Tagged: book reviews
Part 3/5 – Review of American Sniper by Clint Eastwood
The movie ends with what appears to be the real footage of Chris Kyle’s funeral procession. Hundreds, if not thousands of well-wishers lined the highways. American flags almost outnumbered people, and a few cranes were even used to hang an enormous flag high against the skyline. I’d be lying if I said I cried because honestly, while I remember crying during the movie, I can’t remember if I cried at that specific moment. What I do know is that I was very, very sad–no different from you I’d guess.
But now it’s Wednesday and the immediate effects have worn off. So how do I feel about that funeral procession now, today? A little anecdote is necessary to explain it.
Judging by the fact that the show was cancelled after a single season, I’m pretty sure no one will remember an HBO show called John From Cincinnati. It came out after Deadwood ended and it had the same writer. Well I thought the show was just fantastic. One thing I learned from it was how to feel about the familiar, black POW/MIA flag. Up until that tv series I never wanted to look at the flag or think about it or even acknowledge its existence. I had no context for it. For whatever reason, I felt that I should be sad when I thought on it and its meaning, but I honestly didn’t feel sad or really anything when I saw it. And that embarrassed me. But then in that goofy little show there was a character who was a Vietnam veteran who showed me the way. The dude was pissed. Anger was his idea of the proper emotion to associate with the POW/MIA flag. The gist of his sentiment and why he proudly sported the flag was, “Our motherfucking government took these boys outta their home and lost them. That’s not right and needs to be fixed.”
With that in mind, how do I feel now about the procession, now after the emotions that the film stirred have calmed? I feel like only I understand what all those well-wishers wanted to communicate that day. I feel like no one else gets it. I feel like everyone who has seen Sniper and loves it, all they saw was some level of patriotism and/or patriotic support. But I know the truth. The truth that I know is that all those people who took time out of their day to line the highways did so because they wanted to communicate a solidarity that it wasn’t right for the government to put a man through what Kyle went through. Why would his leadership do that to him? Did they think it was fun? Did they like that their ‘boy’ was racking up their numbers? Did they want to be able to have a bullet on their performance report that said “rubbed shoulders with most lethal sniper in US military history?” Why would they keep sending him in? If there is one fact that I am certain of, and that I would like to believe people who are leaders are certain of, it’s that motivated individuals will drive themselves into the ground if left to their own devices. I learned this about myself through the most embarrassing experience of my life. Only a handful of people even know this prior to now. Want to know how lost I became as my wife and I sat alone in our town home for nearly three weeks after my first deployment, me being either drunk or hungover for the duration? I arrived at a place where I heard a nice sounding legal assistant on the other end of a phone hurriedly whisper, “You can’t ask that. You can’t ask what the punishment will be for going AWOL if you haven’t left.” A lifetime of leadership and decision making training was being put to use to gather all the data (step 2) so I could make an informed decision that going to prison would be better than going back.
I ramble a bit here to illustrate that while I was sad as I watched that scene of the movie Saturday night, today when I think about that scene I am angry.
****
Thursday – But, then, what do I know? I don’t have PTSD.
Friday – Or do I?
Part 2/5 – Review of American Sniper by Clint Eastwood
It’s no secret that we love people that are the best at something. We also respect military members tremendously, rightly so. So, as movie watchers, when we see that someone has made a movie about a military member who is the best at his craft, it is difficult to not be interested. (Anyone remember Top Gun?) My question is: Was Chris Kyle’s status as most lethal sniper in US military history relevant to the story Eastwood tells in American Sniper?
The story, remember, is about PTSD. Part of the reason I am taking an entire week to review this film is because some subject matter only ever has one reason to be put into a story. PTSD is one such topic. A movie about PTSD is made for only one reason. It is not made to enjoy watching, though if done well it might be enjoyable. It is not made to give non-veterans a glimpse of what veterans may or may not be going through after they return from deployed locations and/or combat, though if done well it might, in fact, provide a glimpse that they might not have otherwise gotten regarding why a loved one’s behaviors might be different than before. The reason someone tells a story about PTSD, especially in 2015 America, is because they want to help the surely tremendous number of military men and women who suffer, alone and quietly, as a result of their voluntary service.
