4x4 Flair

I never fancied myself the bumper sticker kind. In fact, I blatantly and unfairly criticized those who were. It might even be fair to say that I was adamantly opposed to bumper stickers. The sticky residue that never seems to fully come off was just one of the many weapons in my arsenal of arguments against them. My opposition was often verbal and sometimes just downright offensive. I once proudly deemed bumper stickers “The tramp-stamps of the automotive industry”. 

I guess it wasn’t the idea itself which I was against… I suppose I’m all for you supporting whatever it is that you felt passionate enough to share with the stranger behind you. Hell, this country was founded upon life, liberty, and voicing your freedom of speech in four-by-four inch flair. My opposition to bumper stickers was fueled largely by the same principle that facilitates my love/hate relationship with reality television – freedom of speech and expression from the idiots will always eclipse that of the well-informed and insightful.

It is because of these “idiots” that I really hope visitors do not find the highway or walmart parking lot to be a great microcosm for American culture. For American politics? Sure. The “some village in Texas is missing their idiot” sticker next to the “I’ll take my freedom, guns, and money, you can keep the change” sticker might help to explain why Congress is tackling steroids in baseball as opposed to passing legislature.

Then there is my personal favorite, the stick figure family with the names below them. These will come in handy should I ever be quizzed on what the owner of the blue Kia’s family would look like on a 1/1,000 scale. I’m glad they include the dog as well – I simply would not have made it through this drive had I not have figured out your dog’s name.  Oh your “son is honor roll”? This is going to be awkward if there’s a fender bender with the guy whose son “kicked your honor roll student’s ass”.

I always wondered what kind of event would evoke enough emotion to drive someone to either impair their blind-spot or risk their paint-job. I guess in hindsight I should have been envious of their passion, but I swore that would never be me. I stayed true to this mantra until I left the Northeast a little over two years ago.

After an incredible experience as a resident of South Carolina I moved to Indiana to further my career. While I had the battery sunset engraved in my mind and the faint sound of the southern accents ringing in my ears, I still felt like my identity as a Carolinian was fading all too quickly. I felt like people knew me based on who I am, but many did not know why I am the way I am. Much of that identity was created through past experiences, South Carolina included. I suppose I felt indebted to the Palmetto State for what it had shared for me and who it had made me. It is because of these experiences that I crossed my former beliefs and purchased the most recognizable South Carolina attribute to stick on the back of my trailblazer – the palmetto and moon. 

The Palmetto bumper sticker proved to be the gateway drug. For Christmas this year my mother inadvertently summed up my regional loyalty by including a Boston Bruins sticker in my stocking. For me, out of all the Boston sports franchises the Bruins have best represented the people of New England… loyal, hard working, gritty, appreciative, and consistent. Maybe a little hard-edged at first, but ultimately loving and caring. Up until last year the Bruins were the only major New England sports franchise that had not enjoyed the fruits of their labor by capturing their respective championship over the past decade. The 2011 Stanley Cup Championship was more than just a sports win for me, it was a two month stretch where despite being 1,000 miles away from my family and friends, for two hours each night we were parked in front of the same program, listening to the same voices, and screaming and celebrating in unison. While living in six states in six years and traveling five months out of the year in and out of hotels, the broadcast by Jack Edwards and Andy Brickley was home to me. A few weeks ago I proclaimed my allegiance to my home away from home by slapping that Bruins sticker on a corner of my rear window. 

Finally, the most common sight in the bumper sticker world is the omnipotent yet ambiguous acronym sticker. I’m convinced that deciphering what the three letter acronym on the car in front of you means and trying to get close enough to read the explanation below is responsible for more accidents than texting and driving is. ACK, IRE, MV, LI, HI… I’ve seen fewer abbreviations in a teenage text message. I definitely swore off these ones for life. That was until I found myself in a gift shop on Block Island last week…

I’ve been blessed with an incredible family. Each and every year for the 4^th of July we all come together to celebrate our Countries independence on the small island of Block Island off the Rhode Island coast. With all of us scattered across the map this serves as the only time we can really all be together. From cousins to aunts and uncles, grandmothers to great aunts, we all put our daily stresses aside and just enjoy each other for three or four wonderful days. We dance away the night and lay out and talk amongst each other during the day. Block Island represents my family, and is a constant reminder to me that my family has had a tremendous influence in making me the person who I am today. 

So I picked up the BI sticker with the infamous island outline sketch and stretched it across the naked side of my window. 

Maybe I am hoping that someone else will see the sticker and have a story to share with me about where they were when the Bruins won the cup, what their favorite beach on Block Island is, or what is the best restaurant in Charleston. Or maybe I’m just proud enough of the people and places that make up those stickers and the profound impact they’ve had on me. 

I guess I’d have to consider myself a bumper sticker kinda guy now. And as a bumper sticker guy I guess I have to stand up for my people by saying, it’s the story behind the sticker that justifies the flair…  

                                                   A Block Island Afternoon...

The American Dream...

Twenty-six years is a long time when considering the lifespan of a goldfish or a mosquito. Despite the new age group that must be marked on my next road-race application and my rising health insurance cost, I can't help but to feel blessed and forever indebted when acknowledging all of those who could not make it to ring in their 9,490th day. Yet the towering oaks and weathered stones serve as a constant reminder that time is merely relative, and the highs and lows of today are simply the experience and maturity of tomorrow.

Despite cinema adaption and style transformation, the mid-twenties All American experience has remained... for lack of better words... desirable, admirable, and comfortable. While local banks gave way to Fannie Mae and the milk man became the cable man, the white picket fence and golden retriever equation always seemed to be just an engagement and school district away. With the divorce rate climbing to almost fifty-percent you can still bring the sparkle of hope and optimism to twenty-something year old's eye with the proclamation "they lived happily ever after".

Lately it never seems to unfold like the country song goes. I always reflect on our parents at our age and where they were, and no matter the circumstance you can't help but to feel behind. The cinematic vision of the mid-twenties seems to be consistent with the one's that were spewed across our playroom walls as our neighborhood sweetheart insisted on playing house. Even the most macho of us men developed a nice little SIMS family with a caring mom and hard working dad who said things like, "honey, I'm home", and "how about we go play a game of catch, would you like that?".

I think the problem with our generation is accepting the fact that times have changed. The trouble with letting go of our adolescence is the struggle to understand that the next step may not yet be drawn out in a paint-by-color. While most of this blog has served as a speakoutloud kind of experience, it seems more relevant now more than ever that I remind myself that sometimes we just need to let this entire experience unfold as it will.

I think that once we are able to come to terms with the fact that we have no idea where this is going, then we will finally start to understand that the "right path" may not be a path at all. Maybe it's time to put aside the fences, retrievers, and anxiety that's associated with what comes next, and start to thrive in the uncertainty that exists in this awkward time at this awkward moment. But who knows, as always I'm just talking aloud anyway..