Rex's Tiny Swimming Pool

Part 2 of 30 -- Psycho Squad

One of the common causes of mental malaise -- the feeling of it, no secret to anyone -- has to do with the things we own, possessions and status. And that's nothing to mess with. Ask anyone. I know because I've lived, been there and learned. You look out on the world and see others more prosperous than yourself and wish you had it as good. In this case, this guy's hopeless feelings were as obvious as anything: a heavy dose of envy, jealousy that he didn't have a swimming pool like his neighbors.

I grew up in an average town, and guess what, the neighbors across the road had their own swimming pool! And there was my family. When we wanted to swim, we had to do it in farm ponds (with relatives) or the state park that had an average beach. But one time I did get to swim in their pool, a really fun experience. All these decades later, it's no longer there; it's been filled in and is just a lawn. With the neighbors gone, who knows where, probably heaven. Proving the old adage, You can't take it with you. Unless they actually did, since, again, it's not there any more.

Anyway, we know people tend to get anxious if they worry too much about things: What's wrong with me? Why can't I have nice things? With enough thinking like that their eyes glaze over and they're not quite with it. I'd guess all of us have suffered it at least mildly. You just can't allow it to get too strong a hold on you because then you can't be happy. Instead, if you're always able to look on the bright side, the things of your life, what you do have, that helps. Compared to lots of people in the world, you're miles ahead! I said to this guy, "You've got a tub, Rex! OK, it's not a swimming pool, but it's the next best thing, a little pool." A personal pool. Certainly a guy can bathe in a tub. Plus, I bet he's even got a bathtub somewhere; in the bathroom going by educated guesses.

All Rex needed to do was step back and realize how great he had it. But in the people-business -- in the Psycho Squad we do lump Pool Envy with the broader condition of General Envy as at least proto-psychotic behavior. And if you think that's weird, I had to help a guy once with Lunch Meat Envy. How can anyone have that? you wonder. Yeah, that is weird; I ate so much lunch meat as a kid I'd go ballistic if anyone even suggested it. My team wrestled me to the ground once when I merely saw a lunch meat sandwich. The only way they could bring me out of the delirium was rubbing cheese under my nose.

I didn't rub it in with Rex in this case. Just coaxed him along, assuring him I was there to help. "Go put on some trunks. We'll warm the water and I bet you'll be thankful after all for what you've got, a pretty nice tub! You know, Rex, they don't have tubs as nice as this in Pakistan..." Rex soaked for 20 minutes, smiling the whole time, a happy ending for all.

5 Scenarios How My Life Might've Gone

For this you gave me life? Was this your intention when you brought me into the world? Is this the life I'll always have or should I expect another? Woe is me!

Probably all of us, the frequency depending on how terrible things have gone for you, have considered our lives and whether they're all they could have been. It's just something you do, no matter how vain, no matter how fruitless, especially in those times of the greatest loneliness, heartache, and despair. I've done it many, many times, and I've got the bruises on my forehead and the damage on the drywall to prove it.

O! Could things have gone differently? Just a little tweak here or there, a road, a path not taken, a fork in the road I straddled! What would it have taken? More education, psychiatric help, lessons in elocution, or perhaps dancing? I'm as good as anyone else, right? Two arms, two legs, my only real flaw my painful game toe, but if I keep my shoes on, no one sees it.

We take stock like that, which basically comes down to comparing ourselves with others. Again, no matter how vain or fruitless it is. Because wish as you may ... the face in the mirror is always the same. Even though I still have the theory -- and I hope someone will back me up on this -- that if you sit and meditate strenuously enough that your inner essence will rise through your head and you can take possession of some other life form, be it animal, mineral, or another person. I've tried it enough. But my essence always ends up on the couch, looks around and gets scared, and immediately rushes back home.

Until I get that right, I really only have two choices: 1) Be content and even thankful that I am who I am and make the most of it, a very levelheaded approach; or, 2) Waste my life by stewing over it, always imagining, always wondering how life might've gone, if only ... Given the choice, then, and stating it clearly like that, and being fully aware that Number 1 is the only real option, I'm taking Number 2.

SCENARIO 1 - Things could've been much worse. I could've been born in an oddball place, to totally strange parents, and been a mangled physical wreck right from the start. Like some of the gator catchers, turtle catchers, cat whisperers, hog-fishers, and other assorted human vermin on current reality TV shows. Still, the advantage those folks have over me is that they do have TV shows, and they're making big money, because the weirder the better. But my advantage is long-term, because those shows will go out of favor someday, and in their despondency they'll get eaten.

SCENARIO 2 - I might've pursued a life in politics. They emphasized politics and government when I was in school, since it was a time when they were pushing for 18-year-olds to vote, and idealism was rife. We thought we could change the world; other kids thought that. Fortunately, I was one of the few who was able to look at it all askance, knowing that politics is a complete dead end. If you want to be instantly corrupted, go into politics! You're always in someone's pocket, your service is worthless to the general public, and no one likes you. Look at it this way: We've had politics forever and Republicans still exist. That's not progress.

