The tour bus was filled of excited people, 30-40, I didn’t get a head count.
The mixture— a bachelor party group of guys who took time away from their dungeons and dragons convention to drink to the ye olde songs of yesteryear, making sure their sacrifice was sufficiently…let’s say hammered. Another grouping was a gaggle of women supporting their elder with a birthday celebration. Later at our first stop we were informed that they were of the LBGT community…like we didn’t know. And then there was my group, a small family, a 26 year old, heavily tattooed, recently out of the Army, son. My wife of 29 years, (our anniversary was this date, though we had our dinner nights before) a professional massage therapist who has embraced her calling of assisting people in this plane and others, yes, a psychic medium and there’s me— a 51 year old white man, or caucasian or former european immigrant or just a person who is embracing writing to express himself. Our driver was my same age, striking up a conversation prior to everyone loading in, finding out we were born in the same year, loves living out in the country, hunting and fishing on his 15 acres, rides Harley-Davidson motorcycles, genuinely smiles— must be my doppleganger.
The tour, Southern Beer Tours, took us to three local microbreweries so that we could immerse ourselves into the local flavors, mixing kindred spirits together in the quest to drink beer, socialize and have a safe fun time.
We intermingled here and there, though the D&D group was working hard to keep the bachelor sufficiently over the BAC level. He sure was young looking, younger as he visited the restroom on the first stop to purge the venom that his friends helped him ingest. It was at this time that the bus unanimously stated if he puked on the bus, the women would kick his ass. Our tour guide chirped in at this point and added the the clean up fee was $250.00. He held it in.
Our conversations were mainly with the women’s group, the lesbians, yes I said it. I’ve said it before, I’ve have known some. “Some”, like it’s an affliction, a disease. Oh, man I’m going to hell, I hung out with “them”.
I was given compliments on my son from “them”. It was stated he was “genuine”, “loving”, “he was a good kid” and “we did a good job raising him” were some of the statements. What parent wouldn’t want compliments like that!
It was our choice to raise him that way, be himself, search and question, don’t accept the status-quo, to live his life because it’s his. That it is alright to feel from the heart and look through the human bullshit. Supporting him from a distance, as he maneuvers through this thing called life.
We were invited after the tour to join “them” at the continuation of the elders party at a bar. We had dinner, shot some pool and made our way to our home.
I woke up this morning, looked in the mirror and noticed that I didn’t have any lesions, pocks or any signs of sickness. Made my way to the computer and confirmed friend requests from “them”. I didn’t explode when I pressed the button to accept “them” as friends.
The hell I’m living in is one of being in a society of intolerance with those who choose to live the top ten lines below:
Despising – Miserable
Vindictive – Evil
Condemning – Hopeless
Disdainful – Tragic
Punitive – Frightening
Denying – Disappointing
Vengeful – Antagonistic
Indifferent – Demanding
Permitting – Feasible
Enabling – Satisfactory
Inspiring – Hopeful
Merciful – Harmonious
Wise – Meaningful
Loving – Benign
One – Complete
All-Being – Perfect
Self – Is
In all branches of this tree of life there are good people and bad people, it’s just a question of where you want to be.
I didn’t get to spend any more time with the bus driver, my doppleganger. I want to, maybe I’ll look him up— he was black man, african-american or former immigrant.