it was all for the best. In reality it was, but at the time you feel blind-sided. I am perplexed at how many good memories for me may be bad memories for someone else. What gets me the most is how oblivious we all are to everyday interaction. How often we overlook the odd man out and never ask what's wrong. Are we a bad memory to them?

Dino's

2008-01-20T21:25:00.000-08:00

I am going to pretend that this is the one hundred and fiftieth blog that of mine that you have read because that will ease the tension a little bit. It's always awkward showing up at someone's blog and seeing no history. it's like, "welcome to the middle of something very important for to the writer, but we're sorry you have no idea what is going on." There is no context. Welcome to the middle. I'm so glad you have decided to join me in figuring out how to untangle the history of who I am and how it will relate to the future. Let me fill you in on a few things as we get started. This is what I call, " speed dating for history." Ryan David Hawk, 24, from Colorado but am a Nashvillain now, finished college, play music for a living, Married to Sarah Elizabeth, no kids (although I love them and want 4).....you're up to date. That's the skeleton, I hope you enjoyed that.

So I've recently been reading Frank McCourt and it has made me very curious about my own past. Childhood stories and events that have taken place that I thought were lost somewhere in the caverns of my mind have slipped to the forefront and have brought me great joy. I often wonder how my life would be different if I had made one simple little choice, somehow different. Like the time I hit my cousin Crystal over the head with a pipe. I'm sure I have your attention now. I will go into detail on that another time I'm sure. I have this crazy idea to write a book about my childhood and the interactions of love, joy, hate and other emotions I experienced with my family at one time or another. I can't complain at all about the way I grew up. It was quite perfect actually. It was often humorous because my Dad's younger brother married my Mom's younger sister. It's okay, it's not incest or against the law or gross either. It's rare and it's funny. My cousins have the same DNA as me and they are pretty much sisters and brothers. We grew up 6 blocks from each other and went to the same elementary school. The teachers got us all confused and would call the wrong parents and such. We did everything together. We would go out every Friday night as a big family to one of three places. Ramon's, Dino's or Dino's other place. They were all owned by Dino, and I now wonder if my gramps owed him money or something because as a family we spent a lot of money at one of his places every Friday from the day I was born in 1983 to the day we kids grew up and had dates instead of family dinners in 1998. I would guess 65 bucks every Friday night. Do the math. (65x4x12x15) 46,800 dollars plus or minus a few bucks when you filter in inflation over fifteen years! We payed Dino's mortgage for fifteen years and I have proof! We stopped family dinners and Ramon's and Dino's other place closed down!

The last time I was home in Denver I made My family go to Dino's. I had to take my wife so i could explain some history to her. The smell hits my nose when I walk in the old world style wooden door and walk past the stained glass window of grapes and go down the stairs and enter the lounge. There is a hideous carving or white stallions above a dark forrest green pleather couch in the waiting area and the old carpet and the yellowish orange light around the bar looks dirty vegas in the 70's. The smell of pizza kitchen and marinara sauce with a tinge of burnt butter and 40 years of cooking greeted me with so much glee I could hardly contain myself. I felt like a 6'5 five year old. Nothing has changed. This is what I am talking about. Nothing has changed. A few renovations and a slight add on, but nothing has changed. My family had been going there even before my birth and I walk in at 24 and nothing has changed. So much as changed in my life since I was a kid, but what can I take from a place of my childhood that didn't grow up with me? The cups were the same. Some of the same waitresses still work there and the food was the same. My dad even had to divide the ticket the way he did when I was a kid. I am totally dumbfounded. The world changed around it and it never changed. Dino's is a beacon of all that is right and good. My family grew up there and so did many others I'm sure. The climate of the famly has changd and what is lost aound a dinner table now shows up in text messages and social and family dysfunction. I miss my family. I miss Dino's. I miss only having 20 channels on tv. I miss no internet. I miss cassette tapes and record players. I miss hot wheels. I miss sunday drives. I miss real conversation with real people. I pray that Dino's never modernizes because it will kill them like it has killed the original American dream. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness is now busy, busier, and the pursuit of busyness. There will be a language of ttyl, omg, lmfao, and html code that has no emotion. We the human race, are going extinct....There will be no stories. There will be no history and there will be no Dino's to grow up in.

rh