Flight of the Bumblebee

 

It's been said that a bumblebee should not be able to fly.  The span of it's little wings, is too small to actually allow the insect to gain flight, yet every spring and throughout the summer months, the bumblebee can be seen flying all about, gathering nectar from the flowers and trees and spreading it's seed throughout the neighbourhood.  The insect should not, by scientific terms, be able to fly, yet it does, the reason sloughed off, citing "It flies because it doesn't know any better."

Growing up, I had all kinds of dreams of what I wanted to be when I grew up.  At a young age, I had a million ideas running through my head as to what a young Jeff could become in the world.  Dreams at such a young age, can be priceless.  Many people, wanna be a police officer or a cowboy or even an astronaut.  I never had any dreams like those.  Mine were more, I don't know, for the age bracket, they were dreams that were a little outside the norm, but if endorsed or guidance would have been provided by a parent at such an age, who knows the prominence one might achieve in life.

At a young age, I remember drawing a lot.  I was always drawing up buildings and alike.  I can remember receiving compliments from people, my mom included, encouraging me to make more pictures.  One friend of the family even mentioned "You're going to make a fine architect one day."  I'd never heard that word, architect, before and began telling everyone that I was going to grow up to be an architect.  Until another family member, likely my father, but my mom had an equal hand in discouraging me from some things, like this.  Until about twenty minutes ago, I thought their intensions were malicious, but it may have just been their way of protecting me from disappointment in life.  Either way, we'll never know.

I remember wanting to be an architect, but was told there was too much science involved and I wouldn't be good at it.  I wanted to be an actor (not a movie star, like so many kids say), but I was told that I had a face for radio, not a TV screen.  I may have even mentioned that I wanted to try out for football (real football 🏈, not that soccer bullshit), but I was told I was too small and would probably be killed.  That last one sounds legitimate, actually.  I would not fair too well against those mastodons.

At one point, I actually went off to collage to study Film History and Production.  I was one of the first first year students to get into that film production class, as it was usually held over for second year students, at the University of Regina.  A terrible school for studying the artform as their equipment was obsolete, even then.  After applying to many schools, the University of Regina was the only school I could get into.  It was a wasted year, to say the least.  What I do recall from that era, was my dad introducing me to one of his friends or family members, including the fact that "Jeff is in university for..." he paused, glancing over at me, "I don't know.  Some kind of bullshit." He rolled his eyes with true embarrassment and I turned away, heartbroken.

I never returned to school the following year.  The University of Regina was a lost cause.  I knew that, but lacked the resources to go to a better school, but a year of neglect and shitty grades, would've prevented that, anyway.

I often wonder about the road not taken.🤔What if this? What if that? What if? What if? What if?

What if my parents had embraced my ideas as a young pup?  Steer me in the direction of honing my skills to help shape me and better prepare me for the disappointments that were sure to follow me in my quest for betterment.

What would be different?  Everything.  Would I be in a better place?  Who the f*ck knows?  Chances are I wouldn't have the great friends and acquaintances that I do.  While not the picturesque friendships that movies and TV would have, but they're awesome people, all the same.  I definitely wouldn't have my boy, Monkey.  I can't imagine a life without that furry little face staring up at me.

Nature versus Nurture is a common debate.  Nature dictates that a being is already wired for a certain behavior.  That it's a natural instinct to follow a certain path in life, without any outside influence.  Nurture suggests that if a being is influenced by an outside factor or it's environment, that it can be coerced or guided into a life path.

I don't recall receiving much praise or support from my family growing up.  I was an accidental pregnancy, while my sister was not and boy, was I reminded of that fact much throughout my young life.

My dad was an alcoholic.  Later in life, after he had passed, I came to peace with the whole ordeal.  I call it "Jeckyll and Hyde".  When my dad was sober, he was the best.  When he was drunk..., look the f*ck out.  Maybe, and I'm just surmising here, but perhaps because I was an accidental pregnancy and viewed as "the reason his life was shit", is the reason, subconsciously, that my life was somewhat sabotaged as an infant.  That's just being passive aggressive.  Blaming others for my own shortcomings, but wouldn't the same be suggested of his motivations?

I could have taken control of my own horse and carriage and steered myself in whatever direction I deemed best, just as he (my father) could have done anything to follow his dreams, as well.

By all accounts, the bumblebee should not be able to fly, but it does.  Does it do so, because it isn't aware that it should not be able to?  Or did the bumblebee receive more hugs as a larva?

