King Of Marion

I don't think I've ever told anyone this before: when I'm thinking hard about something - trying to make an important decision, say, or something like that - I imagine I'm getting together with Harolds of the Past and having a conference with them.

Silly? Maybe. But I've always enjoyed it. And it makes a kind of sense. While they're certainly not my elders (since they all come from my past) or any wiser (that's for sure) they are my predecessors, and my history. And it makes sense that they'd want a seat at the table, too; I'm their legacy. The work they did produced me.

There's heavy metal moron teenager Harold, who really doesn't have much to contribute. He's more interested in hearing about the sex I'm having now. But he's very enthusiastic.

There's a couple of different versions of college Harold: the freshman with black fingernails and eyeliner and the Robert Smith hair, and the senior with the flip-flops and the baseball caps who is usually, more likely than not, a little drunk.

There Downtown Memphis Harold, and pre-John New Orleans Harold. The Harold from the summer of 2003 - who certainly did his own share of introspection - is one of my favorites. There's post-John New Orleans Harold, and there's post-Katrina Harold, both married and not.

We all see eye to eye, for the most part. After all, we're the same guy. But the debate can be lively. And it helps me make my decisions.

For now, though, I'm thinking about me, ten years ago. I'm trying to remember details from December 2001, but I can't come up with much. I was living on Sophie Wright, just over the fence from an Italian restaurant. I had every other Monday off, which was pretty sweet. I bet I went Christmas shopping at Macy's, because I thought going Christmas shopping at Macy's was a pretty Christmas-y thing to do. I think we had a party for the people I was in this drinking group with, with lots of cheesy Christmas music on the stereo. Sonya gave me a PlayStation 2 for Christmas that year. It's sitting beside the TV in my house in Marion now.

He's a good guy, is not-quite-turned-thirty Harold, with his fresh Bettie Page tattooed on his leg and his decent little Lower Garden District apartment. He's a little slimmer than I am, with a bit more hair, but if you know me you know him. You probably did know him.

What to do with this kid?

He would bristle at being called a kid. "I'm 29," he'd say, "that's pretty fucking far from being a kid." And that's true. But still...he's so sure of himself.

He kind of touches my heart, this overgrown kid on the far edge of his twenties.

He's married, been married for ten years. And that's solid. A done fucking deal, as far as he's concerned. No worries in that department. And he's got a job, a government contracting job that should last far into the future. And what does the future look like? A kid, or kids, maybe, if Sonya's medical issues can be worked out. A house, Uptown or in Metairie, maybe. Settling in as just one more eccentric southerner who landed where the eccentric southerners tend to land. But it's all vague, all off in the dim, foggy future. There's no hurry. Plenty of time.

Would I burst his bubble? If I had a time machine and popped up in his living room one day, would I tell him what the next decade really holds? Would I gently - gently! - break the news to him that even the tenuous, tentative plans he has for his thirties are going to get blown away by time and tide (or storm surge, at least) and the actions of others?

"Here's the deal, bud. That job? It won't last. But you will have the kid, and the way you hustle to pay the bills before the kid is born is going to blow your fucking mind. Also, in a couple of years a hurricane is going to come through that will make this less a city and more of a war zone - for a while, anyway. You'll be living in the suburbs then, but it's still going to get you. You'll end up back in Memphis - within earshot of the interstate, which is a pretty good thing, really - but the marriage? It won't make it, either. Sorry about that, even though no sane person would put the blame for that on you. You will be a better dad than you ever imagined, and you will mourn for your grandmother, and you'll develop a taste for good bourbon and the quiet of the woods on a cold fall morning. You'll have good jobs and horrible jobs and you'll drive a couple of second hand Swedish cars. And you'll meet a woman who is like exactly no one you've ever known before, and the way you and her will think alike will amaze you, and make you thankful to God or the universe or whatever put her in your path. So that's the next ten years. Get to it."

