Dear Mr.Pittman

My life. It would quite be the same if you were to tell me yours. Or to hear it from your neighboor. However, I will tell as you wish. I know you will learn something new. Life is all life but we all hold a different perspective.

Milk was too expensive for Mom then, living in our house on Alta Vista Street. It was a rare occassion to actually get real milk (as in real, I mean milk from a grocery store). This one time, I remember well. I, too small to sit comfortably at the table, sat my butt on the kitchen chair and hung off the table with my arms folded and my chin barely able to rest on top. Mom had set out three bowls and spoons with a box of cereal on the table. I was reading the back of the cereal box. My brothers were around the house somewhere, doing shit. How was I suppose to know what they were doing at that age. Mom was on her way to the nearby grocery store getting milk. Real milk. We were all - as in all, I mean my brothers - sick of drinking that home made condesed milk shit. Mom had been making that to save money. You know what I'm talking about, that powdery stuff that comes in a box. Milk in seconds! Just add water! Yes. Gross. If you like chalk with your cereal, you're good. I was young enough to eat it with my cereal, afterall, it was mostly all I had known besides my mom's breast milk. My brothers on the otherhand, had had their last straw. For dinner, they insisted real milk with the cereal. Insisted.

My feet dangled off the chair, far from the stained yellow linoleum. My stomach was growling in discomfort and hunger. The back of the cereal box was getting boring. My brothers would pass through the kitchen on occasion, without any word. I don't know where Dad was. I just waited. Nothing to do. I waited for the milk. My cereal bowl was as empty as my stomach. Thoughts traveled through my young brain. Time passed. Just waited.

Mom got home finally. She had a gallon of milk. Real milk. Finally. She yelled to my brothers to come get dinner and they took their time to get there - they had their own lives. Dustin made his bowl first. Put way too much cereal in the bowl. Added the milk. Smelt the milk. Tasted the milk. Threw a goddamn FIT. It was the condensed milk again - in disguise. Mom had just only filled an old milk container with her own home made version of milk. The kitchen when up in turmoil, with my brother shouting at my mom, my mom shouting back, Keith fought a bit, although, ultimately didn't give a shit. I ate my own bowl of cereal. Was full. Went on through my life as a kid.

Biography

There's a lot of talk about his greatness. All about how much I should want to be like him. A list of characteristics I should strive for. How to live a life of success. Glory. Fame. It's obvious, read a biography for a step by step process of how to get a biography written about you. All Great men (and women) have biographies.

I can't remember the last time I could will myself to finish a biography.

I have two sitting by my bed right now, both of which haven't been read past the first half.

At this point, I find myself getting nauseous.

Sure, it's lovely to learn from people. Have role models, great. Whatever. But seriously, lets get real and look at who we're idolizing and why. Harry S. Truman wouldn't have had a biography written about him if he hadn't been in a position of authority. Einstein wouldn't have had a biography if his theories weren't popular. These people we read about through their biographies are quite simply ordinary people, like us, who found themselves in a position that culture decided to idolize. They aren't just Great. They're given Greatness. In part, you give them Greatness by reading their biography.

This is why I stuggle reading biographies.

The Greatness is sucked out of me. I'm belittled. I couldn't live up to a biography.

Reality: Characteristically I fit in with the ideal biographed person. So do you. So does anybody. Culture just hasn't decided to recognize the Greatness in all of us. We haven't recognized the Greatness inside ourselves. We are the ones limiting our Greatness.

So you want a biography about yourself? The plumber, the farmer, the store clerk, the educator, the student, the minimum wage waitress, the stay at home mom...

Start a revolution.
Honor simplicity.
Honor reality.


....

I have an idea to start a small series of biographies. I'll write about whoever. My friends, family, people on the street... They all deserve one. Just as much as Einstein or Harry Truman.

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doodly doodly doos

piece of mind