You can knock on a deaf man’s door forever and some of those doors won’t open.
Not because you didn’t knock hard enough, or say the magic words, or wait patiently in the rain. It stays shut because the person inside already decided they weren’t answering the knock.
Then you start talking to the door. You explain, you reason, you plead...
Thinking if they just heard the tone in your voice, they’d remember who you were. Not the story of you, but you.
The parent.
The person that once mattered.
Time has a funny way of turning ears to stone and hearts to echo chambers.
So eventually, you stop knocking.
You turn around and find that the people who need you, really need you, are out in the yard, waiting to go to the playground.
They don’t want to see you shouting at wood. They want to hear your voice again. The happy voice that sounds like Peppa Pig's dad.
So you go with them and walk away from the closed door...
... and maybe one day, when they are older, they’ll walk past that same door and understand.
Today is National Chicken Wing Day. Nothing better than a cold pitcher of Old Style and a plate full of spicy chicken wings.
... and I’m talking wings, not these boneless imposters processed in Olathe, Kansas.
You want chicken wings damnit!
You better be ready to choke on that bone and pull the meat off like a good Catlick girl.
Take the bubble wrap off, get greasy and stack up a big pile of cartilage and wingettes on the side plate. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they eat chicken wings and still keep the beer glass clean.
Where is your "go to" for chicken wings?
