THE WAY WE WEREN'T

Once upon a time I was a teacher. Here I am, kind of dressed like a teacher with my old friend Harvey behind me. We're both holding signs in protest of the treatment Santa Rosa teachers were receiving from both their board and superintendent.

At the time I was the president of our teacher's association. It was right on this day for our association to be represented on the picket line.

In case you didn't know, I'm the one with the black hair hanging down my forehead.
Harvey and I were not from Petaluma. I guess the other teachers were.

It's raining. Rain brings on the urge to sift through stuff. There is box upon sift to sift through in the shed an in the garage. During one of those urge to sift shit, I found this picture.

I took a moment after taking some time to survey the picture that had appeared in the Petaluma newspaper so long ago and I asked myself, was that the way I was? It was.

It's all different now. The way I were or was is not that I am or is. Is is and were ain't is. Is it?

I think my hair is falling out. There a little piles of hair on the countertop in the bathroom after I've groomed, parted and sprayed my head of hair and underarms. Maybe the hair I'm losing is just natural attrition and nothing to be worried about. I'd love having the hair I used to have, all thick, long and brown/black in color.

Back then every once in a while someone would ask me if I were Mexican or if I dyed my hair. What stupid questions. I'd never ask anyone something like that, would you?

It's raining again today. Time to look and sift through more stuff, look at more of the old pictures and decide if that was the way I was. . . and then ask, who am I today?