The camping and caving was not only a nice balance to the rest of my life, it provided great relief. It also kept my mind going and learning, with each caving trip, questions resulted which had to be answered, so I continued my education with "Karst Hydrology and Practical Speleology."

I looked at attending college while I worked, but the courses would conflict with both the troop and camping trips, but I figured that wasn't an excuse and created, "Mike's Home College." A retired printing union person gave me books on printing, including, "Printer's English."

The other printing books weren't really relevant as they involved learning letter press, but I discovered the Graphic Arts Technical Foundation and purchased relevant books through them. It was also on to my father's and mother's college books. This introduced me to various topics, including philosophy, logic and the fifties twist on politics.

There was another invention coming into people's lives. Home computers, and to help my sister out, my parents purchased a Commodore Vic 20. But my education required me to posses the far more powerful Commodore 64, with its just invented, floppy drive.

I did my best to make all of the computer magazine programs work, but they failed. Even with newly published month, after month corrections, I wasn't even close to cracking the code. I did learn to program the sound chips.

For one New Years Eve, I programmed a space shuttle launch, which was a working white noise, beat frequency using all four sound generation chips. The computer was patched through my stereo system, with the speakers to the window; I let her rip at midnight. Many of the neighbors walked out in their pajamas and looked up.

That one held me for a year, but with Norm's going to the University of Maryland, clued me in on the IBM PC, which was far too expensive for the average person to buy. In fact, Norman bought a model for $800.00 he had to solder together himself.

On the other hand, I scoured the computer magazines and settled on a state of the art, top of the line, Wells American A-Star II. I got the model, loaded with an 11 hertz processor, math coprocessor and 256 bytes of memory. (No mega or giga there.) The base price was $2,000.00, which became $2,500.00, when I opted for the 20 megabyte hard drive instead of the ten megabyte standard.

The DOS operating system was incredible and it was great to have Norm handy to save the computer from my clutches, as well the myriad of program conflicts. He was busy with the internet because of his need for it in college. For my use, it wasn't very practical as Morse Code was infinitely faster than the phone line that he tied up. With no search engines or cross networking, you had to know where to go, hacking was was often the modus operandi , it was a sort of Dungeons and Dragons for computer programmers.

I still remained a spiritual exploratory person, caving, camping with the troop and the computer reminded me of such matters. It was Joseph Campbell who introduced a concept to me, whether or not you believe in reincarnation, during one's life, you live and suffer many deaths. Just like the theories of reincarnation, there is a fluid progression and regression in your life. At times, forcing in the individual a life and spiritual make-over.

Much was the same with work. I started in the wrapping and shipping department, and then Jeff moved on to the folder in the bindery room. To help me out, the company brought in new people, but they always seemed to become an operator of a machine or quit, while I remained in wrapping and shipping.

I did learn to be a finish cutter, but was angry that I wasn't moved to prepress like I was promised. To Mr. Quinn, this wasn't a big problem as he said I was still receiving raises to keep me. He assured me, I would be where I wanted to be when Dennis is ready for me to be there.

Printing was good and we had many interesting customers. One was Lubomere, a Czechoslovakian who still did color separation by lithographic methods. He also insisted that he press proof everything, which cost him a fortune. The shop got a kick out of him, because he would bring in a beach chair and camp out, until the job was printed.

We also had a software company getting their printing through us, which would end up the bulk of our work. They did aircraft simulator programs, for the PCs. We printed their box covers and user guides, as well their promotional materials which were substantial.

The software company was run by a far sighted and flamboyant person name Wild Bill. With just a mention of a promise to buy one of their programs, he handed me their flight simulator. This freebee worked its magic and I was soon flying their F-15 Strike Eagle and Apache Helicopter programs. I found blowing things up to be a refreshing change of pace.

The company forced changes on us, despite the vow to slowly change. At the time, we had a couple of big Harris presses, which were one color and a two color, Heidelberg Speedmaster 29 inch press. The simulation company was expanding and insisted on us changing to their liking.

We added a new building addition to house a two color Heidelberg 40 inch press, plus a large folder to handle the larger signatures, along with a new state of the art bindery machine. The Speedmaster 2 color and the Harris presses were replaced with a brand new Heidelberg 4 color Speedmaster, with an Allcolor water system.

Being blue collar, the shop had its levities, namely Louie the lady's man. Dealing with how great he was with women was not only a constant irritation; it was pure BS in my mind. I finally found a way to get him back; just thinking about my elaborate ruse, had put tears in my eyes. I put those tears into play.

