It’s how you’re lookin’ at things

“Pssst, come here.” A man pulled me aside at our writers’ critique group. He leaned into me and whispered, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but before I met you I was reading your column. By your headshot, I thought you were an old wrinkled up woman. Then I came to this group and saw you. I was pleasantly surprised. You’re young and vibrant. You need to get rid of that picture in the Preview.”

Heaven help me. Is that how the world is looking at me? I said to him, “You must be kidding? I was 20 years younger and 20 pounds lighter in that picture. It was professionally done. It’s the best I can look.”

“I’ve got a good camera, I’ll bring it and take a good photo of you.”

“Please do. That would be nice. I guess it’s how you’re lookin’ at things. And how people are lookin’ at you.”

He brought his camera. We’ll see, I’ve sent a new picture to the newspaper. Oh, the perils of thinking you are a writer and you must write. I don’t know if the column chose me, or I chose the column. It just happened, and I walked through the door. They asked for a headshot, gave me a column, and I began to write.

When I told the family I was walking in my calling, they rolled their eyes. They laughed and say, “We don’t know if it was God or Karl who called you.”

I’m not listening to certain people in this family. They think it’s funny that I think God called me to write about My Sweet Al. But, I’m sticking to my story. And, I’m not budging.

My introvert friend, Sheila said to me after she appeared in my last column, “Scrap Sheila. Sheila is dead.”

“What? I was building a character. I was making Sheila the darling of Pagosa. Sheila can’t be dead. My Sweet Al has actually been behaving lately. I was working you into a character and my continuing saga. Now, I need new characters to write about.”

“It doesn’t matter. She is dead. I was at the grocery store and someone recognized me. It’s over.”

“It can’t be over. I changed your name. You’re so funny. You owe it to Pagosa to put a smile on their faces. There’re a thousand people who live by Hatcher Lake. No body knows you and no body cares.”

She didn’t buy it. I’ll have to find someone else to write about. I guess that means I have to write Sheila out of the column. I don’t know if I need to kill Sheila or put her into a coma until a later date when I can revive her.

It’s like Derek Shepherd. It was a jaw-dropping moment when they announced Dr. Dreamy was dead. My daughter, her friends and the world went into a deep comatose. They vowed never to watch that show again.

I guess I’ll have to talk football. It never dies. It comes around this time every year. I’m taking road trips with the family. They warned me what I can or can not write about. Why is everyone so touchy?

Car conversation is always interesting. Five family members travel together every weekend to the games for CSUPueblo. My daughter, Allison is the only one who’s okay with being named in the newspaper. She’s always up to whatever the party requires.

She said, “Have you noticed how everyone is so busy? You ask how they are doing. And, they tell you everything they’ve done and are going to do. Busy is the new black. That’s their excuse. The way I get things done, I look at the job and I tackle it. One job at a time.”

Our son-in-law popped off, “Yes, and I do fumble recovery for her.”

All of a sudden we were building our family into a team. Remember, it’s always about football. Our son-in-law drives us everywhere. He said, “I guess I’m the bus driver, and Sweet Al would have to be the water boy. No disrespect, but he does takes care of all of you.”

I immediately got into the conversation. I said, “It’s the truth. My Sweet Al always makes sure we have blankets, he carries the suitcases, and runs errands. Our youngest daughter definitely would be the trainer. She carries aspirins, Band-Aids, chap stick and power bars. Allison is definitely on the front line.”

Everyone had a position on the team. I was feeling left out. I said, “I get to be the quarterback.”

“No. You can’t be the quarterback.”

“Why not? I think I’m the most important person in this car. I am the quarterback.”

“You and Tebow. You both think you’ve been called.”

“Hey, watch it. You’re talking about my boy. It’s not how the world sees him, but how God sees him. He’s been a role model for these young boys. It’s about his character. You can’t put a price on that. ”

Our son-in-law spoke up, “He could’ve played if he hadn’t been so set on being a quarterback. Even the announcers have said, he’s all beefed up, and look at those legs, he looks like a running back.”

“It really doesn’t matter how people are looking at him. Life is bigger than football. Did I just say that? He’s has a higher calling. Who knows what the Lord has in mind for him. He’s had the faith to stick to his guns. Others would have waffled at fame, money and playing football. They wouldn’t have had the courage to stand on what they believed.”

My daughter said, “Well, he did get to soar with the Eagles for a minute.”

I know. It’s a good thing I didn’t buy an Eagles’ tee-shirt. The story isn’t over yet. He’s flying higher than you know in God’s kingdom. He might look like he threw away an opportunity, but wait and see.

Final Brushstroke! For me, I believe I’ve been called to write. I’m telling my story and my characters are falling away like flies. My family is warning me how I can or can’t write about them. Sweet Al is behaving at the moment. Well, I might need to change my picture, I guess I’m looking old and wrinkled, but I’m not changing my story. I’m sticking to it.