Eavesdropping at the doctor's office...

A note to the men and women, husbands and wives, brother’s, sister’s, cousins and neighbors that invisibly step forward to touch what doesn’t necessarily belong to them but through unconditional measurements of love the gift is given life. Thank you…

Its no where near enough but please understand if more of us say it, the energy from it might turn one moment of impossibility into a reason to try a little harder during that unexected change when you stop to ask, “Why me?”

I’ve always been amazed, inspired and influenced by the person that sets aside their private ambition and self discovery to be placed fifth or sixth on a daily list of demands because helping other living breathing creations from humans to pets to plants holds more importance than hoisting cash into a savings account or winning champion employee trophies at the end of each quarter.

When you sit in a doctor’s office, you learn a lot about the outside territories of the boundaries that block reality from affecting our society. From the extremely young that love in ways that’ll be challenged to the wedding vow guarantee that grips the hand of a grandfather, father, spouse or non-relation during a time of sharp questions, exploration and unmet answers that require a response, no artist or Hollywood movie can come close to telling the true tale of love during it's most innocent state.

Thank you!

Thank you to every volunteer for the Special Olympics, Susan G Koman Race for the Cure, those who volunteer to walk dogs and cats after tragic turns in the events that seemed so peaceful until morning broke. Thank you to every daughter and son that refuses to leave home because the moment they do their eighty year old father or mother might suffer another stroke, fall or seizure.

Thank you to the businesses that invite their employees out on Saturday’s to help clean up waterways and trees that lean too far toward a chapter destined to end the next time there’s wind.

Thank you to the one that nobody recognizes at work that unselfishly helps the homeless at church or takes the time to reach down and pick up a piece of paper the rest of the world has chosen to walk over for the past three hours.

Yesterday I heard grown men with history lessons one hundred billion miles long crack when their bodies didn’t work the way used to and inside the moments that make up a split second the one caring for them chose to invite a positive affirmation that invited a strong sense of courage to a single path that grew forward.

Yet rarely…maybe in a made for TV movie hidden away on Lifetime you might come across a message that simply says, “Thank you…”

Marriage is a thankless job. It’s a career that’s challenged to the brink of bankruptcy. A business agreement that’s disagreed upon more times than night unveils its place of rest. I fall deeper in love when hidden near a tree and a couple in their seventies walks by holding onto their childhood dreams.

The woman cuddled up to a near whisper at the doctor’s office, “Today is the day my best friend. This test is going to prove how big your heart really is.”

Extremely slow to respond, the frail man with his eyes fixed to a floor that’s held the path of thousands before him, “Having this big heart has hurt a lot of people…”

“Your daughter isn’t hurt that you’re here. She wants her Daddy back the way I want my best friend to sing to me again.”

“But she isn’t here with me right now…”

“You selfish old fool,” she replied, “Open that big ole heart and tell me she isn’t in there helping you mend the broken flowers in your garden. For goodness sakes…your baby is always with you.”

“But I shake like an ice cream maker…”

“Shake? No way…that’s the wind carrying your flower pedals to new gardens so that a million more blossoms can inspire anyone that walks by.”

“This is not the way it was supposed to be,” he tried to negotiate.

“And if you knew how it was supposed to be do you honestly think it would change the way your baby and I love you?”

I love watching people in love. The Beatles couldn’t have written such a perfect harmony. Love isn’t just about couples and families tossed together like leaves stuck on trees from a winter that wouldn’t let go. Take the time to look around you and notice the enormous amount of invisible volunteers that never stop being who they truly are; angels dressed up like actors at the Blumenthal Performing Art Center set inside an extremely cold world filled with zillions of dreams about one day being perfect…

Be in love with the idea that you’re in love…make that love about anything you want and exercise your right to let it blossom like leaves on a tree creating allergies of the heart; no itching, sneezing or wheezing…just a need to volunteer your shell to a worthy passerby that requires only one item…to be accepted during a time when self acceptance is the last thing on their mind.