So was his status relevant to the PTSD-centered story? The answer is yes and no.
Yes, I could admit that it was relevant if Eastwood’s angle was to show that “Look even the top sniper admitted he had PTSD and was able to find some peace after admitting it.” Yes, if Eastwood wanted to show that therefore there is hope for all because Kyle was able to begin to recover from it, then I can see his intentions were pure and he just didn’t manifest them very well.
But no, his status as top sniper was not relevant if he wanted to tell a story that would really help veterans. And here’s why. PTSD has a negative stigma. Hell, the word disorder is the D. Nobody wants to admit they have a disorder. What knucklehead academic even thought they were doing a good thing by terming a difficulty acquired from attempting to do good in the world a disorder? And of course everyone knows that the men and women who are actually around killing and death have experienced trauma (the T). But there are only a select few military members who are actually pulling triggers and having to duck on a regular basis. What about everyone else? What if they still experienced something that is causing their transition back to civilian life to be difficult? How anxious will they be to come forward when some Navy SEALs still might not be ready to admit they are having a hard time after they come home? How about pilots of the new remotely controlled aircraft that are pulling the trigger from half-way around the world and only seeing a black and white television image of a body going limp? Do you think they, when they think long and hard on it, actually believe they have anything in common with the macho dudes kicking in doors? Do you think they want to raise their hand when help is offered?
Here’s the truth that veterans don’t think to share with the world. We learn first-hand that every military member is capable of amazing feats. We know this because as we signed up we stereotyped and guessed who would do what when. But during our time in service someone proved our infinite wisdom wrong. Moreover, plenty of people never get the opportunity to demonstrate/discover what they hoped combat/service-before-self would teach them about themselves. By way of example, Chuck Yeager became an ace combat pilot in one day at age twenty-one. I didn’t even go to Iraq until I was twenty-five. And no enemy aircraft ever approached the slow helicopter I flew. Suffice it to say, I never did get my five aerial victories. (But I did log more combat NVG time than Yeager, which I am sure he loses sleep over.)
I have to believe that Chris Kyle admitted to someone at some time that he was just doing his job and while the status his circumstances bestowed up him was neat, he wouldn’t have cared if his tally put him last on some list. And I’ll even go one level further. If he really did care about helping vets like the story goes, (which I fully believe), I bet he’d trade every confirmed kill to help just one veteran.
In the end, we’re talking about telling a story to an audience who is short on hope. Seeing a finally smiling Bradley Cooper give a ride to the man who kills him, another afflicted veteran, just doesn’t turn the light on for me.
****
Wednesday – Never mind how I felt while I watched the funeral procession, how do I feel now?
Thursday – But, then, what do I know? I don’t have PTSD.
Friday – Or do I?
Part 1/5 – Review of American Sniper by Clint Eastwood
By Request
Reactions to recent posts have had an unintended consequence of making me believe you wouldn’t mind reading more about my military related struggles with the hopes of understanding your less talkative family members’ own strife (using the timely film American Sniper as a vessel). I am flattered and have decided to accept the charge. As you’ll see, though, while I began doing it with you in mind, I gained a clarity relevant to my own life. I saw how this challenge will help me. So that’s why I’m really doing it. But I believe that help is help is help, and that means if it helps me, it might help someone else. So here we go. Together.
Today I’ll set the stage with my criteria for the film review. Throughout the rest of the week we’ll get into the nitty gritty.
A magazine writing course taught the importance of asking yourself what your article, your story, is about about. Lucky for you and I, I recently came across a movie review that put that concept a bit more clearly. “It’s not what [the story’s] about. It’s how it’s about it.”
American Sniper is about PTSD. There should be no argument there. How does Eastwood go about PTSD? Lazily. Embarrassingly so. (Want a movie that doesn’t go about PTSD lazily? Check out David Ayer’s Harsh Times.)
Sniper’s story is fairly straightforward. There’s this tragedy that is inconceivable. Top US sniper Chris Kyle who only recently is beginning to overcome PTSD’s effects is killed by a veteran he was helping to overcome PTSD. Though you don’t find this out until just before the credits roll.
