My
friend Beth always asks me why I call us circus people.
I
always answer that it’s quite obvious, but for Beth the obvious always eludes
her like sympathy for a much maligned devil.
I’ve
always felt the most at home on the Island of Misfit Toys because the
lower your expectations are the more likely you are to dance successfully
beneath the limbo stick.
My
uncle Marc told me recently no one he asked had a single, good thing to say
about me and my only response to that is consider the source and how you can
never trust a racist especially one who throws their own people under the
senior bus and then goes on their merry way.
All
my life I’ve been misunderstood because I always call it exactly how I see it
with no rose tinted lenses to obscure my view from the cheap seats.
My
father once told me I was a survivor and I still hold so dearly onto those
words because it’s the one and only time he actually was there for one of his
children without first thinking of himself.
I’m
Jewish and Sicilian which means I’ll kill you and then feel guilty about it
later or even better make someone else feel guilty as I go out for New Year’s
at any Chinese restaurant that will still have me.
Circus
people are just like any other people on this planet meaning they wipe both
their mouths and their asses before finally calling it quits and getting into
the fetal position.
My
dad has always had a thing for fruitcake and circus peanuts two things most
people cannot abide and that’s okay because most people cannot stand me the
first time they meet me until they realize I’m the only game in town and they
best pony up before all the seats are sold and you’re left standing in a Roman Colosseum of your own meager devising.
Charles Cicirella
12/31/19
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