I walked up to him, with my laughter converted into weeping. Louie immediately became concerned and insisted I tell him what's wrong. "All of you guys here, tell me about your big dicks and how you get all of the woman. I can't stand it, my life's horrible!"

I was happy to make him feel like crap and he decided to come clean, "Hey Mike, calm down. Were just joking, none of us are that big. We try to get the girls, but it's hard. If it will make you feel better, everyone here is normal."

I could only think, You gullible dumbass, with me being in scouts and showering with a hundred men over the years, it never crossed your mind that I know the truth.

No longer able to contain my laughter, I busted out bawling, with tears streaming out of my eyes. Louie immediately became upset and started to say, "What? What? What?" as he tried to pull my hands from my eyes.

"It's worse, I am really that big and the girls are scared of me."

The crying changed to instant laughter, as Louie realized what I made him admit to, "Ooh, you son of a bitch!"

Mike, was the one person in the shop who's humor was nothing but malice, with being a pressman on one of the Harris presses, could only deliver his blows in temporary doses. With losing his press, those doses would change to a constant torrent as he became the finishing cutter in my room.

His harassment was relentless and I tried to handle as best I could. It didn't work very well, so I tried to talk to Dennis, and Mr. Quinn's other sons. They were aware, but chose to ignore the problem, even walking out of the room when they heard him start on me.

I then took the problem to Mr. Quinn himself, but the best yielded was a good lecture and a threat of punishment. Being in scouts, I realized that without a promised punishment being immediately administered, I had just made the problem much worse.

Everybody else in the shop noticed Mike's treatment of me, but while knowing that he was like that, they couldn't understand why he treated me so much worse. I had an idea why. Just before he started to verbally work me over, he asked if I knew Dave, the friend that I had in sixth grade, who was friends with the girl whose help I asked for.

I told him that I did, and it was obvious it was the answer he didn't want to hear. All he said was, "Well, my brother is friends with Dave's brother." He then walked away, it was obvious that Dave's brothers were friends with the brothers of the Dave's neighbor and the girl who I pleaded for help my senior year, and then sent the letter to from Rhode Island when I planned to commit suicide. That small exchange told me a lot.

I also knew my harsh treatment would continue. It left me with three choices: 1) Quit my job; which I believed he wanted. 2) Beat the living hell out of him and get fired, or 3) Stay there and take it.

I chose number 3, but with a twist. I was either paid to work as hard as I could, or take Mike's punishment. It proved a quite consolation that work wasn't getting done, because of the tolerance. When the bosses inquired why the work wasn't getting done, I pointed to Mike and told them he wasn't allowing me to concentrate.

I got the biggest kick, because now the bosses were directly dealing with the situation. The problem was, it brought more havoc from Mike when they weren't there, and I was fast losing my abilities to deal with it.

I walked up to him, literally shaking, as I just wanted to rip his head off, once and for all. Instead, I used it to turn me into the perfect whimp. "I. I. I'm going to tell you this Mike. Y. You. You can say anything you want, but don't ever, ah touch, touch, me. I Ill I'll kill you."

He did what I expected and saw this as not only a weakness, but a new challenge. He was now pushing me around, hitting me, but from behind. It left me with no recourse but to patiently lie in wait.

After a week and a half, he finally threw a punch at my face, while walking by. I blocked it with such force, my elbow was in agony, but I knew it wasn't what made the popping sound I heard. I dislocated his arm, and sent his own fist into his face. He hit the ground, and my next punch was aimed at the base of his skull. Bobby the 4color pressman said, "Damn Mike, he busted your nose.

Mike chose to stay to the ground and crawl off, and ran to the hidden side of the 4 color Speedmaster. To me it was a private act and I accomplished with him, in a split second what he couldn't do in years to me. He didn't speak to me for three weeks, and then only in a humbling fashion about work.

Soon there would be changes, Dennis finally moved me out to the stripping department where I laid out the negatives, which were then burned on the plate that the presses used. I was to strip up small press work and work in the camera room. I could only laugh at my vow from high school printing class about never setting foot into a lithographic darkroom again.

This darkroom was much better than the high school, because instead of trays of chemicals in a freezing room, we had a temperature controlled and timed processor. I sensed a frustration, as Dennis tried to teach me, not realizing my training at the Rhode Island School of Photography, or purchasing and studying many books from the Graphic Arts Technical Foundation. Not to mention, talking with Mark, the four color stripper at the shop, when he wasn't there. I intended to walk into my new job of cameraman and stripper, running!