Surprise endings don’t do it for me. They never have. Consequently, I don’t mind spoiling this movie because the issue–PTSD–far outweighs any entertainment value that the surprise ending provides. Let’s be honest, movies don’t change the world anyhow. Stories do. And for me, if a story relies on a surprise ending for strength, besides being lazy, its power is diminished upon each subsequent telling. This thinking inevitably leads to: any story that loses power with each telling isn’t worth telling in the first place. (Test the Greatest Story if you don’t like my thinking.) But again, it’s not Sniper’s story that is lazy (powerless), it’s Eastwood’s telling of it–how he went about it.
Maybe I’ve just seen more movies than most folks, but I was bored during the first half of the film. For most of it really. Not because I’ve been there or done that. But because every other recent contemporary war movie has been there or done that, and in most cases done it better. Two examples stand out prominently. The Hurt Locker for juxtaposition of home life vs. deployed life (ref cereal debate) and Zero Dark Thirty for realism (ref “Usama…Usama” whisper). As moviegoers, we’re not in a vacuum. Eastwood should’ve known better. He had a story that is so inherently powerful there was no reason to tell it in such a way that places it alongside those two films in my mind. Yet there it sits. Rather than do the story right, he (lazily) chose to compete and he loses. Like my brother often says, “It would have been a good movie…if every other movie hadn’t already come out.” In my words, American Sniper is a lazy telling of a story whose intended audience deserves better.
****
Outline For The Week:
Tuesday – Was it relevant that he had more confirmed kills than any other sniper?
Wednesday – Never mind how I felt while I watched the funeral procession, how do I feel now?
Thursday – But, then, what do I know? I don’t have PTSD.
Friday – Or do I?
Why Write Simon?
Why? Why write a book about divorce and doom and base it in contemporary America? I’ll tell you why. Because tomorrow hasn’t happened yet. More specifically, because I was about to go watch H- sing her heart out in some holiday concert. And her mother and her live-in boyfriend were going to be there. I was angry. I was afraid. I was afraid I would do or say something that I would regret. I could picture it. I could picture me yelling or even shoving and I could see the other parent’s reactions. I could see the circle of flesh forming and feel a hand on my shoulder asking me to calm down. I have never been in a fight but I was actually getting nervous that that night would break that streak. I didn’t know what it would be over. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that when the dust settled, the dust in my vision, I saw H- standing there looking at me. She was crying. Her left heel was tapping the ground rapidly.
Spiderman’s uncle reminds Peter that “with great power comes great responsibility.” So while I write and write and hope and hope, when I saw H-‘s face, I realized that I needed to quit effin’ around and write something valuable, write something that I would be really proud of. Not necessarily valuable to you, but valuable to me. And my ex. And hopefully to my daughter some day. The book is essentially an apology, maybe a reckoning.
Along the road to divorce and since then I heard many people express they were in the same boat that I was. They weren’t writers though. I believe I am a writer. So I wrote.
Reviews from friends, family, and strangers agree. It is dark. It is embarrassing. It is depressing. But the real truth is that it is full of hope. You just have to look for it.
Anyhow. Not a single new sale since last week. But I have four more days to give it away over the next 70 or so and create some momentum as the theory goes. So today it is free again on the kindle. If you like to read, read it and enjoy!
I Love Filmmaker Michael Mann
He is the absolute best filmmaker ever. Hands down.
My favorite film of all time is Last of the Mohicans. It is probably no coincidence that this is also the first film of his I ever saw, and it might be the first rated R film I ever watched. I know for sure that at the time I didn’t even know his name or, for that matter, that movies were made by different people. While most people I run into shy away from ever choosing their favorite, my training prevents me from fearing and so after much deliberation, to repeat, I proudly pick Last of the Mohicans.
I say all of that to introduce the fact that any movie buffs can imagine my shock when upon completing Heat in college I discovered that in that crime tale–the first time Pacino and De Niro gloriously face-off on film–again, it was Mann at the helm.
