Things I've Done

This evening I made a drink and began a mental list of things I would like to do before I am done. This eventually led me to a pad of paper and a pen with black ink and a free association ramble of things I have done.

It occurs to me I’ve had it pretty good over the years:

I’ve driven a pristine yellow Stingray up the fabled Grapevine Highway in southern California.

I’ve watched numerous sunsets in Key West, Florida.

I’ve flown an airplane (during a lesson).

I’ve dipped my toes in the Mediterranean Sea.

I’ve eaten squid in Barcelona.

I’ve eaten kangaroo, emu, and camel in Sydney Australia.

I shook the hands of authors Harry Crews, Larry brown, and Kinky Friedman.

I drank a $9.00 can of Coors in Tokyo, Japan.

I’ve seen Rock City.

I’ve caught a 20 lb. catfish.

I was propositioned by a cute hooker in Manhattan.

I’ve been to the Grand Canyon.

I got sunburned in Washington D.C. and then went to see Les Miserables.

I saw Marvelous Marvin Hagler fight Mustafa Hamsho in Chicago, IL.

I lost a kidney.

I’ve been to the dog races in Miami.

I’ve been to the horse races in Kentucky.

I’ve had crab cakes on the harbor in Baltimore.

I’ve seen the largest Fir in the world in Oregon.

I’ve seen the Lewis & Clark statue at Seaside, OR.

I’ve had many Cuban cigars.

I’ve had a gun pulled on me.

I’ve been arrested.

I rode in the backseat of a police cruiser once occupied by O.J. Simpson.

I’ve been in love.

I’ve published over 30 poems.

I edited a 500+ page book on the Civil War (The Civil War and the Press).

I earned a Master of Arts degree in Literary Studies.

I once saw Michael Stipe in a bar in Athens, GA.

I’ve been skinny dipping.

I’ve been to a Bar Mitzvah.

I think I saw a ghost once.

I’ve ridden the subways in New York, Boston, Barcelona, and Tokyo.

I climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

I’ve been to Fenway Park.

I once held a book signed by William Faulkner.

I’ve been to the Masters golf tournament.

I was at the only NFL game in which Walter Payton was ejected (Atlanta, 1980).

I’ve been a pallbearer. Twice.

I was once on the same airplane as Tommy Lasorda.

I am in possession of an album autographed by Elvis Presley (to my father).

I was a product of bussing in the 1970s.

I turned 18 in the French Quarter.

I once stood on a railroad track and mooned an oncoming train.

I’ve eaten squirrel and pigeon.

I’ve ridden in the trunk of a car.

I’ve been on a date with a stripper.

I once choked on a piece of candy.

I saw Jimmy Connors at the Hard Rock Café in New York City.

I swam in the Gulf of Mexico.

I was accosted by a band of female gypsies in Spain.

I saw Spike Lee give a speech at the University of GA.

I planted a Japanese Maple.

I touched the Lincoln Memorial.

I was in a car wreck in Savannah, GA.

I’ve voted in the past five presidential elections.

I ducked a punch in a bar fight.

I once had a pen pal named Faye.

I’ve totaled a golf cart.

I saw my son baptized.

I’ve fired a 357 Magnum.

I’ve been to the Blue Mountains in Australia.

I’ve owned a home.

I’ve been to the Whisky a Go-Go.

I was once bitten on the ass by a dog.

I’ve been deep sea fishing.

I’ve been to the Ryman Auditorium many times.

I took AMTRAK from Portland, OR to Seattle, WA.

I’ve ridden a city bus in Seattle.

I’ve been to Pike’s Place Fish Market.

I’ve been to the top of the Empire State Building.

I’ve been on television.

I’ve had stitches.

I tried to ride a unicycle.

I wrecked a motorcycle.

I held a guitar owned by Mickey Newbury.

I tried out as an extra for a Robert Redford movie.

I saw firsthand the aftermath of Hurricane Andrew.

I was a dinner guest of a cult in California.

I saw Greg Maddux pitch.

I once saw Muhammad Ali from a distance.

I’ve climbed the steps of the Segrada Familia.

I drank Jim Beam from a flask in Sanford Stadium (UGA).

I’ve been unemployed.

I’ve jumped a slow-moving train.

I’ve wept at a funeral.


And I am but a little more than halfway through this episode of Ryan’s Follies. When I get a little down or begin to slow dance at the gate of self-pity, I think I’ll recall this list that came to me with shockingly little effort. And by the time I make another list, I will have leapt from an airplane, become fluent in Spanish, toured Ireland and Scotland, published a novel, and—perhaps—penned a successful screenplay.

And I will continue to marvel at the Boy whose cord I cut, whose faith I approved, and whose very existence will forever be the thing of which I am most proud.