J. Michael Dew

Aunt Nellie and Uncle Gerald lived in an old house on the back of the hill.  Aunt Nellie had a hard time getting water to boil, though, because every time she left the kitchen, the pot would somehow fall to the floor, creating quite a mess.  After a while, Uncle Gerald had to tear out the water-damaged floorboards.  When he did so, he found a small bundle beneath the floor.  Inside was the skeletal remains of a newborn.  Apparently, the previous owner of the house had a daughter who got pregnant out of wedlock.  Her solution?  Boil the baby alive. Now we knew why Aunt Nellie could never get the water to boil.

I think it was John Updike who said that a person lives his life for thirty years and spends the rest of it trying to understand what happened.  At forty-three, I wonder if I have already turned that corner.  Have most of my mountains been scaled?  Am I now in the valley of self-reflection?

I think of my brother who, as a boy, was branded "special needs," and as a result, was put on a path that led to him being ostracized by many.  It amazes me how one decision, one twist in the road can alter a person's life.  Had he not been labeled as such, he might have ended up somewhere else.  We must all be aware of how we treat the littlest among us.

Gramma and Grampa has a plum tree out behind the house that I used to climb in the summers.  The plums were great treasures, and I have fond memories of eating them, resting there in the crook.  How often do I reach for those plums now in my nearly forty-fourth year of living on this earth.  Sometimes I reach for the bad fruit, but it never satisfies the same.

I am only interested in what is true and that we should not build narratives on what is false or what we want to be true.  I think this happens too often and that this is a cause for a lot of divisiveness.  In fact, I have to wonder if the purveyors of these untruths and conjectures have a vested interested in riling up the public.  I think so.  I think this is true.