Bimpsies Can Hurt, Too

In lieu of actual creativity, I've decided to paste an email exchange that my sister and I had earlier today. Then, I might even try to cover another topic once in a while, so as not to depress myself or my readers (all three or four of you!) any further...



FROM: BIMPSY

TO: BOONZIE



I read your latest entry yesterday at work (bad idea). I started crying at

my desk. The bathroom is at the back of my office so I had to sprint back

there with my head down and the tears rolling. Argh!!



Last night when I left work, I was just so exhausted and sad. I've been

sleeping at night, but I don't have any dreams and I do that thing where my

body jumps involuntarily right when i'm about to fall asleep. That's so

freaky! I hate it! So feeling exhausted and sad, I decided to take the

"long way" home. All that means is that I get on the train that does a loop

around downtown and then takes me back north (you'll see when you get

here--i'm planning your itinerary). This route home crosses the river which

is my favorite view of Chicago, it still makes me giddy. It's been snowing

here for over 24 hours straight. We have a foot of snow by my apartment and

there is more in the suburbs. The city is even more spectacular when it's

covered in snow and when we crossed the river it was just so pretty. I

immediately wanted to call dad and tell him how it looked. . . . even more

sad. I decided I didn't want to go home so I got off on State Street by the

Chicago Theater. I wandered over to see what was coming up on the schedule.

In Februaray there is a concert of singer/songwriters. Most of the

artists I've never listened to--except for Lyle Lovett--but the names

sounded familiar because of Dad. I just sort of wandered around State

Street looking in store widows (State Street is famous for it's store

windows). I really didn't have a reason.


It was snowing like crazy and I had to walk up to Michigan Avenue to catch

my bus. Snow like this apparently throws everyone because the streets were

fairly empty and I was just walking while the snow fell on the city. I'm

looking at all of these old, huge, ornate buildings wondering about their

architecture, their history and the like. I remembered how Dad could give

some sort of back ground on just about everything and I wished that he could

tell me what he knew about the Wrigley Building. It felt good to walk

around in the city I now call home, but I was just so sad that dad would

never get to see it. I was just imagining him hobbling along Wacker Drive

with his cane telling me som obscure fact about the Chicago River, then we'd

stop and get a Chicago Hot Dog and sit on a bench underneath a three-bulb

light post that inevitabley dad would know why there were three bulbs

instead of just one.



Why did stories or information from Dad seem more definitive then if it came

from a different source? I think that's one of the big issues for me: I've

lost one of my major reference points in life and I don't know how to

replace it--I don't want to replace it. My tribunal has been fucked with.

When there was big decision to be made, I went down the list of people to

discuss the issue with in a certain order. Mom would give me the

strength/opportunity/you can do it speech. Dad would provide the

philosphical and more romanticized reasons for the endeavor. Dad understood

that part of me; that part of me that needs to wander and experience things.

That part of me that doesn't like to have a routine. I've always felt

like I'm divided equally between mom and dad--mom is everything in me that

is strong and stubborn and dad is everything in me that is free. I'm so

scared that I'll lose that now that I don't have him around to remind to be

that way.



FROM: BOONZIE

TO: BIMPSY


Sambolina,

You know, it's funny that you mention all of that stuff about what it would be like to have Dad in Chicago with you, walking along the streets and taking in the sights, giving you a fresh new perspective on this and that - much like Grandpa would do. In that way, I have always been in awe of how alike Dad and Grandpa were. They each had the ability to present a fact or story about something, someplace, or someone and make it sound like the most interesting thing we'd ever heard. It makes me sad when I think of all of the things that Dad or Grandpa had said that I made a mental note to myself never to forget, and now it seems I hardly remember anything. You take it for granted because you think that they'll be around to tell you the story again, so you'll just catch it next time. Funny that I'm willing to pay much more attention now.



Anyhow, I'm getting sidetracked. Throughout this whole experience, some of the greatest loss I have felt has been for you, especially now that you've really begun your acting career. I wish that Dad, one of your biggest supporters, could still be here to see how far you will go. Your move to Chicago all by your lonesome was a scary thing for Dad and he was worried about you, but his worry was far outweighed by the excitement and pride he felt as you went out to pursue your dreams. Very, very few people in this world do that, Sam, and you have no idea how much respect and admiration you have earned from those of us who have watched you take flight. I know I am in awe almost every day of everything you have accomplished so far and all that awaits you. You are the perfect embodiment of everything Dad was trying to do at your age except that you are an actor and he was a musician. That demo tape that he cut in August of 1973 gives me chills not because it's Dad and it's Dad's voice, but because he was so determined to make it and he worked so hard for it all; you can hear it in every note he sang. Now, years later, you've got your own tape with your TV commercial and skit "demos," your headshots, your background and expertise, and that same fierce determination to succeed. And you will.



I know it's so hard not to think of the times you won't have with Dad now. Of audition stories that he won't hear, calls he'll miss of you saying, "I got the part!", and plays that will open without him in the audience. However, he did see you get to Chicago, to see you living out your dream the same way he once did, and that made him the happiest and proudest person alive. And I do like to think that Dad will be there somehow, beaming with pride and watching as the curtain goes up on your official debut. It's not the same thing - I know it isn't. It's not him walking you down the aisle, holding his grandkids someday, or just being a phone call away to guide us through some new drama. Those physical, tangible things we need to hold onto to make us know that he's here and that he's experiencing our lives will no longer be within our reach. You broke my heart that day you called from the airport, crying about how none of the male friends of yours that Dad knew would be in the cards for you to marry, and that someday when you do get married, it'll be to some guy that Dad never knew at all. I know that's painful; it sucks. This may or may not make you feel any better, but sadly, Dad never really knew Scott, either. Not really.


Dad doesn't need to remind you to be free, Bimps. You do that on your own, because you already are. You are one of the most free-spirited and yet completely grounded dreamers I will ever have the good fortune to know, the others being Mom and Dad, in their own respective ways. Reminding you to be free would be like reminding you to be who you are, which is silly. You just keep going, head up, breathing in and out, every day. And you do it knowing, as Geoff said, that Dad is right beside you. Love you kid.


Boonz