Fact 1: I went to Penn State.

Fact 2: I felt ashamed and defensive (no punt intended) at the same time

Fact 3: I am not alone in this.

There are more stuff to be worried about these days: immediate and long-term future.

Already a book was out (at 50% off) about Penn State and the culture of silence.

Collective amnesia.

Just like Vietnam War aftermath.

Or Watergate aftermath.

We move on. Have to.

It takes time discounting some relapses.

We are not therapists, much less self-therapists.

And we men don’t talk it out over coffee. Ain’t cool.

Let’s hit the gym.

Put some more weight on the bench press. Could you spot me!

Let pain reign.

It ain’t hurt.

Psycho-somatic syndrome.

What’s outside should not be let in, to infect and destroy what’s inside.

We last longer than the storm.

We survive disaster after disaster.

Only to get to the best part: closure.

By then, we have turned semi-experts on the subject of recovery.

Survivors and strivers. Long-distance runners and deep thinkers.

Conversation with myself while running, for instance.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle maintenance.

Each generation is tossed a curved ball. Up to us to catch it, spin it and develop new coping strategies.

Ours faces threats that we have never seen before.

Sometimes, from within. From the defense line. From the top whom we respect.

The day the music dies. Sometimes, I think it’s best for the candle to go out at peak.

Like James Dean, M. Monroe, J. Lennon and M. Jackson. At least, they are icons frozen in time.

A sense of permanence and immortality. For now, being human, I got to deal with stages of grief. I got to get to closure, to acceptance. Got to look at myself in the mirror and smile reluctant.


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