I’m a stocky, hairy, Scots-Irish American.
I like books. Good books. Cigars, not always good ones,
and looking at walls. Not all walls have secrets, or are the same,
but most have something to say, if you listen, or see.
I guess walls are a bit like us. I like us. I cherish all
cultures. I want to know what makes a Scot a Scot, or
an Indian an Indian. I want to learn. I want to cheers
a Russian with a glass of mother’s vodka, and smoke a smoke
with an Iranian. If that’s something they like. I don’t know.
I don’t want to hide what makes us, us. I want to celebrate
these differences and decorate them as an alliance.
My wife took a few photos of me and made it a GIF.
This was just before we moved and I’m as out of shape
as I can be, but that’s OK. I’m vulnerable and comfortable
with looking not my best. I like things to be what they are,
facades never mean anything anyway.
ps, If you ever have a drink with me. Good luck lol
My last name is Taggart. And once was McTaggart. From what I understand
my heritage goes back to the highlands of Scotland. Hope to go there.
New England bands culture with devotion. Where the four seasons are to be experienced and enjoyed, not endured. -M. Taggart
New England consists of six states. Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire, Connecticut, Rhode Island and Massachusetts. Click the link below if you’d like to read a short story which takes place in the valley-farmlands of Western MA.
Is it too simple to say- I love you? Should we create an elaborate scheme to fuel your understanding of three words? Will fluff help to bridge the gap of simpleness. Should we dance on the pillar of a towering mirage only to gain balance enough to hug you? Which is more important, Oh Society! You need so much when it’s the smallest thing that will settle you.
We forget to feed one another because while we grew they taught us to not. WE wanted to. Our brother cried and we fed him and our sister didn’t’ cry, but wanted to be fed, so we fed her too. Now we can’t because they told us to be strong. We’re strong now and we no longer care when our brother or sister cries.
To my unborn son. I have a few things I need to tell you. Soon you’ll be here and then you’ll grow to be a man. You’ll make your own decisions based on your own thoughts. Listen. There are good people and there are bad people. There are even evil people. But know this- The color of the skin does not wear the character within.
Strength of character is a mighty thing. At times you’ll see a child teaching an adult what kindness means. Don’t let this moment elapse without truly seeing. Black, white, red, yellow; this means nothing. Hate, greed, abuse, control for power- all will be forced onto you through out your life. It’ll be up to you to identify and see the true agenda behind each. If we could put a color to these, or place emblems on foreheads, we’d all learn quickly. Color of ones skin does not wear the character within. Love, support, bonding emotions, creating loyalty through kindness and well being. These would be beautiful colors to wear on any skin.
When you lay your head to rest you may replay voices saying otherwise. You’ll remember. -You will witness people harming others for the sake of harming. This is evil. If a white man harms a child; this is evil. If a black man harms a child; this is evil. If you see a black man hugging a child; this is love. If you see a black man hugging his white wife; this is love. If you see a white man hit his wife; this is evil and I ask that you not stand and watch. I ask that you help the wife. Do not turn your back. I say this so simply because we’ve seemingly forgotten how to communicate well in our society. I don’t want to make that mistake with you. It’s too important.
Professionals don’t exist, individuals do. It will be your cross to bear. To truly see.
You may find tears rolling down your cheeks because a mother turned her back on her child. The child wanted to be picked up and raised their arms to their mother. The mother turned her back and you don’t understand why and you cry. You wiped your tears and you walked to the child and you picked the child up and you hugged the child. -We back up and watch. We the people. Now we crowd around and wonder why you did that, and now we cry. We cry because we’ve seen a stranger cross the boundary we’ve accidentally created in our society. A boundary which hurls us to distancing ourselves from helping to heal our people. We cry because we witness your strength of character and we wished we had it too.
I cry because you will be here soon. I cry because I feel what you mean to me and I fear I’ll fail to explain properly. I can only hope you truly see when you look at me. I’m not perfect. I’m perfectly me. I love you.