DRAMA!
I wish I could spill the beans... but once again, I've been told to keep shit under wraps until the bomb goes off.
Why people do this to me is... well, I guess I should be flattered... but it's definitely not good for my heart... or blood pressure.
The drama involves my godson, so I'll shut up and... post more photos of him?
I'm sorry, guys, I'm just really, really proud of him... and I had the opportunity to chat with him today, so I'm all giddy and missing him.
Plus, I think he looks like a motherfucking god.
Christ. That's just crazy to me.
That last ones reminds me a bit of James Franco... and that grosses me out a bit.
Way to fuck up James Franco for me, kid. There go my fantasies. Yuck.
My bond with the kid is stronger than any bond I have with anyone else... even my siblings.
The little rascal has been in my life since the day he was born-- six days after my fifth birthday.
He understands me better than anyone I know (though Kelley comes in a freakishly close second... haha), and he knows everything, absolutely everything about me... most of which, was intuitive.
I wish I could reciprocate this superpower of his, and I try... I just don't know how good I've been at it, since it has usually just been him cheering ME up. I try making it up to him by being the one family member who has visited him every year of his life over in Mexico... and I failed at that last year for the first time.
I also had his back when he was younger, and much, MUCH smaller... when all the guys would call him "mosca" aka "fly" (word he still refuses to listen to, much less say it. He gets watery-eyed at the mention of it. It hurts my heart to see it). They'd discriminate him for being tiny... and would refuse to have him play anything because he was "too small."
Being that he's VERY similar to me, he quietly took all the negativity, internalized it, and allowed the vindictive part of him to take over.
Mosca? I'll show you "Mosca."
These last few years he has suddenly acquired all this popularity. Apparently, EVERYONE always believe in him... and NO ONE remembers ever calling him a fly, or kicking him out of sports teams... totally belittling him in public. No, no, that never happened.
He takes it all in stride... smiles, and appreciates any form of kindness thrown his way. Quietly, in his heart, he carries the satisfaction of having proved all those lame haters wrong.
My little baby.
Just between us: I'm hitting up his next competition...
That's right, I'm throwing caution to the wind, flipping the bird to the State Department, and traveling down to Hometown, all just to see my kid beast his next competition.
I just have to do it secretively... pretty much surprise everyone the moment I show up at their doorstep in a few weeks.
I'm pretty stoked.
I wish I could spill the beans... but once again, I've been told to keep shit under wraps until the bomb goes off.
Why people do this to me is... well, I guess I should be flattered... but it's definitely not good for my heart... or blood pressure.
The drama involves my godson, so I'll shut up and... post more photos of him?
I'm sorry, guys, I'm just really, really proud of him... and I had the opportunity to chat with him today, so I'm all giddy and missing him.
Plus, I think he looks like a motherfucking god.
 |
| Seriously... look at that pelvis... |
 |
| Straight up "M" back. He gets it from his great-granddaddy, my crazy granddad. So fucking huge. So fucking awesome. |
 |
| Boss... a fucking BOSS! |
That last ones reminds me a bit of James Franco... and that grosses me out a bit.
Way to fuck up James Franco for me, kid. There go my fantasies. Yuck.
My bond with the kid is stronger than any bond I have with anyone else... even my siblings.
The little rascal has been in my life since the day he was born-- six days after my fifth birthday.
He understands me better than anyone I know (though Kelley comes in a freakishly close second... haha), and he knows everything, absolutely everything about me... most of which, was intuitive.
I wish I could reciprocate this superpower of his, and I try... I just don't know how good I've been at it, since it has usually just been him cheering ME up. I try making it up to him by being the one family member who has visited him every year of his life over in Mexico... and I failed at that last year for the first time.
I also had his back when he was younger, and much, MUCH smaller... when all the guys would call him "mosca" aka "fly" (word he still refuses to listen to, much less say it. He gets watery-eyed at the mention of it. It hurts my heart to see it). They'd discriminate him for being tiny... and would refuse to have him play anything because he was "too small."
Being that he's VERY similar to me, he quietly took all the negativity, internalized it, and allowed the vindictive part of him to take over.
Mosca? I'll show you "Mosca."
These last few years he has suddenly acquired all this popularity. Apparently, EVERYONE always believe in him... and NO ONE remembers ever calling him a fly, or kicking him out of sports teams... totally belittling him in public. No, no, that never happened.
He takes it all in stride... smiles, and appreciates any form of kindness thrown his way. Quietly, in his heart, he carries the satisfaction of having proved all those lame haters wrong.
My little baby.
Just between us: I'm hitting up his next competition...
That's right, I'm throwing caution to the wind, flipping the bird to the State Department, and traveling down to Hometown, all just to see my kid beast his next competition.
I just have to do it secretively... pretty much surprise everyone the moment I show up at their doorstep in a few weeks.
I'm pretty stoked.
No comments:
Post a Comment