By the second week I learned that Texans sweat as much
as the French, and swear even more, that you couldn’t fight one
twin without taking on the other. But the librarian would slip me
the choicest donated fiction, and I played baseball every day in the
vacant lot until sundown called the players home to black and white
body counts and cigarette commercials on the three channels we got.
Sometimes I lay in bed under the half-light of the whirring fan
blades, and dreamt of heroes and ornithopters, zebras and the scent
of chocolate chip cookies in the oven. Other nights I wondered
how words could rest so calmly on one page yet explode off the next,
or why a man would climb a tower in Austin to kill fourteen people.
Wasn’t living a matter of simple subtraction?
One by one the days parted and I walked through the dwindling
heat, eyes squinting, questions in hand, emerging fifty years later
having suffered the mathematics of love and success, honor and
truth, still asking why and how, where it’d gone, shoulders slumped
under the heft of those beautiful, terrible summers stacked high
like so many life-gatherings of unread books awaiting a bonfire.
Robert Okaji, O at the Edges
A Holistic Journey 
Reblogged this on O at the Edges and commented:
My guest blog post is now up on A Holistic Journey. Many thanks to Holistic Wayfarer for the invitation.
Beautiful reflective writing
Thank you, Robyn. It was an interesting time. I have a feeling that the cultural shift of moving from France to Texas would affect me much more today. At that time, and at seven-years old, change occurred daily.
Do you think we deal less well with change as we age?
I think it depends upon circumstances. In childhood, change was the norm. I grew up wondering what living in one place for more than a few years would be like. But now I’ve lived in the same house for over 30 years, and a drastic shift in locale and culture would be more difficult. It would likely be enjoyable, too. But difficult.
You captured a Texas summer so well. Made me feel nostalgic.
That summer was memorable. The heat, the sameness – everyone spoke English- the different sounds and odors. Made a huge impression.
What prompted the move to Texas?
My Dad was in the army, and the French decided that a U.S. military presence was no longer necessary. He was transferred to Fort Hood, and we moved to Copperas Cove.
Poetic and lyrical, I enjoyed the writing as much as the content.
I hope you’ve found answers now or at least, are comfortable with unanswered questions.
Thank you. The answers no longer seem to matter much. But life would be much less interesting without questions!
Beautifully written and evocative piece.
Thank you, Miriam. I’m so pleased it resonates with you.
I liked the part where you come toward the end of life with those summers having stacked up and find time to ask questions about the meaning of all those summers passed.
It’s interesting to look back at those days. I have more questions than answers, as is usual for me.
My favorite bit: “Other nights I wondered how words could rest so calmly on one page yet explode off the next.” I hope you no longer try to take on twins but still dream of heroes, chocolate chip cookies and zebras. Won’t begin to pretend I know anything about ornithopters:). Beautifully put–all of it.
I never really wanted to take on the twins, but had no choice. We became friends, but for a while it was touch and go. And yes, chocolate chip cookies still rank high in my life. Thank you for your kind comments.
Very nice! Loved “suffered the mathematics of love and success” How true.
Thank you, Jan. Mathematics and I have shared a strained relationship at times, but we have reconciled. 🙂
Priceless childhood memories expressed quite lyrically. Good reading.
Those days have become even more valuable as time passes. Thank you.
Reading it so early in the morning, it uplifts me.
Glad to hear that, Peter. My coffee is lifting me this morning.
I wanna go visit Texas so badly! Been to Arizona in the springtime, which was nice… but the tapestry of culture that is the modern-day southwest… 👌
You should visit, but avoid the summer (unless you enjoy heat)!
Thank you so much, D, for introducing me to Robert. Robert, there’s a sensitivity and honesty in your writing rarely found. No pretentiousness. So glad to have come across this today.
Ditto on the thank you for the introduction, and thank you, DB for your kind comments and support.
You’re very welcome and you’re very welcome! I love bringing people together. *grin*
And you do it so well!
Powerful piece – clear, crisp, and enticing!
Thanks, V.J. I’d not thought much about those days in quite a while, and found it interesting to revisit them.
Amazing piece. I love the way you captured childhood impressions of a young boy and hinted at future unravelings of your questions. I was born in Houston and lived there until I was 10. I didn’t know how sweltering the summers were until I visited Texas years later
Thank you. Oh, the summers can be miserable. We lived without air conditioning then. I can’t imagine that now.
Yes. I lived in Mississippi without air conditioning throughout high school. Awful humidity.
A poet, I have noticed, even when he writes prose, cannot but be a poet: “mathematics of love and success” indeed!
One of life’s hazards, Nazir. 🙂
Robert, I’ve been following your poetry since I began blogging a few years ago and you are one of the best on WordPress. Your poem carried me along changed my mindset and reminded me of my ability to use my memorable moments to experience yours, if that makes sense. That’s what gifted writers do, in my experience, and an audience is all the better for it.
I just moved away from Texas after nearly 10 years. The humidity can kill a weak soul if it wants to, can’t it?! Ha. My best, Audrey
Now I’m blushing, Audrey. Thank you. Isn’t that what writers do? Attempt to transfer experiences to others? Sometimes we’re successful, sometimes, well, it just doesn’t work out. But we keep trying.
I think poets have an incredible ability to transfer emotions, as you say, and experiences. No need to blush. Just wanted you to know your writing is accepted as solid work. Thankful to be reading. Enjoy your weekend!
I thought it was interesting how you combined feelings with mathematics and play with order to describe your Texas summer. Our experiences speak to both sides of our brains to make a lasting impression!
They do, indeed!
Beautiful and lyrical writing but I got stuck on the last phrase:
“like so many life-gatherings of unread books awaiting a bonfire.”
I understand the weight of unread books but where does the “awaiting a bonfire” come in? What does it mean or relate to?
I’m a proponent of letting readers find their own meanings, but one might read the line as an acknowledgment of waste, or perhaps the fire is a benediction of sorts, or a cleansing, or simply a realization that everything ends, or…
“choicest donated fiction” Which is why you emerged 50 yrs later writing choice poetry whose words rest calmly on one page and explode off the next. Great imagery in that last paragraph.
Thank you, Diana. Mrs. Shepherd was a blessing. Much of what I read back then came from her. She recognized my love for words and encouraged it. I have been so fortunate.
Beautiful words that capture perfectly childhood memories against a time of change for you.
Thank you, Andrea. It was an interesting time in my life.
Pingback: Bonjour, Texas: Summer 1966 – Truth Troubles: Why people hate the truths' of the real world
Pingback: Summer 1966: After France & Remembering Bobby, Who One Day Would Learn to Multiply and Divide, Write Love Poems, Define Home, Fight Unfairly and Live with as Much Gusto as a 7-Year Old. Perhaps. | O at the Edges
Pingback: Summer 1966: After France & Remembering Bobby, Who One Day Would Learn to Multiply and Divide, Write Love Poems, Define Home, Fight Unfairly and Live with as Much Gusto as a 7-Year Old. Perhaps. | O at the Edges