My memory is a bit fuzzy at this point, but I think my next it’s-a-small-world-after-all shock was discovering that he created one of my mom’s favorite early-80’s television shows–meaning I’m pretty sure she watched it while I was in the womb–Miami Vice. It shouldn’t take much convincing then that when I heard he was making a stand alone film of Vice, I lost my breath. (“Do you dance?” “I dance.”)
After heading to the local video rental store to get caught up with Thief, Manhunter, and The Insider, Ali marked the first time I saw one of his films in the theater. And you can bet I was first in line for when he teamed up with my raision d’etre, TC, in Collateral.
Naturally, my younger brother is also a big fan. Not as big, but big. So to cap off his bachelor party ski extravaganza he and I went to see Mann’s latest release Blackhat. It has been a long time since I left the theater believing that someone knows how to tell a story to adults. I had hoped Interstellar would end the streak of disappointment, but I have to agree with the masses that while very, very good, it was also a little silly. Not Blackhat.
What makes Mann stand head and shoulders above the competition? Pacing. His pacing. No one else comes close.
Now, we’re all adults here, right? You know how there is a standard line during sex where when in passion’s throes one partner sensually requests that the other develop the bliss a little more competently? When, in a voice that quiets to little more than air rushing by your ear, you hear the plea, “Don’t rush”? Well Mann’s grasp prevents his lover from ever contemplating such a petition. Unlike most other film makers, he is in complete control. There is no doubt that every particularity of every moment is exactly as he wants it. There is no “film by committee” with him. It’s his way or the highway. And Blackhat reminded me of this once again.
Need one more example of how I know he’s the best filmmaker? I know because the previews for his movies are horrible. They are horrible because he doesn’t make previews. He makes movies. He makes motion pictures. He makes art. Could a single measure of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony do that song justice? Or one star in Van Gogh’s Starry Night? No, the answer is no.
In a word, compared to Michael Mann, all other filmmakers are simply salesmen.
Notes On Money And Self-Publishing
Some of you have suggested that you’d love to hear how book sales are going and also just about the self-publishing experience as a whole. I am flattered that you would consider my opinion on this subject valuable, and as such, will gladly indulge you to the point where you wish you had never asked.
To begin, I need to freely confess that I don’t have a clue about how to make money. I don’t. I never have. I loved my high school and college jobs–I probably would’ve worked them for free. After college I was shocked when I discovered how much I was paid to be a hero. And as for the rest of my jobs since then, I have quit them for one of two reasons. Either I felt guilty for being paid too much money or I quit because you couldn’t pay me enough money to do the job. Reiterating then, I don’t have a clue about how to make money. I don’t. I never have.
On top of this, I happen to believe that if I know anything valuable–anything of real value–I shouldn’t charge you for it. Now, I’m not going to get all Christian-ee on you, so settle down. But case in point is the Gospel. Let’s say for a moment that the story is true. Let’s say that you and I are wretched sinners without a hope, save one unbelievable notion. And let’s say that that notion is that recognizing the state of things taken together with following Jesus is the only way to balance the books, but balance the books it does. If that were the case, and I knew it to be true, I would never charge you for that information. No way.
Just the same, H- and I need money for life’s necessities, no different than you and yours. So I wrote Simon Pastor with the hope of paying for these necessities. Next up, I’ll tell you how to write a book like Simon Pastor, then I’ll share how it’s selling. Feel free to skip to the end.
Step 1 – TYPE book in MS Word
Step 2 – SAVE file every time you think of it. 😉
Step 3 – SAVE AS a PDF/A when it’s final. (Only if you care about a paperback version. If you don’t, skip to step 8)
Step 4 – CREATE createspace.com account
Step 5 – UPLOAD PDF/A file
Step 6 – FOLLOW createspace.com steps to proof book and create cover etc.
Step 7 – DOWNLOAD Kindle cover file when prompted
Step 8 – SAVE AS final MS Word file again–this time with the name Kindle added on. (You need a file to mess around with and don’t want to screw up your paperback version, that’s why I do this step.)
Step 9 – CREATE kdp.amazon.com account.
