The Lise and Fallies of Sean Lawlor Nelson

At 3, I fiercely demanded and received a pair of yellow shoes from
my Swedish grandma; the next day my tatooed grandpa taught me something
about war on a handsomely carved marble chess-set.
At 8, I began my career picking up an equestrian neighbor's pine-cones
at five cents a unit.
At 11, I read "Singularity," in which a younger brother grows far older
and stronger than his big brother.
At 14, I bought a triple mocha and paced through Herman Hesse's
"Steppenwolf."
At 16, I earned the first of many pay-checks by writing an article in
praise of the virtue patience.
At 18, a charming friend named Phil wrote in my yearbook that I was the
most popular kid in school; I smiled all day.
At 19, I grew my hair long, smoked an eighth of weed and discovered
that there's no place like away from home.
At 20, I borrowed a bible from a meth-dealer, who also showed me how to
use the jail's phone.
On my 21st birthday, I saw more naked women in one night than I ever
had before; on the way home, I almost entered the free-way via the exit
ramp.
At 21 and 3 months, I was a knave floating between heaven and earth...
and wrote a poem about the view.
At 21 and 6 months, I slept with a bomb-shell blonde, an aspiration
with roots in the days of tether-ball and times tables.
At 21 and 9 months, I sent my collected literary ship off to foreign
waters.
At 22, I gained an appreciation for the wisdom of my tarot-card
reading, multi-tasking driver of a Mom.
At 22 and 3 months, I graduated with a literature degree and celebrated
in Mexico with a case of Tecates and a host of wonderfully primitive
fish; I admired their sublime colors and they admired my huge, tough
fins.
At 22 and 6 months, I visited my grandparents' handsome head stones,
beautiful amid a sea of weeds and desert oaks, and wonder what it all
meant.