SCENARIO 3 - I should've learned music. Seriously. I see someone playing the piano and I think, That could've been me! Or the guitar, which I can play half ass. Or the auto-harp, to me a complete mystery. Or the harmonica. I seriously think I could've been a major star, one of those guys who comes out with long tails and bows five or six times, lights his candelabra, and enthralls the people with yet another version of "Voices of Spring," which I know from the Three Stooges movie, Micro-Phonies. I often think of the Three Stooges when I hear other guys singing classical music, like arias, and how they shot grapes and bananas with their fingers into the singer's mouth. That might be why I never learned music.

SCENARIO 4 - I might've gotten a better education. As it was, I couldn't wait to get out of school. I think it was the 4th grade, after we learned arithmetic, that I figured up by addition precisely (more or less) how many days it was till I graduated. Then I stole about 130 rolls of toilet paper from the pantry and had it strung all over my room, so I could pull off one small sheet for each day of school that went by. It was OK till about the 8th grade, when my dad finally decided enough is enough. He came in and literally tore down one whole corner, and ended up wiping his ass with my whole junior year.

SCENARIO 5 - I could've run away and who knows what might've happened! It's just like in time travel movies, change one little thing and everything else changes. Let's say I had run away after my dad did that. I always had this theory that I could run very far to the north if I just set my mind to it. I sort of halfway tried it once and stepped on a thorn before I got out of town and had to go home and go to the emergency room. But my theory still stands. If I could avoid thorns, I could run far, far away.

Then I'd get a job with a carnival or circus, like Toby Tyler, and meet all sorts of interesting people. I might've charmed the Snake Woman and started a little brood of my own. Or, who knows? A wayward evangelist might've kidnapped me and taken me on the road, having me repeatedly saved and/or healed in his services. He could've performed the lengthening-the-short-leg trick on me. Then we would've sent KFC buckets through the congregation, getting enough love offerings to be rich.

At some point, no doubt he would've caught me in the embrace of a naked girl in a barn, and from there the imagination just has to assume my life would've been one happy ending after another, with her or others. Continuously rolling in the hay, all over the country, going from barn to barn. Which I'd still be doing today. Rolling in the hay and rolling over and saying, "Was it good for you?"

1897 -- Eighteen Something

Anytime I hear the word "Eighteen" with other numbers following I immediately think of Grandpa Slump, who, of course, was born in 1897.

I went over that a little bit on Jan. 24, which was his birthday. I heard the number today -- how much something cost -- and it was $18.31 -- leading me to say, "At least it wasn't $18.97."

How can one man's birth year stick so close to my ribs? There must have been other things that happened in the entire year of 1897. I'm sure of it. Leading me to do a little study...

It turns out -- and this is a great coincidence -- that Moe Howard was born in 1897 too! The fact that Grandpa was such a great fan of The Three Stooges suddenly makes more sense. Moe and Grandpa were babies together! Getting their diapers changed at the same time. I saw a Three Stooges movie the other day, "Idiots Deluxe," the one where Moe is mad at the other Stooges because of all the grief they caused him when he was sick and not wanting any noise, and they're in court to try the case. The judge asks Moe, "Were you ever indicted?" And Moe gets all baby faced and says, "Not since I was a baby, your honor." Moe thinks he meant "in diapers!" Well, that's exactly what he was in when he and Grandpa Slump were babies!

There's dear Moe, one of my (and Grandpa's) biggest heroes, also born in 1897. What do you know about that! It was a very good year.

Then there was also death in 1897. Including my most favorite saint of all times, St. Teresa of Lisieux, the Little Flower. She died mid-year in 1897. I've been batting it around mentally, so if this is some kind of heresy, please forgive me. But what if? -- and I know the dates don't jibe at all -- but there might be some kind of delay for saints and their souls -- what if Grandpa, born in January 1897 were actually the reincarnation of St. Teresa, who died at the end of September? Since saints might have enough soul for two bodies, and since she was already deathly sick in 1896, part of her soul might have taken up residence in the fetus that was to become my Grandpa Slump, then mid-year, coincidentally about the time that Moe Howard was being born (not really part of this theory), when the rest of her soul left her body in Lisieux, it might have migrated to the United States and filled out the remaining soul presence for Grandpa.

Going by this theory, Grandpa's soul would have come to him in a two-part bestowal, giving him the soul of a saint. That might also explain why he was such an unsaintly character through his life, because St. Teresa lived out all her goodness in that one existence and needed for that reason to live out her shadow side in her next incarnation. But it's just a theory, and, alas, I don't know any other way to prove it. My actual opinion on the subject is that it's not likely and, really, no doubt false. But it's a lark to think about. The idea that I grew up with St. Teresa and didn't know it. That'd be cool. I don't really believe in reincarnation, but if there were such a thing it'd be far more likely, statistically, that everyone would be reincarnated as average people, there not being enough famous people to go around.

If we were going to get technical, it'd be more likely that Moe was her reincarnation. Since he was born June 19 and Teresa died at the end of September, he's closer to her date than Grandpa. You still have a few soul gymnastics -- and I think the saintly soul theory is as good as any -- to give Moe part of her soul in June, then to receive the rest upon her demise in September. You tell me it's impossible! But I say it is, and Moe acts out the shadow side part of my theory probably even better than Grandpa.

1897, what a year!