Zen (USA)

When I was a little boy, I used to ask my Pa Paw over and over to tell me the stories about him growing up. He and some boys formed a gang in Roanoke, Alabama and would go around and challenge other gangs to street fights. But not like the street fights of today, there were no knives or guns – it was pure out fist, bone, and blood. As my Pa Paw said, they did it because “they were mean as hell”.

My Pa Paw wasn’t the best fighter. He was quick to tell me he got his ass kicked as much as he kicked ass: bloody noses, black eyes, bruises, scrapes, and stitches.

Sound familiar?

The first thing that always struck me as odd was how peaceful and mellow he was then – when I was little. The only time I ever saw him break into a rage was when an excommunicated uncle threatened to break the tombstone of his recently deceased wife (my aunt, my Pa Paw’s sister) in half. I saw the anger rise in my Pa Paw as he disappeared into a backroom of his trailer. When he came out, he had his shotgun in his hands and was out the door – racing to the family graveyard to protect the grave of his sister.

My Pa Paw had reached a level of “calm” upon reaching his 50s.

And the last time I was home with my father, he had too. My father was the hell raiser that I had grown up and emulated. And when I asked my dad about it, he told me, “The quicker you get to calming down – finding peace – the better your life will be.”

So right now, being so inward and seeking to become a better person. A better friend. A better boyfriend. To tame the rage inside – I needed a reboot. I needed to find “zen”. I need to have my understanding of things.

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