Tag Archives: Memories

He ain’t heavy…

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In honor of National Brother Day I thought I’d write about my brother, Brian.

Brian is two years younger than me, and two inches taller (which doesn’t seem right, but whatever) and is really one of the best guys I know. He’s always ready to help, and is cool under pressure which – if you had a childhood like ours – was a vital skill.

And by “childhood like ours” I don’t mean to imply our childhood wasn’t good, or healthy or loving. It was those things. But it was also dangerous, and daring, and exciting – mostly because we made it that way.

Here’s the sort of stuff I’m talking about:

Our parents were born in Ireland – and because they were they liked to go to Irish events to comingle with other Irish immigrants and do Irishy stuff.

One Saturday when I was about 12 and Brian 10, they piled us in the station wagon and took us to an Irish dancing competition at a local middle school (think Riverdance for 7th graders) so that we could watch the children of other Irish immigrants bounce up and down to really fast Celtic music.

Whatever. Continue reading

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Stormy Sea

stormy seas

Do you have a memory that has stayed with you over the years?

You know the kind – it’s sort of like an unanswered question that lives in the back of your mind – and every now and then, maybe every month or two – or even every year or two – it resurfaces. It comes back because it’s a puzzle you haven’t solved yet. And if there’s anything that makes us uncomfortable, it’s an unanswered question. Well I’ve got one of those – and I’ve had it since 1989.

It won’t go away because it concerns the death of a man. Continue reading

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Sabatino’s Review

The latest book review is in…

Thanks to the amazing Sabatino!

Review (as posted on hotcupoflove.com):

In the fall of 2011 my wife left me.

Johns book modified 2-8e (2)

Little did I know that around that same time, a man from across the country was struggling with the same demons I was encountering in my own life.  Being men, and naturally wired to view relationships a certain way, we both set out to fix what had now come undone the best way we thought we knew how- online dating, though, this is where our paths deviate.

That man was John P. Gavin, and while I was attempting to tirelessly solve the rubik’s cube that I had hoped would reveal some secret understanding of how women view relationships, he was busy living it, documenting it, and putting it in to practice.  John’s book, Online Dating Sucks…but it’s how I fell in love, chronicles his journey from divorce, to dating, and eventually falling in love all the while serving as a Rosetta Stone for women looking to decode the male psyche.

To say this book challenged the way I view my own pursuit of a partner would be an understatement.  John lays out the differences between men and women, bearing no excuse for the natural progression in which our genders approach love, dating, relationships, and marriage. His in-depth and often inward analysis weaves a delicate web, bridging a chasm left void from centuries of disconnect, and unhinging conventional wisdoms, now outdated.

In Online Dating Sucks…but it’s how I fell in love, John allows his readers to spy on his dating adventures and missteps, allowing access to his personal life as he vulnerably relives the experiences that brought him to this enlightened state of love. Oh, and the woman that could finally reel him in? That’s Loretta, who John now proudly boasts as his girlfriend.

Get an inside look at how the opposite sex thinks and acts when searching for a soul mate. Learn simple rules for dating and how to avoid the pitfalls relationships often fall victim to.  Read one man’s journey from a life shattering divorce, to finding the only one who could capture his heart- and for goodness sakes, be fearless in your search for love.

Online dating sucks, but its how John found Loretta.

(Read more on Sabatino’s site hotcupoflove.com)

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A Change of Heart (Or how I tried to never meet my Fiancé)

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What did you really like when you were a small child?

For me it was cars. From my earliest memory I recall being fascinated by cars and trucks. My Mom tells me some of my first recognizable words were “Big truck” – which I’d utter whenever I saw, well, a big truck.

Before school I used to sit at the kitchen table and draw cars over and over. If the school system back then had included a course of study in sketching cars I would probably now be a professor emeritus of car drawing.

Instead what I am is a guy who writes insights and advice – which sometimes needs to be amended. But I’m getting ahead of myself – first let me finish my story about a car… Continue reading

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Rick Blackhart is Old

Me and Finn on a longboard

 

I’m a skateboarder – and I’m almost 50.

