Tuesday, February 21, 2006

[Creative Non-Fiction: The Humor Episode]


I'm loving writing in this blog again... the colors rock my face off.

We're discussing humorous writing in class right now. I wrote a rough draft for a travel essay, and I think it ended up being at least light-hearted. I'd love feedback on it because I may use it for a final essay in this class. Here it is (remember, rough draft):

My parents and I often see the world in very different lights. Ok, I know... who doesn’t? One thing that makes our relationship unique is that they’re not just my parents, but they’re also my grandparents.
Ok, stop. I know what you’re thinking, and no. We don’t come from the back hills of who-knows-where in the boondocks, and I’m not some crazy educated hick. It’s not a case of I married my brother, got divorced and had my cousin’s grandbabies. Or something. I’m actually adopted.
There... breathe easy now. It just sounds weirder than it is.
Anyway...
The point is, our generation gap has brought to our attention some very differing opinions on life and has resulted in some rather... heated discussions. A couple of these topics have covered the hypothetical boy I will bring home (assuming I ever have the opportunity of course). Mom has emphatically insisted, since I was a small child, that if ever I brought home a gent with long hair, she’d be after the poor creature with a pair of shears before he set foot on our porch. And earrings. Oh, dear. She also insists that the first boy who comes to pick me up wearing an earring, she is yanking it out of his lobe. And Daddy-o has not exactly disagreed.
Is it any wonder I haven’t dated yet?
Still, in spite of these differences, they’ve made some significant strides into more tolerant views of the world, thanks to a few interesting encounters with some good, unconventional men.
When I was fourteen, we made the promised pilgrimage to Hawaii, which had been in the works, more or less, since I’d been about five years old. Naturally, I had the time of my life, but that has no bearing to my story.
Anyway, the Sunday morning we were still in Waikiki, we decided to rest on the beach instead of going to church (I don’t really remember our justification... probably something heathenish). We got up around nine in the morning and headed to a nearby Jack-In-The-Box for a scrumptious, greasy breakfast.
As we walked in the door, I saw the familiar tense look on Dad and the Momster’s faces.... that look of “ugh, look at that lazy, long-haired pillock” kind of—no, ok, wait. Pillock? My parents using that word? Please. Let me try that again. “ugh, what a stringy-haired, lazy-ass bum.” Yeah, that sounds more accurate. Anywho... in the center of the restaurant sat a stereotypical surfer dude: long, shaggy blond hair, surfer tee, holey board shorts, and [Birkenstocks] on feet packed with probably about five years of sand.
I could see it in their eyes... I could almost hear the thoughts of, "Too lazy for a haircut, too much a bum to take a decent shower..." I winced.
Then this gentleman, who sat with a small flock of fellow surfers, pulled out a Bible and began a sermon. That’s right, the man was a Bible study leader. And one with a truly admirable passion for the Word at that. I sat and silently cheered as he encouraged his group to question and grow in their faith... and I saw Jesus in this rebel of polite society.
The image has stuck with me ever since... sitting and listening to a surfer share the Word in the middle of a fast-food restaurant within 50 feet of the beach. I don’t think Mom and Dad have forgotten either, because even though they still get tense at the idea of an unconventional man, they haven’t threatened violent protection of me from such characters since that day. Then again, maybe they don't remember, and they've just learned with time to hold off a bit on the labeling. Still, I'm feeling a bit hesitant to get that pretty little cross tattooed on my shoulder blade just yet... and I think I'll hold off on the little nose piercing. For awhile, anyway...

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