posted 04-11-2001 04:02 PM            

So here are a few of my guilty secrets....

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I was not allowed by my teachers at school to be athletic because I had heart trouble when I was a little kid. So that means the other little kids don't like you very much.

And you would sell your soul to be popular and get invited to just anybody's slumber party or to go to their house after school. I never got the invites.

There was another girl at school who was actually nice to me. We were both ten years old and in the same class and I knew the other kids didn't like her either because she had a bad hip and had to walk kind of lumpy and slow and they used to make fun of her.

Then one day, a group of the "popular kids" asked me if I actually liked her. So, in less than a heartbeat I said, "Her??? Eeewww...no!" I thought they would include me after that. They never did.

And that girl went on being nice to me and I never had the guts to tell her that I sold her out.

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When I was in my 20's and 30's and going to some JDL demonstration it seemed like every week, the other JDLers used to show me great respect because I never backed down from danger. Irv always knew I had his back covered, literally, in the most extreme of circumstances.

Then we were invited to attend a demonstration hosted by pro-American Iranians in this country during the American hostage crisis with the Ayatollah Assahollah. They wanted American people to know that they were loved by the Iranian people and the extremists did not represent the majority view.

We, JDL, were the guests at this demo and NOT in control of any of the circumstances.

The 1,000 or so pro-American Iranians were met by perhaps 5,000 anti-American Iranians. We were at the Federal Building in Westwood (near UCLA) and formed a human chain to protect American property from the anti-Americans.

When the TV crews started showing up, the Iranians asked me (blonde hair and blue eyes) to hold the American flag. They were afraid if a dark Iranian was holding it, American TV viewers might think they were one of the anti-Americans.

At one point, with hundreds of police between the opposing sides, it still looked as though the police were going to be overtaken by the anti-Americans. And, in fact, dozens did charge through the police lines and did storm our group.

They were coming for the American flag. Which I was holding.

I was surrounded by Iranian defenders of American honor and I was scared to death. I could not show the American flag retreating from battle. Not when these people were being so brave in defending it.

Not when these people were so obviously willing to die right then and there to defend it. I could not run. But I wanted to.

The pro-American Iranians had come from a culture and a country where one is accustomed to police brutality and mullahs throwing around death sentences for the slightest of infractions. They were not at all afraid of American police.

They were ready to die for the American flag. And I was at the epicenter.

I was not ready to die.

I convinced them it would be a disgrace to American honor if somehow the anti-Americans overcame us and the American people saw their flag falling on television. And when it looked like that was about to happen, they were persuaded by my argument and we fell back into a safer area with a greater police presence.

Yes, I am proud to be an American. But that day, I was simply scared shitless by being amongst people who were not just ready to die, but almost seemed to want to die for their cause.

At least with the typical JDL demo, the worst that you might expect would be a few hours in jail and then that would be the end of it.

So the American flag left the field of battle that day because of one scared shitless American. Me. And I've always known since that time that I'm not as brave as everybody thought I was.

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So what's your guilty or dark secret?

posted 04-11-2001 04:19 PM            

One of the ones, however, that stands out in my mind the most happened ages ago, me still a young lass in the prime of her life. It was summer vacation and my parents were at work. My brother and I were in the backyard playing soccer (I think...) when I kicked the ball as hard as I possibly could. It went flying across our deck and broke a window. Now- To begin with we weren't supposed to be playing soccer in the back, already having numerous neighbours complain about the ball mysteriously flying over their fence, and two small children following it over. So the window is broken and we're shitting our pants. Enter my parents that night, greeted at the door with one of the best performances I've ever been a part of. My brother and I were brilliant, perhaps too much so. I said that I saw the kids who live in the house behind us playing soccer outside that day, and that they must have been responsible for the damage done to our house. My parents believed me and so began their hatred for "the kids behind us".

I feel bad about the whole thing, but I must say I was quite proud of myself at the time...

posted 04-11-2001 07:58 PM            

quote:

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Originally posted by Pickel87:
Uhuru,
cool idea.

I don't have any. I don't hold onto things like guilt. I live my life in the moment.

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Funny...