Shooting line work was an easy affair, set the exposure, press the button and send it through the machine. However halftones were more a problem, as one had to gauge the highlight exposure to make the dots in the white areas, and then flip the back to provide a bump shot of low intensity white light to put the shadow dot in, as the halftone screen had a limited range.

As a result, one had to do a shot, wait six minutes for it to go through the processor and adjust the shot and hope for the best. Suddenly, I was hit with boredom, as halftone work was becoming ever popular. I then brought in a stereo and started to listen to the infant talk radio.

While that was mainly about politics, it soon would add to my education, a philosophical exploration, and a fine tuning of the way that I approach life. One such topic were the complaints of many black callers, who expressed their oppressive plight.

I looked in the mirror and actually asked myself, Mike, how can you help out the black man? With that, I busted out laughing, because I really didn't have anything he would want from me. 

So I then asked myself, Shit on that, what do I want from them?

At this time, many black people on the street were openly aggressive, and enjoyed pushing people around. I settled on very simply, the social basics, not to be prejudged, accorded a base level of respect, and not to be punished for what others had done to them.

I came up with, "Everyone is my equal, until they prove otherwise." Otherwise being either a moral or behavioral decision. Really, that statement sums up both the scout oath and law I had recited since age eleven. To me, this became the greatest way to operate and opened up many doors to friendships that otherwise wouldn't exist.

By this time, I had become ashamed for my racial antics I did in high school. But one event would change my disgrace, to sheer joy. One day I was walking to work, and when I passed a bus stop of black children waiting to go to school, one of them yelled, "Hey! Are you a bigot?"

"Yea, we think you're a bigot. Come on, say something to us, we'll deal with you!" By this time, all of the boys joined in and had their fists pumping. I couldn't help but admire them, as they made me realize, one is simply thinking and exploring various fascinations of life.

I met Norm's KKK uncle only once, and planned to base my response to the impression I had of him. I couldn't resist, I walked up to the yelling, fist pumping group, who were all now a little scared and I said, in a loud Southern accent, "You're damn right! I'm a bigot! In fact, I am so much of one, I even hate myself."

The shocked boys were now stoned silent and still, but the girls who knew the boys were showing off for them, started laughing and said, "He ain't no bigot, but I tell you what, I wouldn't be messing with him." I had to heap more injury to the boys, so I stopped and chatted with the ladies for a while.

At the shop, there occasionally came personnel changes. Louie had words with Dennis, and Mr. Quinn, not knowing what they were about fired him. When the misunderstanding was realized, he was offered his job back, but Louie wouldn't accept it.

Mark and I loved talking, but he was in the other room. We found out that we loved musicals and rock operas, especially, "Jesus Christ Superstar." We decided our, "Garden of Gethsemane," were the fact that we had to resharpen the X-acto blades we used. Dennis was by no means amused, at our new production.

Eventually Mark left, and instead of choosing me, hired Bill, who also acted as the nightshift manager. The simulation company did just what Mike, the pressroom boss said, removed Wild Bill and decided to take their printing to Japan. However, that work was replaced with a glut of printing, and soon we hired two more people in the stripping department.

The first was, Debbie, but she soon left because of a conflict with Bill and a frustration with Dennis. She was replaced with another Mike who was decent and a good worker, who was soon to be joined with another lady who was a tripped out artsy type.

Mike eventually made it upstairs for pasting up what I shot, and was replaced with Steve, who was a hyperactive type; once he got an idea in his head, he would work that tangent into his job. With us now having a 40inch press, he tended to strip up the thirty-two page signatures.

We also hired another stripper to do the work that Steve and Bill weren't doing. She was an art minded type and very unique individual, I loved our conversations and antics. One time, Steve was irritating me, and I ended up on telling him to sit on a couple of Ben Wa balls.

He replied, "I know that I should be insulted and angry with you, but I don't have the foggiest idea of what Ben Wa balls are." The woman came out of the front room and nonchalantly, not only explained to him what they are, but how to use them, and the feelings that they create. Hell, we loved her, and the creativity and levity that she brought with her.

Mike, was still there, and occasionally he would try to bother me again, but I blew him off. Every once in a while he would try to get under my skin and then there was one last good push. This time it was the customers, who picked up on it and I slipped in a Mickey, "Your right. There are other customers who feel that he has a crush on me."

It was obvious that he didn't like it one bit, so now, I kept it on. In fact, when I knew a boss was around, I would goad Mike into bothering me, then tell the bosses about him having a crush on me.

Now unable to get under my skin, he turned to subterfuge. When Dennis and I were together, Mike walked up and said, "I don't know why you're harassing me, but you're not so nice."

