It's a Boy!

I realize my rate of publishing is rather sluggish, so instead of trying to finish putting my new ideas down, here's another doodle from a few years ago.  No, I wasn't depressed at the time; I was just channeling the emotion.

"It's a boy," said the doctor, but meant a great deal more. On a very superficial level, he meant, "Your baby is healthy enough that the only thing worth mentioning is his sex, and you can rest now. Excellent job."
"It's a boy," he said, probably happy for the new mother. Perhaps he was also a bit disappointed. That depends on his view about whether or not sons or daughters or neither or either is preferable, but he meant something by it, whether he thinks so or not.
"It's a boy," he said. Here is a new person. A complete human being: fresh, untarnished, unprejudiced, perfect. Just like you and me, but without any history of mistakes and wrong choices; innocent.
"It's a boy," he said. Someday, he will be a man, with all the same emotions as the rest of us. He will have hopes and successes, talents and dreams, friendships and family.
"It's a boy," he said. Here is Hope. Here is Possibility. Here is someone who has the potential to develop into a great mover and shaker, a deep thinker, a visionary artist, a financial titan, a hero. Here is someone who can be great, who can achieve more than we have, who can fix problems we couldn't, who can move us forward.
"It's a boy," he said. Let us rejoice.

"The doctor said all of this 24 years ago, when I was born. He was a fool. He was naive, and so is everyone else who imagines so much from a baby. All people are born infants, and all are born with the same apparent potential and flawlessness. Because all were born as such and all now have less potential, less perfection, it follows that it is unrealistic to expect any infant to develop into anything more than just another regular person, as discontent and powerless as any other.
When someone is born, he'd be better off climbing back into the womb and suffocating. Ahead of him is a harsh, unforgiving world full of hard lessons and unfulfilling rewards. Nothing he achieves will ever seem sufficient, and every failure will cut him to his soul. He is doomed, as are we all, to a life full of disappointment, inconvenience, shame, hate, and insincerity. Brief episodes of happiness will be followed by long stretches of boredom and discomfort.
There is no getting ahead. I weary of this Hell. Perhaps the next will be more to my liking.”

-- -- --

"It's a man!" cried the old woman, craning her neck to see what was floating above the water. She meant a great deal more by it.

The Seat

A few years ago, I had made a habit of writing extremely short stories for fun. I call them "doodles" because they were not serious works, involved little or no planning, and were generally not intended for any but a very select few to see. Most of them are awful, and y'all'll never have an opportunity to read them. However, I am proud of how several of them turned out, and this seems as good a place as any to publish them.

This particular story was written as part of an exercise with a friend back at Berkeley. We used a random word generator online to pick a word that would act as the theme of whatever we were to write, and then had a time limit (I think it was an hour. Maybe two?) to produce something to share. Come to think of it, this was the only time we tried this, a fact I now regret. I should contact him about doing this more regularly, especially since he lives in a different state now and we don't get much opportunity to interact anymore. Anyway, without further ado, here is "The Seat."

Howard was comfortable. Not, perhaps, in the sense you normally think of when using this word. In fact, the seat he occupied was old, smelly, and had a spring that poked at him every time he shifted his weight the wrong way, which was often.

Many years hence, it had been a fair enough piece of furniture; brand new from the manufacturers. That had been when he was a mere boy living in his parents’ home. Those days were long gone. He was in his forties now, and the couch was in his own home. Well, not really his own; he was renting it. But he thought of it as his own, for he had been the only permanent occupant there for seventeen years.

Howard had spent his entire life in this seat. As a child, he’d spent innumerable hours watching TV and doing homework on this very same cushion. He’d spent nearly every afternoon staring outside, awaiting his dad’s return, whether in anticipation or dread. His first kiss had been right here. So had his first alcohol-induced black-out. Now, and for the past decade at least, it stood vigilantly watching a series of ever-improving television sets. To say it was worn would be like saying the sun is bright.

Howard was very comfortable in this seat. Not because it was soft; it wasn’t. Not because it supported his weight evenly; it didn’t. Not because it was clean; not by a long shot. In fact, anyone else who tried to sit on the old hunk of junk would probably be about as comfortable sitting on grimy, pointed rocks. But for Howard, it was quite comfortable.

It was in this very seat that he had watched the prime of his life dwindle away like the batteries in his remote control. From this seat, he had watched his body go through far too many seasons, decreasing in appeal like all his favorite shows. From this seat, taking out the garbage seemed like a major accomplishment, while all his dreams became as empty as last night’s pizza box. Howard was far too comfortable in this seat.

He hated it. This seat had conquered him. He did not know what to do except sit down in it and watch TV. Everything else seemed to be impossibly foreign and undesirable, for he was so comfortable sitting there. Yet every minute he lounged on this spot was sheer misery for him. If only he had the courage to stand up and walk outside. If only he had the courage to call somebody, anybody on the phone. If only he had the courage to put it out on the curb and end its terrible reign once and for all! But it would never be so. Howard was comfortable.

An Introduction

Greetings, reader!

Welcome to my blog. I have toyed with the notion of creating a blog many times. I've even done an introduction more than once before. Why didn't I create it? Distraction. I have always had things to write about, and I've never been shy about publishing them. I've even gone so far as to type up ideas with the intention of sharing and then leave them completely obscured in a folder on my computer. I just got repeatedly side-tracked before ever posting anything. Well, those days are no more. The time has finally come for me to read through that folder and start putting my thoughts up to be seen. I have no specific theme or intent with this blog -- simply to write, at greater length than is conducive to social networking sites, about subjects which I find important, interesting, upsetting, or humorous. I hope you will find value in what you behold.

The fact that you are reading this now indicates that there is a very high probability that you already know who I am. If this is not the case, I have included a very brief autobiography so that you can get an idea of where I am coming from when forming your prejudices.

Brief biography:
My name is Ben. I have lived my entire life in Los Angeles. I am 24 years old, married to Mariam, and father to Eleanor (Almost 9 months). I have two older brothers, an older sister, and two little sisters. We are of mixed-race heritage (Chinese/White). We were home-schooled until my parents divorced and I started 9th grade. I received my BA in Economics from the University of Berkeley and my Masters in Education from Pepperdine University. I was born and raised in the Presbyterian church. I currently teach Government at a charter high school.