Joseph's Story

by Anna Erickson

Throughout my life I was taught what it meant to be a gentlemen, how to make my bed, and morals of which I life by; I learned about math, biology, and stocks; I experienced the taste of a good wine, the lips of a lover, and the essence of a cup of coffee. But never was I taught how to find myself. 9 years old turning to pages of magazines, ads on the tv, and the men in my life to find who I  was suppose to be like. So I bowed my head, prostrating myself to the man that I meant to be stepping into who I should be. 

Now I’m sitting at my desk, with a cup of coffee, black as always, and my old computer. Looking from the outside one could categorize me as your average 72 year old wrinkled papa, stereotypically grim, wise, sometimes crack a joke and sometimes over react. But...

I feel the regret.

If I had my life to live over again I’d refuse to be perfect and make more mistakes this time; I’d take little things more seriously and big things less seriously. I would live my life running into more troubles but I’d be okay with that and I’d thrive knowing I was doing the most I could. I’d live without routine, leave my house without an umbrella, a coat, or a parachute and live in situations taking each moment at a time as they come.

I plead to you, you young soul, that you never give up yourself to the glass figure of the man you are expected to be, as you squeeze to fit into the frame it will only crack and shatter, never stretch to fit who you are. 72 years old and I have never claimed the man that I am, repeatedly living under the identity of another. Never have I met the man I am. Now I’m old, near my end, and don’t know how to be who I am. I scream out silently that you will be an example to me, in these last years that I have teach me what it means to be truly free, because, hell, I know I have never been.