Step 10 – FOLLOW kdp.amazon.com steps to modify MS Word Kindle version as required
Step 11 – SAVE AS Web Page, Filtered
Step 12 – UPLOAD that and Kindle Cover from Step 7 to kdp.amazon.com account (plenty of instructions on their site)
Step 13 – FOLLOW the simple sequence of pricing/distributing
Step 14 – SHARE the news that Amazon is selling your book with every human being you come into contact with
Okay. Truly, it is simple. It is also free. If you don’t care to feel a paperback copy in your hands before you list it on Amazon, you never have to pay a cent–not one penny–to publish your book in either paperback or Kindle versions.
So how are sales? Since last weekend, the 4th, I have sold a grand total of twenty copies. Another one hundred eighteen kindle versions were downloaded (via the free Kindle promotion last Friday). One thing I forgot while setting the price for the eBook is that I have no idea how to make money. Amazon recommended setting the price at $3.99 when using the 70% royalty model. Up until that moment, I had been planning on selling it as cheap as possible in order to encourage heavy readership. But greed took over along with thoughts of glory and roller coasters in my backyard etc. It is a good book. I’m sure of that. But I’m also sure that while $3.99 is a cup of coffee, it doesn’t take hours to drink a cup of coffee. And it will take at least an hour to read my book. Your tv watching habits prove you are willing to waste time for free, but paying to waste time? That would be something. I see now that four bucks is a bit much to invest in possibly wasting an hour with an unknown author. So after a week I’m changing it up. I’m going back to my original plan and it is now for sale for the lowest price Amazon will let me sell it for, which is 99 cents.
I’ll update you guys next week with just a simple number update regarding how sales are doing.
Overall, the lesson learned is write what you must write. My happiness is enhanced because of writing this book. If money is deposited into my bank account, that’s great. But I will never regret writing the book. If you’re a timid soul, this post should warn you off from challenging yourself to finally write the great american novel. But we both know there are no timid writers. Good luck.
Glenn Hates My Book And I Love Him For It
I stumbled upon Glenn Hates Books while preparing to market Simon Pastor. If you don’t have time to visit his blog, know that he doesn’t actually hate books, he just hates the books that he thinks could’ve been good if only they were better. I love that concept and his blog. Whereas my blog, here, has a tough elevator speech, Glenn’s blog has an eloquence that is enviable.
But there’s something more to this man and his blog. He reads the books he reviews. Seriously. He reads them. You know he reads them because he writes brutally honest reviews. They don’t include flowery, all-positive language that clearly identifies him as a friend of the author or someone who worked on the book and stands to benefit from high sales. They also aren’t in the category of “there’s something good to be found in every piece of life.” (I actually can’t stop laughing when I picture his bearded-faced reaction to someone who believes that hocus pocus.)
As a result, Glenn topped my list of reviewers to ask to review the book early on–to set the tone, as it were. And he didn’t disappoint. He hates my book. He hates it because it happens to be depressing as shit. And he reads to escape from reality, not re-live it.
My response? Sincere gratitude. I love his authenticity. If only everyone could write so nakedly. But the fact is that reading purely to escape is childish to me. I read and I write to go deeper. I want to feel more, feel it more intensely, and feel it for longer. Escape from this thing called life? Never. More. More, more, more.
Tolstoy ended one of his early works with the following declaration. I’m including it here just in case I ever forget why I wrote Simon Pastor. He wrote, “The hero of my tale–whom I love with all the power of my soul, whom I have tried to portray in all his beauty, who has been, is, and will be beautiful–is Truth.”*
Amen, Brother Leo. And again I say amen.
****
*Tolstoy, Leo, Louise Maude, Aylmer Maude, and Nigel J. Cooper. Collected Shorter Fiction. New York: Knopf, 2001. Print.
Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Simon was no saint. It will become abundantly clear that he had a nasty brutish side. And we must never forget, of course, that he was first and above-all human. I say this to introduce the idea that he found himself approaching his twenty-fourth year of virginity with a tiresome weariness. It had been years since he attended a church service and despite plowing through books on religion, the memory of the why of it all was fading.