Those two things don’t really seem to go together, do they? If I said “skateboarder” to you, you’d probably get an image in your head of a kid pushing his board down the road on his way to school. Which is funny because that’s exactly how I started – riding my Makaha Skateboard down Alkire Avenue on the way to my sixth grade classroom at St. Catherine’s.

I got that board for Christmas pretty much because I begged for it. That was in 1976 when skateboards were just coming on the scene in my home town of Morgan Hill. They’d been around for a while out closer to the beach – in places like Santa Cruz the surfers would use them to keep in practice because the skill sets were similar. But being 45 minutes inland meant not many surfers, and so, not many skateboards. Continue reading

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The Color of my Memories

Gold is the color of my memories

They’re in soft focus, tinged in orange

And they smell of sage and honeysuckle

I go there a lot, more than I should

But I’m comfortable there, because I know what happens

There are no trick endings, plot twists or uncertainties

I know how everything turns out

But not everything turns out

Some of my memories aren’t finished yet

Maybe I can still make those ones turn out

Make them turn out gold, with a tinge of orange, smelling of sage and honeysuckle

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Don’t Shoot

If you’ve read my column before you probably know that I spent chunks of my childhood in Ireland, where my family is from.

My parents would make the arrangements for my summer trips: where I’d stay, with whom, and for how long — and then take me up to SFO to board an Aer Lingus jet for the long flight to their homeland. Even though pretty young at the time (10 or 14 — or in there somewhere) I’d make the trip alone because, well, that’s what they could afford. But I wouldn’t really be alone. Back in those days you could pull aside a flight attendant and ask her to look after your kid, and she would. Or, she would as well as she was able between making coffee and bringing all the food they used to serve on airplanes to the throngs of hungry/thirsty/needy passengers.

On some flights I’d have an attendant checking on me every hour or two. And on some flights I’d actually have someone my parents knew, or maybe a friend of a friend, who happened to be going back for their summer in Ireland, who could watch over me. It was usually easier when I was actually with someone, especially when we got to New York, where sometimes I’d have to change planes.

But however the trip went, I always loved the part where we broke through the clouds over Ireland and there were green fields as far as the eye could see. It was both weird and wonderful, being from California, to see long green grass growing in the summer time, and it served as a reminder that I was travelling to a very different place that was sort of like a fairy-tale. People there spoke much differently than I did, and the steering wheels were all on the wrong side of the car, and there were donkeys on the roads and roofs made of thatch. It was sort of like being in Oz, only it was all the Emerald City. Continue reading

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Paper and Pen

 

 

 

I write right?

Sure I do, but why? I mean why write when I could just talk, or run, or a myriad of other activities that do not tie me to paper and pen.

Some people never write. They have no interest in it. But me, I have to write – even when I have no interest in it. I’ve got this funny brain that, well, seems to have rubber walls – stuff keeps bouncing around inside those walls until I open a door and let it out. Continue reading

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A Stab at Friendship

I once stabbed a man through the foot.

And the worst part of it was – well the worst part for me, for him the worst part was the actual getting stabbed through the foot part – the worst part of it for me was he was a friend of mine.

Have you ever done something you didn’t mean to, but you did it anyway, and the outcome was so crappy you wish you hadn’t done it – and you almost sort of pretend, at times, that you maybe didn’t do it, or try to forget the fact that you actually did do it? Continue reading

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I Was Afraid to Write this Column

The kids in the neighborhood I grew up in had a certain fearlessness about them.

Well most of them did – there was this one kid named Shawn Reilly who seemed to be afraid of everything. And because fear was such a big part of his daily life it kind of set him apart from the other kids. In fact even now when I think about the kids in the old neighborhood his face doesn’t always pop up. He was a bit player. Sort of like a lesser character in a favorite movie of yours – you don’t always remember right away that he was even in it. Continue reading

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