I remember when I ditched my nerd friend(I am a big nerd) to hang out with the rockers...I remember him coming to meet me for lunch and me just walking away...sad...what makes it worse is that he died a few weeks later in a car crash...

posted 04-12-2001 05:30 AM            

I hate things like that, because you can never make it up to the person.

I had a friend, and recently too, who was the son of an actor now appearing on one of the biggest hit series on TV. My friend had sparkle and charisma and wit and intellect. He also wanted to break into acting but I got the impression (perhaps incorrectly) that he was estranged from his actor father or anyway, to get help from that quarter was anathema.

So he made his living and supported his family as a limo driver and only hanging out on the fringes of the showbiz world.

And he was extremely bitter that he couldn't even get a start on his acting career other than just a few bits and pieces.

So he was a drug addict (cocaine and other things) and an alcoholic who would drink himself into a state of near alcohol poisoning every time I saw him.

And every time I saw him, he had his wife with him. She was a very quiet and shy woman who stayed in the background and never argued with all of his insulting and abusive remarks. For a time, when I first knew them, I wondered about her mental state. Why would she stay with this guy? He would be death to any woman's self-esteem.

But I got to know him and her and I understood all of his behavior came from a deep wellspring of despair. And he did truly love his wife and children. He was just very lost.

And as sympathetic as I was to his state of misery, I found it too emotionally draining to spend too much time with him. And the night I found him collapsed beside the trash dumpster in the parking lot of the karaoke bar was like the last straw for me. I couldn't bear watching him disintegrate like that.

So I found the web email address of his father's TV series and sent a few emails begging them to alert the father that his son's life was at grave risk. I don't know if the father ever got the message.

And I avoided contact with this friend after that as much as possible. And he knew I was avoiding him. He said one time, "You don't like me anymore, do you, because I'm so disgusting..."

I never found him to be disgusting. Just very sad and he broke my heart and seeing him each time was like rubbing salt into an open wound. I couldn't handle his pain. I do not begin to comprehend how that sweet shy lady who was his wife did it on a daily basis.

I have always known that I betrayed our friendship by avoiding him like that.

Two weeks ago, I ran into the wife in the supermarket. I found out my friend is dead. He died not from drugs or reckless living or through any fault of his own.

In fact, he'd cleaned himself up and had been rewarded by Dad with a trip to Hawaii with a buddy. They'd been there two weeks and the wife said he'd been calling her every day and was so happy and sounding so strong and looking forward to the future.

Then the day before he was to return home, he and the buddy rented mopeds to tour the highway around the outside of one of the islands.

Somebody who was driving too fast coming from the opposite direction forced my friend off the side of the cliff. He died from his head injuries.

And I never got to make up with him or tell him that I always thought he was a good person. And now I'll never get that chance.

I've never found a proper way to deal with that kind of regret and guilt.

posted 04-13-2001 04:24 PM            

quote:

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Originally posted by uhuru1701:

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posted 04-13-2001 05:06 PM            

You can keep that image for yourself by RIGHT-clicking on it then choosing "Save As" and putting it on your own hard drive. But REMEMBER where you put it. I keep my downloaded images in a folder called "My Pictures."

posted 05-06-2001 07:12 PM            

Back in junior high, there was a girl named Angela. A bit mousy, withdrawn but hopeful, an amazing head of long blond hair. Smart girl. She was hassled mercilessly for being a geek, being a nerd, etc. I was just coming into my own, getting into the party scene, getting away from the fat girl hell. One day, a gang of girls descended on Angela and tore her to bits, telling her she was ugly, worthless, laughable. I was right there. I did nothing. Didn't step up and say, "Hey, back off her!" Not because I didn't care, but because I didn't dare. That afternoon, Angela went home, shaved off her lovely hair, and drank a bottle of Drano.

Yes, she died.

Kris

posted 05-06-2001 07:19 PM            

quote:

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Originally posted by spherical_harmonics:
Ok, I know you won't reply because you haven't read this book.

But my duty as a fellow writer who entertains and learns from others, I should tell you, that much can be learned from a book called Hearts in Atlantis, by Stephen King. If you are serious then you will read this book at once, and if not, and dismiss it as unvocabulary literature, then you have no idea of what impacts child psychology, nor does your post merit any response.

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I've read the book. You want to discuss it?