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TITLE: Calender of my life
By gary Simmons
12/12/04
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25 years and up
A Calendar of My Life

I recollect it was a crisp October morn. Someone or something was wrenching me from the warm dark friendly place I had spent my first trimester of life. Without warning a stranger had held me upside down and struck me across my derriere.


I pleaded an ear-piercing scream only the Creator and I understood, "Father I don't like it here I want to come back home!"
Before the vexation of my wound waned I found myself sitting at my grandmother's table asking,

"More stuffing please." I was now 12 years old.

She passed the platter and asked, "Honey, what do you have to be thankful for this fine Thanksgiving Day?"

With my arm still extended I glanced down, and to my dismay, I saw the dull camouflage sleeve of a fatigue blouse. It was Christmas and I was setting in a far away jungle.

My mind had not become unencumbered before I was standing still and nervously holding a beautiful girl's hand, "I do." I glanced up to see a calendar. The date turned January 1.

As I reached in my pocket for the ring, I felt something odd and to my dismay appeared a plastic Faberge egg.

Beside me stood a petite lassie standing by her brother, both giggling and at the same time protesting, "That isn't a fair hiding place, Daddy."

All this was more than I was mentally able tolerate. I slipped into a near by lawn chair. I turned to ask my bride whom I just married where the children had come from, she informed me they were in their cars heading for the lake. I looked again. The youthful face I had seen moments before was now aglow with wisdom which comes with the raising of one’s children.

"After all," she said, "it is Memorial Day."

My head now reeling I allowed my eyes to squint into the noonday sun.


After a fleeing moment I turned to the smell of barbecue. Some strange young man stood turning chickens on my grill; he wasn't much older than me only moments before. I saw what appeared to be my daughter, now weighed down with an elephantine stomach calling him Honey. It must have been her husband. How did this happen and where did she get such a Herculean belly? She looked like a melon so ripe it may give away under its own weight. Through the corridors of my mind I heard the words riding on a dying summer breeze speak, Today is the 4th of July.


I walked gingerly toward my deck, moving much slower now, taking each step in a precise manner and slowly climbed the steps to the level platform. Something was terribly amiss here. Time had been run rampant.

I finally steadied myself I heard the cry of a baby inside the house. I turned to see who was making such an infernal racket when a young woman came out, looking almost exactly as my wife had appeared a minutes before at the alter. She walked up and pleasantly laid her arm around my shoulder. Even this small amount of pressure caused me to recollect how many different places I hurt. It was as if I was being forced from the comfort and security of my mother's stomach all over again.

Again I asked, “Whose child is wailing so?” The girl smiled.

"That is your second great Grandchild Papa. How is your Labor Day going so for?"

I turned to see the first signs of fall. "I really am ready to come home Abba", I cried silently.

Then, from the rustling leaves of the soon sleeping, trees came the sweet words I had longed to hear since birth.

Rest just a moment son I have already sent for you.
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