Posted on by Phil Strawn

Aspirations, Expectations And Exasperation


75th Birthday Dinner with Momo

I’ve recently sprouted a beard, and much to my surprise, not a single dark hair dares to intrude upon my snowy facial wilderness: the scruffy testament to my frothy mirth matches the proud hue atop my head, a delicate white crown. As a son of Cherokee lineage, I stood astonished, finding myself transforming into an old man with pearly locks in my forties. This change, I suspect, is the handiwork of my father’s Scotch-Irish heritage—a rowdy clan of kilted revelers who seemed to navigate life with laughter and a touch of mischief. They must have commandeered a ship, setting sail for New York, then onto Pennsylvania, where the merry-making reached promising heights. My grandfather would neither confirm nor deny the wild tales of our kin. This speaks volumes about my love for Irish Whiskey, while the Cherokee blood in my veins draws me to large, sharp knives. Hand a drink to an Indian, and trouble isn’t far behind. History whispers of how Little Bighorn ended for Custer. Loose chatter suggests that Sitting Bull and Howling Wolf snagged a wagon load of drink the night before the fray, bestowing upon the braves a reckless spirit. Had they chosen an early night with a hearty breakfast of Buffalo tacos, perhaps the bloody disaster would have been averted.

As a boy of nine, I dreamt of writing like Twain. In my innocence, I thought I was his spirit reborn, dropped into a different time: September of 1949, the last year of the baby boomer generation. With a Big Chief Tablet and a number 2 pencil, I set out to capture the simple chaos of childhood mischief. There were four of us, bold and reckless, stealing cigarettes, hurling water balloons at police cars, and fighting with the tough kids across the tracks. The local papers laughed at my tales as if a child’s imagination could not hold weight. My aunt, wise and educated, introduced me to Spillane and Steinbeck. Spillane turned me into a wise-ass, insufferable child, resulting in numerous mouth cleansings with Lifeboy soap. Steinbeck felt right—my family had lived a life like Tom Joad’s, migrating to California during hard times of the Dust Bowl and the 1930s. I had stories in me, maybe even a book. A therapist dismissed it as a childish fantasy, saying it would fade. Yet here I am, much older, still tethered to that innocence. Now, I’m in my Hemingway phase, my looks echoing the rugged man who lived wild in Cuba, writing furiously while embracing the chaos of life.

There is more sand in the bottom of my hourglass than in the top. I feel the end approaching. I do not wish to know the day or hour. I can only pray it is a good one, resulting in a trip to Heaven, which is better than the alternative. I am not the writer Twain, Steinbeck, or Hemingway was. They had talent, and they had time from youth to hone their craft and find their voices. Yet, I will still give it a try.

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13 Replies to “Aspirations, Expectations And Exasperation”

  3. The important issue is-does Momo like your creative writer look? Maybe it will give you the inspiration you need to write a lengthy “Old Yeller” type book about that little rat dog, Pancho Villa. Despite your levity, this was a touching post. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Nancy, you are the godess of kindness with the keen sense of humor. Yes, that little demon, Pancho Villa would be a great write. I cried when old yeller died, so at this age, it might do me in. Stay tuned.

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  4. Let me tell you something, Phil, you may not have books out there like your heroes (and mine) Twain and Hemingway, but this piece here is a lovely piece of writing and a damn good, honest account of your life so far. I loved this line: “a rowdy clan of kilted revelers who seemed to navigate life with laughter and a touch of mischief.” And this: “…wild in Cuba, writing furiously while embracing the chaos of life.” Write that book, man, what the hell.

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  6. I always enjoy reading your tales. Although this one forced me to fact ck something. Maybe I read it wrong. Baby boomer generation years are 1949 last year??? “Baby Boomers are the demographic following the Silent Generation and preceding Generation X. People born between 1946 to 1964 make up this specific generation. Most of the baby boomers are the children of either the Greatest Generation or the Silent Generation and subsequently, are the parents of Millennials and Gen X.” Your new look still sports a handsome guy as always. White hair on guys looks natural and handsome. Most women just look old. Black hair/dark brown seems to turn white. Lt brown/ blonde seems to transform into a mousy grey, nope, nope, nope. 🤷‍♀️

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    1. Mine linage in from the Greatest Generation, which was considered the Boomer one because it was a few scant years from the end of the war. The extension into the sixites was penned by someone in DC, or perhaps a columnist in a major paper. A few of my friends in childhood were born in 44 and 45 which makes them “war babies.” Also, many of the kids in my neighborhood resembled the milkman.

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  7. Whether or not you are a Steinbeck, Hemingway, Twain, or Grizzard is open for discussion. Times, circumstance, and pervasive corrupt culture work against you. Keep the faith. Keep us entertained. Live life!

    Your pic looks very much like my brother, the family “black sheep” who ended up perhaps the best of all of us for living a truthful, happy life.

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