SOLDIER BOY

I’ve put off shaving my head again but yesterday I notice I’d started wearing hats and stopped trimming my beard and was beginning to look a little Jeepers Creepers. Fortunately everything above my shoulders has the same length. If there was a machine I could stick my entire head in like a pencil sharpener, I’d get one. I call the look “Real Life G.I.Joe” after the Action Figures I avidly collected as a boy. There were Boring Old Plastic Hair G.I.Joes (so last Christmas) and then a complete line with fuzzy scalps intended to suggest “real hair”. It was the same crap they spray on Santa figures to give his suit that extra touch of, uh, realism. In other words, it’s nothing like cloth or hair.

I had the White R.L.GIJ who had a gruff unshaven jaw and the Black R.L.GIJ who looked like O.J. Simpson. They were obviously the GIJ’s of choice over the Plastic Hairs and were the prime tenants of the Headquarters, Jeep and Space Module. The last was a quaint nod to an era when America had some interest in Outer Space. I’d dramatically throw the Gray Capsule off the roof into our apartment pool. Have no fear, Real Life G.I.Joe Hair was (as Real Hair should be) drip-dry, nonplussed, Maintenance Free. They would emerge from their Space Module looking fabulous time after time again.

Quite the *wink wink* couple in hindsight although in my world, Gay didn’t exist yet. It might have been patiently hovering around the edges but it didn’t have a name. Or form or instructions or directions or nuttin’. Speculating now about my immaculate care of my Joes, their extensive wardrobes, the placement of their *wink wink* Headquarters at the foot of my folding closet doors like divine beachfront cliffs... nah. Hadn’t Gone There yet.

They were definitely not dolls. I had no interest in Barbie Stuff. B.S. seemed kinda cheap like Prom dresses from Wal-mart or Kiddy Beauty Queen Clothes. Not really Our Gig, if you catch my drift. Joe’s Stuff was sturdy with little metal snaps or clasps and teeny zippers. Funny, 30 years later, I still love those things on clothes. Hey... wait a minute. I set up their House and they’d drive around the floor. My bedroom furniture was buildings and doors were clifts and if you had asked me, it all made obvious sense. Now that I think about it, not alot of Missions. Just casually getting dressed in your Combat Gear and driving around, like Bar Hopping or Halloween. Doh!

The first concert I ever went to was - from my mouth to god’s ears - David Cassidy. It wasn’t about the music, it was about television!Hollywood!celebrity! coming to Jacksonville, Florida. Having never been to a concert, I had no idea what to expect. I just assumed every concert was 10,000 screaming crazed hormonal teenage girls. When in Rome, natch. So there I was, rushing the stage at the first chord of a Partridge Family song. Aahhhh!!! I stopped to regain my breath and a girl - a twelve year old - stood looking me up and down. “What are you doing here?” she scowled, “ You’re a boy.”

Whaa?? But I thought... I mean... wasn’t there a part about...? The Universe split. Boy Things, please move to the right. Girl Things, to the left. No pushing. Everyone will get a label. Well that sucked the fun out of everything. Within a month, GIJoeaphanalia was stored in my closet. It finally moved to the Big Storage Closet and then disappeared into that Void Where Things Go.

Now I have my real Real Life G.I.Joe Hair. I have my Headquarters. I have Polly who’s fur has not been sprayed on. I have a Jeep. I have pants with lots of pockets and zippers. Whenever I want I enter my Space Capsule and write. I can turn words into buildings or mountains, sitting on the floor like a boy and looking around, taking a drive. No plans, no map, just look at what we want to see.

10:09:15 PM    sro home /