I have unsocial thoughts sometimes too. Reminds me of existentialist angst.

The other day I was thinking about a snowmobile ride when I was a kid. My father was on the big snowmobile with my friend Mike on the back of it. They were towing the dogsled with Derek, his little brother Greg and I on the back of it. I’d have to say our median age was probably ten. We were slowly crossing a bridge over a six foot deep trench made out of trees under the snow, and the snowmobile rolled onto it’s side. Mike didn’t move his leg and it rolled onto it. I remember my fathers adrenaline kicking in as he fought to roll the snowmobile back over. Interestingly, I did the same and immediately ran over to help. Of course I probably didn’t help much, being small and young. Derrick and Greg stood by, probably scared. It’s interesting to think about my response now. Ken and I were talking again recently about the time the suburban caught on fire in eastern Washington recently. That wasn’t why I was thinking about the snowmobile trip though.

Derek and Greg weren’t allowed to ride on our snowmobiles anymore after that, but Mike still was. I’m willing to bet Mike’s father said something like, “You stupid shit, jump next time.” While the other boys mother said something like “I don’t want you riding on their snowmobiles anymore, it’s dangerous.” or something worse about my parents judgment. I’ll never forget Mike’s father once telling me that if I told anyone about a project of his he’d tear off my head and shit now my neck. He was awesome.

Mom and I chat pretty regularly about these type of events, her belief that allowing me to grow up on my own and learn my own lessons was usually the best course. And that continues. Conversations with J about relating my intensity with learning systems being similar to my intensity in relationships, shrouded by my choice to feel openly.