I will always believe in you first…

arroecollins@clearchannel.com

The new beginning...

I write a lot about growing up south of the sugar beet factory railroad tracks in Billings; a melting pot of nationalities hailing from Canada, Belgium, Mexico, the Crow, Arapaho and Blackfoot Nation and a fair share of Montana raised city slickers whose backyards snuggled up to residents not wanting to leave the county because being connected to a septic tank was a financially safe way to get by.

The neighborhoods came in every shape, Phillips, Murphy, Stone and Jansma streets being the newly designed giving the poor kids raised on Ryan, Hill View and Morgan something to look up to during their quest to lift personal dreams above the family built shacks made of heavily weathered wood grabbed from other dwellings ripped down by hand to import bigger business to the downtown area.

Embarrassingly I admit the stepfather figure was the king of kings in the world of hoarding. We were trailer trash without there being a trailer. Wrecked cars that were singed into pieces parts then sold, horses, nearly 200 rabbits, 100 pigeons, a billion chickens, 2x4’s, 4x4’s, trim the sun dimmed, organs that had to be pumped by foot, metal pipes, rimless car tires made into forts and every style of bike made by man except the really cool nicely painted brands that came with banana seats and curved handle bars. We got what they didn’t want at the auction.

Surprisingly that’s not why neighbors and visitors to the homestead hood pointed their fingers. Nope…we had something bigger. The oldest son from my mother was a little bit different. We didn’t think so! He told incredibly funny jokes! Took unbelievable care of the animals with true inner city farmer passion, craved riding his bike, bowling and touch football; he cranked up the sounds of Dolly Parton, Porter Wagner and Buck Owens and wow did he ever love Evil Knievel and playing the piano.

So what’s the problem? Outside of Ryan Ave still being a single lane gravel road with no plans of ever changing, everything looks smells and feels ordinary.

I’ve known my brother for 48 years and through every unperfected chapter written, each unexpected challenge tossed out like candy on Halloween, into each day he continues to carry without chioce a single word. Eight collected letters that needed no invitation to invite fights with a passerby who assumed too much by not getting to know the man.

Thanks to nine year old Rosa Marcellino the “R” word is finally gone.

On October 6, 2010 President Barak Obama signed into federal law an official declaration that makes the “R” word illegal to use when describing the mental state of another human. Rosa’s Law is part of a worldwide campaign led by the millions of athletes that make up the Special Olympics who’ve stood up proud and peacefully shouted, “Spread the word to end the word…”

I’m proud to say it’s finally over.

Sadly English majors, college professors, doctors, lawyers and others wanting to take a shot at trying to preserve the “R” word have declared the new description of Intellectually Challenged as being wrong.

To which I ask, “Why do we need labels?” Why can’t Teddy and Rosa just be Teddy and Rosa? The only person that calls me a writer, poet, producer, visionary lyricist artist former teen who wanted to grow up to be a professional bowler is me. And I’ve yet to hear my brother use the “R” word while staring at his eyes in the mirror. He spends so much time trying to make others feel incredible about being alive that he deserves a better pat on the back like best friend ever or Dude that never stole my car.

Everywhere we walk we hear the “R” word inside playful talk, self abuse and inside doctors offices where they’re forced to explain why a particular part of your system doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to.

The government isn’t going to knock on the door if your child uses the “R” word on the playground or during a heated battle with a family member or coworker it falls out like a riper than ripe curse word. The effort to spread the word to end the word only starts with this generation…

We’ve come a long way…four decades ago doctors and my grandparents viciously tried to steal my brother from Mom’s loving arms and institutionalize him. God bless my mother and every parent like her who vowed to make a difference by not turning our brothers and sisters into science projects.

Now let’s grow forward and remove the “R” word during our everyday speak… Welcome to the first step of a brand new beginning!

arroecollins@clearchannel.com