What's got me thinking about all that, I guess, is thinking about the next ten years. I'll turn forty in July. My forties will be - will have to be - a time for me to solidify my position. By the time I'm fifty John will be eighteen. Not grown and gone yet, true, but the heavy lifting of raising a son will be near to over. After that he's going to have to handle a lot of things on his own. I've got to set him up for that.

And I've found a job I like, and that I'm good at. During my thirties I worked with the same group of people from 2006 until just a few months ago. Can I work at the same place for ten years? Twenty? Thirty? I wouldn't mind a bit. Settling in for thirty years of this sounds fine to me just now. I can do this.

So here I am again, with vague visions of the future. Do a good job raising my son. Work hard. Save money. Pay off some debts. Beyond that? Grandkids, maybe, though that's not up to me. Eventual retirement, and the opportunity to be a sour old guy. Can't wait for that.

There will be fun, and joy, and happiness. I know how to find some happiness, now. It's a talent of mine. But there will be sadness, and heartbreak. And shit so unexpected it leaves your mouth hanging open, totally gobsmacked by the unlikeliness of it all.

Is that what I've learned from the last decade? Maybe. Make plans, but don't get too attached to them. What happens in my forties is probably going to be stranger than I imagine and stranger than I can imagine. It beats the alternative, though.

***

I tried to write something like this last December, to recap my readers (who are long gone now, I'm sure) and kickstart the blog. It didn't happen. I tried a few times, too. It was all to close and fresh and new, though, so I didn't force it. Here's what I wrote then:

What happened in 2009? I don't know.

Facebook, maybe? That sounds plausible. Which is unfair to 2009, really. It wasn't such a bad year. I changed jobs after a layoff and landed firmly on my feet, which is nothing to take for granted in the midst of America's confused economy. I was part of a cooking team that won first place for our chicken wings. John and I went camping and romping around at Village Creek a few times. I did some hunting. Went to Orlando and visited some theme parks. The Saints had a fantastic season that would see them win the Super Bowl in February. 2009 seemed to be a transitional year, but not in a bad way. Don't think bad of 2009, or wish it ill. It didn't know.

2010? Ah, god. 2010...looking back over it now, safely into 2011, I have to say 2010 was the weirdest year of my life. The first half was probably the worst few months I've ever spent. And the second half? It's been good...weird, but good, and sometimes even great. Spectacularly so.

That's pretty accurate, really. Just after Christmas in 2009 I found out Sonya was involved with someone else. Just after the new year my grandmother died. This all retroactively ruined Christmas. And, seriously, January and February of 2010 were probably the worst two months of my life.

But then! I muddled along until the end of February with no resolution to anything, trying to keep a lid on things in the event that they could be fixed. Then I asked Sonya to move out. And that was pretty horrible, but it was the start of an upswing. Things got better after that.

John and I went camping, which has become an annual spring camping trip. I cooked with my gumbo team. I went to my twentieth high school reunion, which was a surprisingly good thing. I learned, without a doubt, why it's so important to have friends you can count on for absolutely anything. I don't know where I'd be without them.

And last summer, not really meaning to get involved in anything serious, I got involved in something serious with a pretty wonderful woman named Gretchen. It's strange. We come from really - really! - different backgrounds. But somehow we ended up at the same place, with a lot of the same attitudes, and the same tastes, and even some of the same needs. We're a good match, and we work well together. Are we about to get married? Not right now, though I can't see myself with anyone else. I don't know what the future holds, but I know it's good to be close to someone like we're close to each other. I feel like we're pointed in the same direction, most of the time, and that's more than enough for me.

And I met her a year and a half ago. So really all this is old news. 2011 has been good, though. Trips to New Orleans and Hot Springs and the Current River. More gumbo cooking. A new job. A new truck. A finalized divorce - maybe not a good thing, but a thing that had to be done and done as cleanly as possible, which we managed. Long lazy summer afternoons by and in the pool. My family at my house for Thanksgiving. Snow in early December.

So that's me. What have you been up to?