The Fight

       Some days, you feel like you’re in hell. Some days you even feel like hell would be a welcome vacation from where you’re at. And as cliche as it might sound, you really only have two choices: You can stay there, getting your ass kicked from here to breakfast or you can stand up and fight. At least that way, even if you lose, you went down swinging.
      I wish I could do it for you. Just like some of you have wished you could do it for me, but I’m too old and too broken and it just doesn’t work that way. I’m nobody’s picture of a role model. I’ve made just about every mistake that a man can make. I’ve pissed away almost every opportunity that’s ever been given to me. Anyone who’s ever tried to love me or help me I’ve chased off and although I’ve come a long way, there are still days I can’t stand the person looking back at me in the mirror.
      You know you’ve been blessed with some wonderful things in life when you can look back and feel great pain over some of them that you’ve lost. And that’s just life. You win some and you lose some and if you’re really honest with yourself, you’ll admit that you won a few more times than you lost. Sometimes it’s your fault -the winning or the losing- and sometimes you just get dragged by your hair through it despite your damndest effort and deepest wishes.
       When you get a little older you start to realize this. You look back at all of the chapters that comprise your life story and at some of them you cringe and some of them you smile. Some of them you just sit with for a while, quiet and alone with your eyes closed remembering the tastes and the smells and how the light hit her tan shoulders just right and regardless of how it turned out you wouldn’t change it for anything in the world. Not for a million dollars. Not for all the fame and fortune. Not even to erase all of the hurt and ugly you’ve ever known. The only thing you’d really change is that it lasted a little longer. That you’d said it then, instead of now. That you could just remember what she looked like when she turned to look at you from the middle seat of your dirty pickup truck.
       And so we go on, sometimes smiling and sometimes crying, but I hope you can at least take solace in knowing that had you walked into that bar a minute later or never answered that Craigslist ad or quit after the first argument that your life would be irreparably changed. One second earlier or later and your whole life would be different. And now, though you’ve torn yourself apart and near drank yourself to death trying to get just one of those seconds back, I hope you’ve been as fortunate as me to at least have had a few moments so incredible that you’ll always be able to smile about them.
       Some days, you feel like you’re in hell. Some days you even feel like hell would be a welcome vacation from where you’re at. And as cliche as it might sound, you really only have two choices: You can stay there, getting your ass kicked from here to breakfast or you can stand up a fight. At least that way, even if you lose, you went down swinging.
      So if I do go down a bit before my time, I hope that my friends will be able to look my father in the eye and tell him, “All the bones in his hand were broken.” And if my father asks “Which hand?” I hope you can tell him “Both hands.” And that you’ll smile at each other as he throws a big arm around your neck and invites you inside.

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One thought on “The Fight

  1. Pingback: The Fight | schizoaffectivegirl

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