“Who can take a rainbow, wrap it in a sigh? Soak it in the sun and make a groooovey lemon pie?” Sammy Davis Jr.
I’m not a sensible man. But neither was Moses. Sadly, like Moses, I am the antithesis of sensible. I was never a sensible child, which makes perfect sense. The moment I was coerced into exiting the birth canal I was slapped on my newborn ass by some guy for doing absolutely nothing. That singular act of unprovoked aggression made very little sense to me. I made a promise to myself from that point on that I too would live a life based on insensibilities, which seemed like a sensible to do at the time.
At age nine, while at a family reunion in Papineau Township, I overheard my mother complaining about me to Perez, one of the sons of Judah, who was my mom’s third cousin on her father’s side, and blood brother to Hezron, Carmi, Hur, and Shobal. They were all by the picnic table where Reaiah, the son of Shobul, who was the father of Jahath, and Jahath who had recently became the father of Ahumai and Lahad - both bluegrass lovin’ families of the Zorathithes, was pounding back Labatts 50 with Ashhur, the father of Tkoa, who had no less than two wives: Helah and Naarah, who both unfathomably brought macaroni salad to the shindig. My mother, complaining, referred to me as “insensibly incorrigible,” which in retrospect, seems like a pretty sensible thing to say.
As a blossoming, gangly teen, I don’t recall being sensible in the least. Ever. Today, I’m a writer, which is the least sensible thing I could have ever become.
Posts
