Woody

If I had to sum ‘em up
If I had to describe a people, a clan, a work in progress, art in motion
A blood line
Mine.
It would go something like this.
These Woody’s – they are my family. Mi Familia.
They are dreamers and orators and writers and philosophers
They do not toil in the boringness of life
They are vibrant and persuasive
They are mouthy and bold
They are strong – no I mean, really strong
They live by a ‘code’ always
Each person’s code just a little different, but it is strong and overrides all else – even love for each other.
They love music and poetry
Politics – oh how they love their politics!!!
And their Thanksgiving.
And God.
They have compassion for causes and people, but lose sight of that same compassion when faced with each other.
They are so forgiving of strangers and hold grudges with one another that they carry to their graves.
They talk too much and fail to listen as often as they should – really listen.
They are always speaking their mind and telling the truth – who it hurts be damned.
They are farmers and workers and party animals and judgers and trend setters and decision makers
They are passionate and broken and crazy and addicts
Because to love like that requires that you do something – drink, get high, freak out – something!
You will know them at work as the boss, the one you don’t want to cross, the one you know will get the job done – no matter what.
You will know them at a party as the crazy bastard cracking up the crowd, the one passed out in the corner, the one working the room who brought the goods.
You will know them when a song comes on as the one who claps, who moves to the beat, who rocks out and starts a dance party.
You will know them in America as the founders, walking along side the revultionaries.
Who worked their asses off to make a name for themselves and build a life for their off-spring.
And build one they did.
By fighting and mouthing off and standing for something and working and falling in love and having lots of babies!
There are so many of us – I dare you to find a proud American family and not have a Woodworth in their lineage.
I dare you to fuck with one.
It’s like poking a bear.
I don’t know why it’s in our blood, but damn….that sense of fight or flight, that ability to rip your heart out, it’s almost like it comes naturally. Which to be honest, is pretty scary.
They marry up in stability.
The lucky ones find someone so patient, so forgiving, so selfless and so good-natured that they can make a marriage last.
Most of us can’t sustain that kind of kindness for forever, that kind of forgiveness, that kind of acceptance of another’s faults.
To be a friend to a Woody, to be a partner, is to have the thickest skin and loads of forgiveness because we screw up a lot. And we screw up big alot.
And we have so much to learn about being reliable and consistent, kind and unselfish, thoughtful and patient.
But, boy do we live! Boy, do we pack a lifetime into our years. You will never be bored. You will never wonder where you stand with us. We can’t hide it even when we try.
In spite of all this life, their hearts hold up, their legs don’t give out.
They stand, they write, they talk, they share, they work, they dream – they dream BIG, they struggle, they love and they love and they love.
Someday, they will start to see themselves in each other – even when they are awful – especially when they are awful and love each other. More. Honestly. Forever. Without grudge or judgment.
We’ve all been there. And we all need each other. To find forgiveness of others, find forgiveness of ourselves, learn how to be better, learn how to love others better.
We are all opinionated assholes.
And I love you for it.
Woody.