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Sep. 4th, 2006
Steve Irwin, aka crocodile hunter, met an untimely death on Monday by a stingray while filming for his show off the Great Barrier Reef. The stingray was spooked and protected itself with its barbed tail, which peirced Irwin's chest and heart, he was DOA. His wife wasn't with him at the time.
Bremen today
Sep. 4th, 2006 09:36 pmDara's getting an eye for photographing bikes...
( Read more... )
Now then... I'm home, tired and minutes from a nice long hot bath.. then bed.
After work tomorrow I'm heading over to St. Mark for The Music Man rehearsal. Then choir on Wednesday, Thursday is open, volley on Friday and who knows what on the weekend.
ta-ta
( Read more... )
Now then... I'm home, tired and minutes from a nice long hot bath.. then bed.
After work tomorrow I'm heading over to St. Mark for The Music Man rehearsal. Then choir on Wednesday, Thursday is open, volley on Friday and who knows what on the weekend.
ta-ta
A friend from my childhood days in Winder enters my thoughts on occasion. We often spent time together running around in the woods on school days, fishing or exploring old abandoned houses. We never went to his house, or if we did I was asked to keep away. I respected his wishes, maybe he was a little embarrassed of the small cement block hut his family of 8 lived in - the one next to Sims Lake on Hwy 53. Maybe he just didn't want me to see what abject poverty looked like up close.
He became a good friend to me, though my mother did not take to him at all. He was forbidden to spend the night and she didn't like him in our house either. Mom wouldn't say it aloud, but she didn't like how dark his skin was.
His family called him Junior, though he introduced himself to me as Tillman. What an odd name I thought, although his last name seemed usual enough - Porter. I was shamefully oblivious to what his name really was for all these years, or rather what it represented.
Junior's entire family, and his ancestry were stripped clean of their culture and names, and given titles and burlap sacks instead. Tillman was always at the beckoning call of Mr. Sims - should his white pickup come creeping down the road our day of play was over. It was time for him to go labor in the hay fields.
I'll never know who Tillman really was, or where he came from. I'm not so sure he knows himself.
And that bothers me.
He became a good friend to me, though my mother did not take to him at all. He was forbidden to spend the night and she didn't like him in our house either. Mom wouldn't say it aloud, but she didn't like how dark his skin was.
His family called him Junior, though he introduced himself to me as Tillman. What an odd name I thought, although his last name seemed usual enough - Porter. I was shamefully oblivious to what his name really was for all these years, or rather what it represented.
Junior's entire family, and his ancestry were stripped clean of their culture and names, and given titles and burlap sacks instead. Tillman was always at the beckoning call of Mr. Sims - should his white pickup come creeping down the road our day of play was over. It was time for him to go labor in the hay fields.
I'll never know who Tillman really was, or where he came from. I'm not so sure he knows himself.
And that bothers me.