****
The fall after he turned twenty-four Simon learned that his friend Kurt was getting married. Kurt asked him to be his best man and Simon figured he may as well learn how to dance for the occasion. He first heard Kerri’s name as the dance studio’s receptionist told him who his instructor would be.
“We do private lessons on Wednesdays, so Wednesday night at 8pm you’ll be with,” the woman paused as she checked the instructor availabilities, “you’ll be with Kerri.”
“Kerri. Got it. Great. See you then,” Simon said. “I hope she’s hot,” he thought, after hanging up the phone.
He had scheduled lessons with high hopes of impressing the bride’s single friends. Simon happily admitted to anyone who would listen that the many ballroom scenes within the recently finished epic War and Peace had a hand as well.
For some men a woman’s smile is the most visible memory of first seeing her. Others can’t forget her eyes. Many find themselves drawn to a woman’s unadulterated laugh. Simon never forgot Kerri’s posture. Arriving a few minutes early for the lesson, he saw a woman who he hoped would be Kerri. She was walking from left to right when their eyes first met. She was expecting him, but didn’t expect him. The way Simon recounted it, she froze solid upon sight of him—her slender neck almost breaking in the violence—though Kerri would coyly never admit to being overly impressed with her future husband that day. He confided to me that he knew in that moment that she was the one. When I pressed him to explain how he knew, he admitted it was very primal. He said that he could just tell that she would give herself to him. Kerri was like that. Her body housed her spirit but was never very good at concealing it.
Too soon, Kurt’s wedding had come and gone and the dance lessons lost their relevance to Simon’s ambitions. Over the duration, however, Simon and Kerri had become quite close. As is often the case with new love, neither of them wanted to stop being around the other. Simon simply couldn’t believe he had found a female that he’d like to have as a friend.
Simon had an uncanny ability to focus on a goal. Since signing that blue oversized “True Love Waits” index card, he viewed all available women as potential wives. Despite viewing marriage as an undesirable institution, he saw no value in befriending a woman who would someday choose another man. If he was going to spend time with a woman, he concluded, it had to be one he wanted to marry. And here she was, slightly tipsy, leaning against his car outside of the restaurant that he had taken her to after his last lesson. Not having any experience to aid his assessment of the unfolding drama, he returned to his safe place—honesty.
“Well, unless we’re going to go somewhere else, I think this is it, Kerri,” he struggled to say.
“Nope, I have no place to be,” she said.
“Oh. It just seems like you’re,” he paused, searching for the most accurate word, “waiting for something.”
“I guess-,” she began.
“Plus, aren’t you cold just standing out here?” he interrupted.
“-I was going to say we could go make out in your car,” she said, laughing at his genuinely surprised reaction to her suggestion, “if that’s okay with you.”
“Hmm,” said Simon as fear swept over him. Simon had never really made out before. But it sounded fun.
“Okay. Give me a second to open your door though. It doesn’t work from the outside,” he said, consciously moving as slow as humanly possible so as to not give away his excitement. Any restaurant staff still cleaning up inside who by happenchance had been peeking out at the scene would have thought Kerri had put a time limit on the offer Simon moved so fast.
Once inside the car, it didn’t take Kerri long to conclude Simon was in uncharted territory, and she laughed as she told him as much. He, in turn, loved both parts of that. She was perceptive and unafraid. Only later did he remember she was also a little drunk. By the end, Simon had told me a hundred times if he told me one time that he always wondered how the relationship would’ve played out if it wasn’t so late, if they weren’t far from both their homes, and if it hadn’t have been that time of the month.
As amazing as the evening had been, Simon was too much a boy scout to not regain control and come up for air.
“Call me when you get to your place. Drive safe,” he said.
“I will.”
Playfully pulling him towards her car, she managed to convince him that just a few more shivering kisses wouldn’t hurt.
****
Continue reading on your kindle here for $3.99. 🙂
Buy It Today – The Divorce and Doom of Simon Pastor, by Pete Deakon
Okay. Here it is. The Author’s Preface and Chapter One are below. Tomorrow’s post will be Chapter Two, but then you gotta buy it. Enjoy! (Click on the image to go to Amazon. Or here.)
