Black Parakeets EXCERPT – They filled the Harbor with ghosts

This month I have been granted the great honor of being a reader at the East Chicago Public library.  It is such a great privilege as I remember being in awe of those who read to me when I was a young boy sitting amongst the books listening eagerly.  Here is a short sample of my experiences at the library.  Enjoy!

– Chad

Next to Franklin was the little library with its brown-brick rectangle of a body and white roof top trim. Its parking lot was either always full or desert empty. It was there in the East Chicago Public Library where we would walk from our grade school and sit for our annual Halloween reading. They told us tales of spooks, specters and those haunting from the other world. They filled the Harbor with ghosts. The librarians would even dress up and wait for us. As we walked through the darkened aisles of books, some witch or warlock, mummy or monster would leap out and reach for us. At some peak of a story’s tale, some librarian in costume would jump out of nowhere. They screamed and so did we in response.

At our age, in the oily shadows, such moments bled raw terror. It was there that I fell in love with the holiday and its terrorizing trappings. It was also there that I fell in love with reading. That act alone, running my astigmatic eyes over pages and pages, cut me differently from the other kids.

 

Scary Feathers!!!!

black-parakeets-childrens-book-coverOh no! Halloween is here but there are too many ideas for costumes! Find out what the Black Parakeet is going to wear for Halloween! Enjoy a Halloween tale by the team behind the best selling “Black Parakeets Only Hatch in December!” Includes activities for all ages!

Get your copy now!  It’s not too late!  Makes for great treat-bag stuffers!  Available here on AMAZON!

 

 

Black Parakeet EXCERPT – “One Man Rapture”

silhouettemanrun_slide-650x300This is definitely a story in the book that holds a special place like no other.  It was the very first anecdote ever written and it technically launched the book!  This is my first 5K run during the Fall Frolic in Hammond, Indiana at Purdue Calumet.  Enjoy! – Chad

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“Sucking Wind” and “A One Man Rapture”

Sunlight. It pours in through the window. It’s a silent intruder and doesn’t knock over any vases or picture frames skulking into my bedroom. It’s just there. Through the blinds and under the midnight blue curtains.

My eyes are already open. Normally they snap wide awake, like Dracula in the movies. I think the Count had the right idea: stay out all night, sleep all day.

But I haven’t really slept. Too excited. Dracula could sleep all day. He didn’t have a race this morning but I did.

A five kilometer race on a Saturday morning. It’s a chilly fifty-five degrees outside. I’m always amazed at how good an idea sounds before you actually have to do it. I’d call myself a dumb ass but why punish myself? Three miles would be doing that for me soon enough.

“You should get checked out by a doctor…”

My mom stood in the doorway of her bedroom and spoke caution. Her voice was soft as if she feared stopping my heart in my chest. Dropping me right in front of her. She has fear in her voice. The fear of burying another child. 23

At Purdue Calumet, it’s brisk. Everything’s moving kind of slow as I walk through the parking lot. There are people stretching, congregating and talking.

There’s a charge in the air, like Christmas shopping.

We line up.

Moving past everyone in line is like walking past buzzing hives. Every individual is popping on the inside. Aside from my sheer excitement there is also my horror at the bright yellow shirt I’m wearing. It was given to us while registering and I needed long sleeves because the air is cool and brisk.

The golden color is bright, like someone bled out a dandelion. Black people don’t wear yellow. With coffee bean brown skin and a bright yellow shirt I look like a giant bumblebee. I am sure people would cover their pop cans if I stopped at a picnic.

We line up, the hardcore runners up front. The walkers in the back and the giant bumblebee in the middle. My weight-lifter friend Don passes by me. We shake hands and wish each other luck. He looks at me and says, “I’m going to try and set my pace. I want to get some kind of decent time…”

He means well. But the no-neck basically told me that I’m too damn slow.

Does he see a turtle instead of a giant bee?

There’s the countdown. We lean into running stances in slow motion.

The air’s silence and cold is broken by the starting-gun crack. Feet pound in unison. Muscles pump and coat over in warm blood and newfound tension. 24

We’re running. At some point, a second or minute ago, it started.

The first mile is grueling because it is boring. I cannot gauge how fast I’m moving and that is a problem. Part of my brain dedicates itself to constant swearing. There’s very little I like about this whole idea. But I started it and I’ll finish it.

Partially because I’m determined.

Mainly because I’m parked by the finish line.

I see one of the hard-core runners at a distance mark. He’s nagging me and annoying me but that’s what he’s like, nagging and annoying. Rail thin and hyperactive.

His constant energy and bony build remind me of those scavenger animals on Discovery. Hyenas would be proud they have a hardcore running type of mascot at Purdue Calumet.

I do SO want to kick his ass and I’m about six times stronger so I could do it.

I just couldn’t catch him.

The mile mark is hit and I’m told I did it in under ten minutes. I’m impressed.

Not cocky or arrogant but impressed because I remember being unable to run. I remember being an overweight child. If we drop the political correctness as did so many on the playground and in the gym, I remember being a fat kid.

Time rolls back and I can hear the taunts, the fat boy taunts. I can feel the laughter against me.

And I run.

Maybe away from what I was. Maybe towards it. Some old ghosts don’t leave unless you chase them out. In this case, maybe I’m running them out.

But what if they can run faster than me?

In the past, they always could.

By the second mile, things are slowing down.

The mile marker guy tells me I’ve hit twenty minutes. Still not bad.

