The year 1982 changed my life, because that was the year my father took me to see The Empire Strikes Back and Rocky III in the theaters. Anyone who knows me well knows three things about me: I'm graceful on skates, I like my porridge hot, and I've always wanted to be a Jedi and/or Rocky Balboa. My friends who interviewed me at Bronx Letters told me I was basically hired because I talked about Star Wars for nearly 45 minutes. Throughout early puberty (for me: ages 19-22) I tried to move inanimate objects like the toaster or my sleeping mom by thrusting my right arm outward towards them, and shutting my eyes tightly and making the veins in my forehead pop in order to will them to move. I was imitating Luke's futile attempt to resurrect his X-wing from the swamps of Dagobah. Similarly, after seeing the toaster (and mom) not move an inch, I would drop my arms, and breath heavily, spiritually exhausted in the presence of the magnitude of the Force.
Girls did not date me in high school.
Since those heady days of youth I have outgrown any aesthetic attachment to Star Wars, especially in light of the artistically disastrous recent installments, and I nearly cried after watching Sylvester Stallone embarrass himself in the latest Rocky film; but, I have never outgrown my desire to find a real Yoda, to find a real Mick. People who know me have often commented that I seem "irreverent", that I have "issues with authority," that I'm a "complete asshole," but the truth is, I go to pieces like Patsy when I find a teacher I respect. I love great teachers. Always have. Wanted to be a great teacher myself, but I could never find my own "voice" as a teacher. I was simply imitating all the teachers I loved from the movies and from my own life. Being a real teacher never interested me as much as pretending to be one. But I loved being taught by great teachers.
And now I've found two. I've finally found Yoda and Mick. And they live together. Here in Colorado. Doctors they are. They run marathons. With them I am staying for a while. Somehow the higher powers that be, be they who they be, have allowed me the opportunity to make my way to the Mountains. Yoda told me I was a warrior, and took me running for three miles in the mile high air. Mick is taking me running "hills" tomorrow. At seven. in the morning. As I write this I'm in surrounded by piles of unfinished tasks. Mick took me around for two hours, showing me all the work that needed to be done. Debris that needs to be tossed, kitchen counters that need to be installed and scrubbed, pictures that need to be hung, refrigerators that need to be hauled from the shed. There are beds to move, carpets to clean, furniture to be stained. Yoda told me to start making a phantom portfolio of stocks and to memorize names of companies. Yoda asked me if I like running. I said, "the first few times I have lots of energy and enthusiasm and then I quit." Yoda snapped back, "That's your entire life; it's time to get over it. " Well okay.
So I'm here. I've come to the mountains, I've come to doctors (not sure if I'll drink from the fountains). I'm in sorry shape now (see photo above); But I won't be for long. I'm too worried about letting down Yoda and Mick. This may be the last opportunity for me to be the Jedi I've always wanted to be.
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I'd like to end by saying thank you. Thank you Bob. I'm sure being back in the City is going well for you. Thank you for accompanying me on this-at times- maddening journey. You are, as I'm sure Maiko and your friends already know, a Jedi in your own right. See you on the other side, friend, when I get back. As Karen Carpenter sang, probably right before not eating a breadstick, "We've only just begun..."
Until then.
The Traveling Wombury
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