Author’s Preface
Looking back, I am certain that in his last months with us Simon Pastor was aware that his journey’s end was nearing. Those of us closest to him have since discussed the sadness his eyes betrayed no matter how large his smile during those last few months. And I, especially, feel a heavy burden because he once told me that when I tell his story (“and tell it you must!” he’d implore) that I need to get it right, that I need to share everything. In honor, then, of Simon Pastor’s wishes I have chosen to write this book. His will granted me access to everything of his, including his laptop and phone. I have, of course, taken dramatic license with some parts of his story, but when you read a text exchange or email exchange, know that it is verbatim, typos and all.
Chapter 1
Men get stuck. Simon Pastor was no different. Like every man he reached a turning point which defined all actions thereafter. Unlike some men, however, Simon fell prey to this moment. It overwhelmed him. It consumed him. And eventually it killed him.
Trauma is usually found within these turning points. I say trauma to emphasize the sheer shock of the event and its aftermath. Combat is the trigger for some, the senseless unexpected death of a loved one for others. For Simon, the event was his divorce.
When men are confronted by these moments, they respond in one of two ways. Either they grow or they get stuck. And I don’t mean to imply that men have an equal chance of responding in either of the two ways, not at all. Most men get stuck. Most are not equipped with the skills and tools necessary to deal with the trauma. Poor Simon wasn’t.
“Simon, here, is a virgin,” said Brian. “He’s holding out for his one true love.”
Simon was, in fact, a virgin. But this did not make him any different from the rest of the eighteen year old college freshmen in the dorm room. The dorm room’s dominant feature was the two twin beds lofted into the air by homemade wooden stands, which made the shape of an L in the corner. The room’s current tenants each hung bed sheets from the ceiling in order to conceal any co-ed sports that may or may not occur on the beds. This was standard practice among the dorm’s residents. The beds being in the air also created more space for the young men to come together for intimate conversations. In the case of Brian’s room, this room, a love seat was under one of the beds. Two more 1950s style wooden desk chairs and one crummy bean bag chair completed the room’s seating arrangement.
“You laugh,” Simon replied, “but I actually did sign a ‘True Love Waits’ card once. With others, I walked it up to the front of the church during a special service and everything. A public vow between God and I. You ever made a commitment to anything higher than yourself before? Any of you?”
It’s what we loved about Simon. He was honest to a fault and all heart.
“That depends on your definition of high, Simon,” Chris offered to a general laughter among the guys.
Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Simon took a breath.
“Is it on my back? My forehead?” he asked, pretending to wipe off a mark. “Why is it everywhere I go this is the most frequently discussed thing? No, I haven’t had sex. Yes, I’d like to save myself for marriage. And yes, I’m proud of this and could not care less who knows. But I do hope that we can someday talk about something, anything, else,” he lamented. “How about Josh? He was so drunk he pissed on his own computer the other night. Isn’t that interesting?”
General merriment accompanied Josh’s inadequate rebuttal.
For Simon, college was infinitely better than high school in every way save this one. In high school, while every boy talked about having sex, only a select few had actually gained carnal knowledge. In college, however, Simon soon found himself in the minority. And given the general lack of responsibilities that come with attending American universities, everyone soon knew.
He once shared with me, though, that almost to a man, when in a one-on-one conversation, the guys would admit that they respected him for his decision. I knew I did. It was not difficult to see why. Simon believed in principles. He believed in virtue. And that is rare.
****
Buy it today. Chapter Two tomorrow.
Coming To Amazon This Week – The Divorce and Doom of Simon Pastor, by Pete Deakon
Simon Pastor believed he had never been hurt before. By the time he found himself in an uncontrolled cycle of hurting his wife, he realized that was not true. He felt his wife had hurt him. Then he hurt her. And hurt her. And hurt her. Finally, he divorced her. But that didn’t stop the hurt.
The Divorce and Doom of Simon Pastor is an explicit look at innocence and hurt. It is not about innocence lost, but about innocence never had. It is about the most destructive kind of hurt. A shameful tale of his descent into madness, The Divorce and Doom of Simon Pastor offers an unencumbered look into one man’s failed marriage and failed divorce.
Captain’s Log 