I’m walking more than running. People are passing me by and giving me that “keep up!” and “You can do it!” runner-psycho-babble. Part of me wants to strangle them because I don’t see the fun they must be having. And if I could keep up and if I could do it, wouldn’t I be neck and neck with them rather than lagging behind?

They obviously do not see the devil and angel on my respective shoulders. Both are dressed like bumblebees just like me.

Funny because they both agree. I should stop this race and go home.

I ignore the celestial agreement. I keep running.

A parakeet – Only as Good as its Fall

fallleaves2Fall is here.  And for many like myself, it is the best time of the year.

Why?  Is it the changing leaves?  Is it the moderate temperature, shifting from the fiery test of summer and before the bone chill of winter’s grasp?  Is it the invasion of pumpkin spice into all aspects of humanity?  Or is it the celebration of ghouls and goblins yearning for sugary tribute to assuage the trick?

Or could it be all of the above?

When I was a child, we lost much of the life we knew during the Fall.  Divorce.  Changing schools.  Moving to uncertainty all seemed to peak during that cold leaf-less time of my adolescence.  The Black Parakeet caught up in autumnal whirlwinds he could not fly through.  A lost hatchling tossed about in October skies.

And yet somewhere in the months of the year’s dying, there was more than the pain and terror of unwanted change.  Somewhere in there was foundation.  In the Fall of childhood, in the falling of childhood was the family that did not leave but stayed and stayed strong.  Somewhere in there was the passion of writing (albeit in its nascence) that allowed for expression of pain and the reach of joy.  There it was in the October and November months, both the loss of everything and everything’s gain.

Pumpkins.  Changing colors.  Dying leaves.  Candy in vampires’ bags and witches’ cauldrons.

A parakeet – Who was only as good as its Fall.

So that is why I love the Fall.  Not only because of the seasonal change but because of my changes – both willing and otherwise.  Fall is transformational.  Fall is proof of survival.  Fall is proud celebration.

BP of the Month – East Chicago Teachers

The Black Parakeet represents the best and brightest qualities and characteristics that the city and people of East Chicago exhibit. The Black Parakeet is creativity, wonder, wisdom, dedication, love, hope, joy and adventure. It is human connectedness and – so importantly – compassion.

Each month a person(s) or group(s) will be showcased as the epitome of the qualities seen in the Black Parakeet himself. This recepient will be spotlighted on all platforms of Black Parakee…ts Only Hatch in December and notified of their notice as having stood out and given back.

It is with great honor that I announce the first Black Parakeet award goes to the Teachers of the school city of East Chicago, Indiana. Past and present, this single entity has done more for building the city, the surrounding cities and the very country than they could ever know. The reach of the students impacted by the dedication of the teachers and staff of East Chicago’s schools is beyond calculation. May they continue to chart the course of countless minds yearning to be shaped.

On behalf of those you have taught, thank you.

The Best Advice We’ve Ever Heard About growing up

childhood-days.jpgBlack Parakeets Only Hatch in December is, if nothing else, about human connectedness.  A giant part of what connects us is that we all had to grow up (some of us are still working on that!). During our childhood and even after, we have all heard wisdom, sayings, clichés and more about becoming adults.  Some was completely ridiculous.  Some was pure gold.  This is some of the best advice we’ve ever heard about growing up.

Appreciate people everyday – As you grow up, you learn that life is short.  And even more shorter, it seems, is the time you have with the people you love.  Appreciate people that you know and even people that you meet in passing.  Let people know that you see their efforts and acknowledge what they do and who they are.

Laugh more – Growing up can try its damnedest to take away your smile and humor.  Don’t let it.  Watch more comedies.  Skip the news.  Only read the comics.  Watch cartoons and play with your kids – like really play – be goofy and enjoy a good belly laugh.  Your heart, mind and body will appreciate it.

Enjoy the small things – Children see almost everything as new.  When rain falls, they scream-laugh at getting wet; while we complain about the umbrella breaking.  In the winter, they eat snowflakes; while we gripe over the cold.  In the morning, they think sun is pretty; while we get upset because its the start of another work or school day.  Enjoy the small things because they’re free and because they matter more than we know.

Do what you love to do – Growing up, we did what we loved to do.  Play.  Read things we were interested in.  Eat things that tasted good.  Run.  Laugh.   In the hustle and bustle of twelve hour work days and mid-terms, take time to do something you love to do.

You don’t have to do it – Growing older is nature.  Growing up is optional.  Sure you must embrace more adult level responsibilities but you do not have to lose the wonder and zeal of your childhood self.  Forget the umbrella and jump in the rain.  Get spontaneous ice cream.  Buy yourself a toy.  Get some back to school supplies for yourself just because they look fun.  Imagine you have childhood you around except you can buy them stuff.

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EXCERPT – “Night air” and “You better not go outside”

As a little kid, the night time held two things for me. One was undeniable fear. The other was undeniable wonder. Every time I prepared to run outside for trips to the store with my siblings or just to peek out at the dark silhouetted world, my mom would issue the same warning:

“Boy, you better not go outside like that, night air is out there.”

I heard it repeatedly in my childhood. Whenever I prepared to run outside with little or no layering, I heard the words “night air”

My mother’s urging came from the belief that night air, with its cooler temperatures, brought on everything from colds and flu to malaria and the red death. Everyone’s mom thought the same thing. And everyone’s mom had some mix of slavery-plantation-divine-salve-from-Mexico-cure-alls and modern medicine. Yet, the greatest of all preventative remedies was to avoid “night air” at all cost.