Hello everyone, everywhere,
I call it the good fight because every day, each and every one of us has to get up and face a world that just can’t seem to get itself together. There’s so much hate on one side and anger on another side, and then there’s disbelief over in this corner, and then there’s complete breakdown in the other corner. So there you have the four corners, as I see it anyways. The good fight, really, is getting up and dealing with yourself and saying, yeah, I’m going to try to be the best person I can be today. If I can go through a day not hurting somebody or not being yelled at by somebody, anybody, that’s a good day.

I think the good fight really means you have to never give up on life. You have to believe in humanity. You have to believe in something more than just the end of the day. But sometimes getting through to the end of the day is the good fight. I take solace in knowing that you all are doing the very  best you can every day. And the rest of us are darn glad about it.
That’s all.

And now it’s time to close our eyes and our thoughts and rest. Until we meet again at Beecher’s Farm Equipment and Lingerie Shop on the corner of Horner Avenue and Kotter Boulevard, here is a story that I call…



 Before I tell you the lollipop story I have to tell you that this is a true story. As was last week’s airplane story.

When I was four, one winter’s day I got my girlfriend (who has also four) from next door. We were playing outside, and I guess I said to her, “Do you want to go get some candy?” She goes, “Sure!” So we start walking. Well best I can remember, we’ve walked eight blocks and we walked into a local big grocery store and we walked right up to this barrel of lollipops. It had these two handles on it. So I said to my girlfriend, “Here’s the candy. Grab a handle.” And we walked it out of the store. We got halfway across the parking lot, and I guess, as the story goes, that’s when the manager of the store raced out and caught us. Apparently you can’t go to the store and just take the lollipops. You have to buy them. And I’m pretty sure you can’t go when you’re four.

Well needless to say (this was the fifties), it took awhile for everybody to get panicked.  Until the police dropped us off at home. It did not go so well after that. My dad said something like, “Have you met my belt yet?” And  I said, “No and I would rather not.” (I’m pretty sure that’s not the wording I used at the time).

Apparently my dad’s belt and my butt met that day. Four times. Not really hard but hard enough to put the fear in me.

So began my career as a  bad boy and so ended my life as a lollipop taker.

That’s it.


By jamesghutcheson

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