Wanting everything on the table, I knew exactly what to say, "Mike, I'm perfect; I walk with Jesus in my life."

Mike busted out into a smile and said, "That's not exactly true, you have skeletons dancing around in your closet. There's the little matter of your sexually harassing those two girls in high school."

"Mike, I don't have skeletons in my closet because I let them out and walk around. I know you're off handedly friends with them, but if you want, let's name names and talk about it."

Mike got pissed and walked off. I turned to Dennis and said, "Dennis, all of this stuff is about something that happened in the past. I fucked up, but I will not let that bastard have the upper hand on me."

I never blamed the girls for this, as I knew it was their brothers, and with them not knowing me, I couldn't blame them either. I knew that I would always have a price to pay, and long ago forgave them and moved on.

If something happened, I felt it wasn't good for one's self or soul to hold grudges. That didn't mean necessarily to turn the other cheek, or to forget; but if the conditions are right, to simply not burden one's self and let go.

I did the same in reference to Mike and never wished any harm to befall him, but his trouble started when he got a hernia. Laparoscopic surgery was in its infancy and when they fixed up Mike, they incorrectly incorporated a Dacron screen, which would put him in agony.

Eventually, Mike could no longer work at the shop and left, after the injuries were settled. Ironically, his brother lives down the street where I presently live and we chat from time to time, with no BS. A pleasant reinforcement to how I believe that I should live.

Through this time period, I still desired a relationship, but it was like I had the reverse Midas touch. I had to put aside even saying, "Good morning!" or even, "Hi."

One morning, I suddenly found myself ducking a stream of Mace. Instantly, I slid my body around hers until I was standing directly behind her. I then said, "It didn't work, did it? Jesus Christ, I only said, 'Good morning." From there, I lightly smacked her in the back of the head, and disappeared behind a car on the other side of the street, to hide myself in the window's reflections.

From safety, I watched her look around and wondered if it all really happened. If she would have apologized, I would have let her know to dump the container. Somewhere along the line, I knew she would Mace herself.

Not two weeks later, I was walking towards a woman, and felt that she had the new pocket book being sold in NRA magazines for concealed carry. As I approached, her hand mechanically went to where the hidden compartment would be in the bag.

No time for fun and games here, "I'll tell you what, if your hand disappears into the side of that purse, I will not only end up with the gun that you plan to pull on me, but your index finger as well. Now get your hand away from the purse."

She was absolutely shocked, but put her hand down, "I believe in right to carry, but you got to know where and when you're in danger. God damn it! Your paranoia makes the best case that the liberals argue so we can't carry guns. If everyone is now a bad guy, then clearly, you shouldn't be carrying a gun!"

Another time, I was walking the Parkville shopping center and heard two girls talking about how they can find plenty of dates, but not friends like a good relationship would require. I felt the same, so I walked up to them.

"Hi, I'm Mike Kohlman and couldn't help but overhear your conversation. I believe the same as you two do about friendship and dating. I would like to get together with you and do something so we can get together and become friends."

"Oh yea, you just walk up to us out of the blue and think you're our man. Bullshit! You're just like every other guy who wants to get in our pants and fuck us! Get lost loser!"

Now, I was more than happy to get lost. But for being a loser, I realized that friendship had no way of gaining a foot hold in a relationship with either one of them, or most women for that matter.

The funny thing is, Dad was more fervent than ever, I was my own problem. Going out in public with him was embarrassing because, he would stand there and coach me to make eye contact, and aggressively assert myself. I understood where he was coming from, but most people didn't want this.

If I gauged that was how the other person expected me to be, then I would. Another reason that I preferred not to make eye contact must of came about through my enjoyment of pipe organ music. I had a better ear for gauging the other person.

I did try the bar scene for a bit, and there were times that friendship promised itself, but any pretense seemed to be a temporary consideration, or a fleeting whim of a concept. Very often, I always found a woman to talk to, but the second a new man walked through the door, she left me to flirt with him.

In buying a woman drinks, it turned out my only purpose. I had her as long as I kept the liquor going and on top of that, many women gravitated to another man, with drink in hand. One time, a woman stroked my neck and said, "I wonder what you think about sex."

She immediately left my company; went to the far end of the bar, and hid behind people. Jesus Christ! I only smiled at her. Also, being a newbie, many of the women used me for their ridicules and taunts. I gave up on the notion of finding a woman at a bar. What would bother me the most is how I could get a flock, when I dressed up, put on gold and had a wad in my pants; of money that is!

This is the way, most of the guys in the shop found women, but to me it was unrewarding. Having done it their way, I understood why they had the problems that they did and why many seemed never to be happy.