Just look at that face! No matter what bad decisions I've made in my shitty life, I don't regret ever bringing this little dude into my life.  My little angel, Monkey. 🥰 

Dedicated to my little boy,
Monkey.

Smoke & Mirrors - Chapter Three: The Escape Plan

Earlier this year, we were all shocked by the news of actor/comedian, Robin Williams have committed suicide by way of hanging.  He killed himself in the very same manner as my favourite pro wrestler, Chris Benoit.  Aside from Benoit's horrific acts that preluded to his suicide, the act of hanging oneself in the manner than these two individuals settled upon, has baffled me in the time since.  Neither one hung from a height, but instead, wrapped the belt around their necks then leaned into the hanging.  I apologize for the graphic detail, but suicide isn't a natural behavior.  At some point, the body's natural instinct for survival is going to set in and (should) override the predetermination of the suicide, but this never seemed to be the case.  I can't remember if Chris had any drugs or alcohol in his system at the time of his demise, and I never heard anything about Robin.

I'm no stranger to the contemplation of suicide.  I'd be remiss if I said that the thought had never crossed my mind.  It has, but it's only been twice..., I think.  Maybe three times.  Hopefully, through investigation in this chapter of my shitty little life, I'll be able to recall the exact number.  Although, I'm certain it's only been twice.

The first time, was a fleeting thought.  More of a "I'll show them", sort of mentality.  It was following the incident with my dad.  I had moved into the city, living with my aunt.  She worked out of town, so I had the apartment all to myself.  A lot of free time on my hands and most of it spent alone with my thoughts.  I do recall that at the time, I was reeling from the idea of a father beating his own son black, blue and bloody.  I couldn't wrap my head around it.  I'd never come to the "Jeckyll & Hyde" revelation until many years later.  Sadly, it was after his death.  I'd already made my peace with him and, in my opinion, we'd become friends.  However, at the tender age of seventeen, my brain was not fully developed yet, so my intelligence was still lacked.

One day, in a fit of depression, anxiety, anger and whatever else was in my head, spicing that stew of negativity, I came up with a plan of revenge.  I planned to kill myself, just so I could see the guilt on my father's face when he came to realize that he was the reason I had killed myself.  The plan, I thought, was foolproof.  That is, until I realized that I couldn't see the look of shame and guilt on his face, if I were dead.  I quickly discarded that plan, choosing life instead.

The second time I'd contemplated suicide was almost six years ago.  I got fired from a job, due to a violent reaction to a comment that a fellow worker had said (ironically) about my father.  I'm ashamed of my actions and I refuse to share those details in this forum, but suffice it to say, it was pretty f*cking bad.

Everyone's opinion of me was going to be, and I'm sure has been, forever altered.  Especially, after some of the embellishments I've heard over the years.  They were not kind and painted me in a much worse image than what had happened in reality.  I was brought up on charges of assault and faced real jail time, it was that bad.  Thankfully, I sought anger management straight away and that coupled with conflicting stories from the victim and the single witness, in addition to my honest and yes very unflattering description of events, helped me avoid jail and anything that would scar my permanent criminal record.  We settled by way of a mediator and a written apology, which I spent a full week of writing and re-writing to make it sound as honest as possible.  I really was sorry.

However, in the initial hours following the assault, I knew that a person of whom I cared for deeply would hear of my downfall and embellished facts of the matter and I thought that if she thought me to be a monster, that I couldn't live on from that.  Thankfully, I contacted her a day or two following my dismissal and everything was copacetic.  Our friendship would remain intact and suicide was never an option after that.

Lately, there seem to be a cornucopia of reports of people, young and old, committing suicide as a way of escaping their problems.  After my initial contemplation and realization, I never even considered suicide after that.  Other people venture into drugs and alcohol as a way of coping with stress and anxiety.  Having been a witness to how alcohol affected my dad, I strayed away from alcohol and drugs never seemed to be an option.  Instead, I dove head first into adventure.  I was a famed archaeologist, fighting the Nazi plight.  I was a scoundrel of a space pirate, battling the evil empire with my large hairy companion and a feisty princess at my side.  I was also a race car driver, a pirate, a nerdy high school kid who scored the hot cheerleader.  It seemed like week-to-week, I was a different charismatic character and sad thoughts and anxiety and loneliness was never a factor again.  Not for a few more years, anyway.  Whenever I'd feel low, sad or depressed, I'd escape to the movies and for two hours, I didn't have to be me, anymore.