Brian Andreas writes, “I used to believe my father about everything but then I had children myself and now I see how much stuff you make up just to keep yourself from going crazy.”
Am I the only insane grown man who can’t find the proper plastic to wrap around my imaginary world? I’m incredibly guilty of not finding pleasure in fantasizing, locating truth in reality more. Suddenly I feel as if I’ve become the stepfather Joe who couldn’t crack a smile in the center of the world’s funniest joke.
Seriously! Sitting in the coliseum watching Disney On Ice I’ll break out in a conversation with a kid based on using the proper strings to keep the skates tight followed by a story fed by rivers of trips and stumbles put into play during my hockey days. Somewhere along the line the pants legs will be hiked up to show off the operation scars only to hear the kid shout, “Shut up! Oh my God who sold me these seats?”
Many times I wish life would’ve blessed me with a father who made things up…I would’ve spent less time trying to figure out how to dream.
While teaching at a Broadcasting school the headmaster pulled me aside and gently asked, “What’s up with you and Herbie? He’s complaining about you putting too much focus on grasping what radio really is which has forced him to think twice about selecting it as a career.”
Gulp! I’m a buzz kill! America’s Got Talent is my proof! Attended a movie premiere Tuesday night totally missing out on Prince Poppycock’s final attempt at reaching the big time; did I pull my mind body and soul into the DVR last evening to catch up with the rest of world? No! Instead of having fun…the realist in me waited longer than normal to see the finals so I could push fast forward through the commercials and get to the winner quicker than thunder creates lightning…only to be completely disappointed with this years crowned champion.
No wonder restaurants seat me in the back next to the bathroom. This would explain why my martial arts master puts me up against the 500 pound monsters…its his legal way of kicking my tail back to Montana, then up to Victoria, BC…down to the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame straight into my front yard in the Carolinas only to hear me say, “Wow…do you realize if you would’ve picked you knee up higher that kick would’ve landed a little closer to my fat mouth?”
I’m completely jealous of author Brian Andreas having a father who created stories that weren’t true. I might have become a real man on the moon rather than a dufus that tipped the doghouse over and pretended it was Apollo 13. I can’t imagine what the neighbors thought when I’d on purposefully walk in slow motion over to a horse apple pile and plant the United States flag in it officially declaring, “We did it! NASA is there a Dairy Queen nearby?”
Page through my daily writing and its nothing more than a human being documenting the arrival of mood swings and how to bend around mountains taller than Tetons’ of Wyoming. Constant words written include, “Two generations from today a punk teenager connected to the veins that keep me alive will be wasting time in his Grandmothers attic and come across this trash and think what?"
If Stepfather Joe had been a little more creative in his story sharing I might have invented the Ipod! President Obama may have called on me to bail the banks out. I could've said, "Stop investing money and energy in American Businesses that outsource their success to countries too far away to identify on a globe." We still use those right? No wonder the jobs are going there! Most CEO’s couldn’t find Waxhaw on a map…they depend too much on a manmade GPS system.
Are you too much of a realist or do you allow fantasy to play its game inside your walls of fame? I’d be telling a major league George Washington fib if I didn’t say every time I crank open a radio station microphone I don’t pretend it’s the most unforgettable day on earth. I’ve never had the courage or strength to be anything more than a seed for a great mood coming through those speakers. It’s a trick learned from legendary funny man Foster Brooks who said, “I don’t play like I’m drunk…I put focus on being drunk and playing like I’m sober.”
Think about it…
There’s nothing fake in presenting a self that knows how rough bosses are, how exceedingly far we push our limits when there are no walls to stop us from reaching points to turn back and how irritating it is to walk into a mall store and the employee finds more pleasuring in texting someone than helping you find something new to wear. Rather than use an open microphone to complain about something you already know…be the drunk trying to act sober not the sober person pretending to be drunk.
Working with nationally recognized comedian Pam Stone taught me a valuable lesson in life…be you and never sell out. Listen to everything being offered then keep on keeping on in the channels of taking life with its twists, turns and spills and turning it into an avenue of conversation. She never tries to be funny…everything she performs is based on us relating with her stories which makes her unforgettable.
Brian Andreas writes, “I used to believe my father about everything but then I had children myself and now I see how much stuff you make up just to keep yourself from going crazy.”
I’m going to Toy Story 3…and the poor kid sitting next to me is going to hear how much I love Buzz Lightyear and how I’ve collected every fricken action figure since his introduction which will spin off into a conversation about my KISS dolls and blue elephant collection. By the end of the night he’ll walk away calling me a total nut until he walks into that bedroom and realizes toys have feelings too.
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
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