There was much going on socially. At this point, I attended church frequently and enjoyed it, but there wasn't almost nothing going on with women my age or status. This attitude was changing, as Christus Victor church was getting a new pastor.

He was making church unrewarding for me as I attended the service to glean from sermons, ideas of value to apply to everyday life. I quickly grew tired of the new pastor's incipient railing against the non believers. Dad was part of the stewardship committee and I agreed to give them ten percent of my pay check, even though I wasn't agreeing with the services.

The pastor sent out fliers and surveys, to gain a handle on the church. There were questions about money, attending services, and getting more involved with spending time and volunteering. As my father expected, I filled it out and mailed it in. I would have been better off, throwing it away, as it created a permanent rift between my dad and myself.

Dad came home from church and started screaming at me, "God damn it, Mike! I know it was you who Pastor Homer railed about. Only you can make a smartass comment, 'I do what God expects me to do and at this time, I believe that He wants me to spend my time of service in the Boy Scouts, while I financially support your church."

Through these years, I had become an intensely spiritual person, but it seemed it was trumping religious practice, to the damnation of my father and pastor. As a result, I stopped going to church regularly and my contributions. Dad wasn't happy, and even more upset when I informed him, "I prefer to have God judge me in the end, not some Pastor who reminds me of Jesus' Pharisees."

One development was horrible in reference to women, both my Mom and Grandma set about finding a woman for me. This lead to some horrible moments, such as Mom handing me a phone number and saying, "Mike, please call her up, she is interested in being with you."

So I did, "Hello, I'm Mike Kohlman and I understand you want to go out and spend some time together."

"Who the hell are you? How did you get my number?" That gave me the feeling that she really didn't know who I am, so I explained.

"Fuck no! I don't want to spend time with you, I never even heard of you. Oh Jesus Christ this is embarrassing. Mom you're a fucking bitch for doing this to me."

I got the message, but Mom insisted, then my Grandmother, "Mike, I think I found a good girl for you to get to know. Now, she has some small problems, but we think she worked them out." Drug abuse and assault really didn't strike me as good match makers.

Just before I left the wrapping department at work, I was supposed to train a girl to take over; she was a bit on the wild side, but very nice. When I had feelings, I decided to ask her out and as I was approaching her, I had an observation, What are the marks going up her index finger?

All I had to do was pump up my veins. Needless to say, I decided not to ask her out. Not even twenty four hours later, Jeff walked up to me and said, "Mike, I had the best fuck of my life with Cindy. I tell you what, she's so good, I'm keeping her."

"Jeff, Cindy's doing heroin."

"I know, but she has it managed well. No man, she's the one for me!"

Jeff, knew better as he had a relationship with another heroin addict who almost destroyed him. I hated to watch what I knew would happen, as Jeff was a nice guy. A short while later, she lost her job, and point blank told Jeff, that he can't do enough for her, so she has to work the way she does to be satisfied.

Having taken everything into account, I decided not to worry about being with a woman. In the largest sense, it was blessed relief. Despite the attitudes at work, and now being compelled to admit to my homosexuality with really didn't exist, I drove people nuts by just being happy.

This period in my life, told me just how important friendship was in a relationship and it was more the desire for a friend and companion, which was most important to me. I didn't see any sense in settling for less. While I was alone, I wasn't lonely.

That doesn't mean things didn't happen. Jean still crossed my mind, but very rarely, and with the distraction of work and scouts, it amounted to enough thought to whisper to her, "Thank you," and blow her a kiss. Other times when it dragged me down, I decided to use an ankle weight and take a plunge. I honored her by grieving, with listening to Led Zeppelin's, "Thank You," or Pink Floyds, "If, Wish You Were Here, or Shine On You Crazy Diamond."

All of this didn't mean that things didn't happen. With Jean gone, as she was the only one that produced love at first sight in me, I pretty much figured that was a onetime thing. All I had to do was think about it, for something to shortly happen afterward.

I was walking to work and saw a female police officer, acting as a crossing guard at Rosalie Avenue and Harford Road. She struck me as the cutest woman I have run across in a long time. She greeted me, but I walk so fast that I was in the middle of the street when I returned a greeting.

I was instantly struck with, love at first sight, and had to tell her this, as well my desire to spend time with her. I started thinking immediately, But how do you communicate it to a female police officer? I know, get arrested, it takes time to fill out that report. Shit, Baltimore's not arresting for anything. I know! Assault her, she have to arrest you then!

That was only a minor personal amusement, but when I came back to reality, I found myself in a Bruce Lee stance against her. She was shocked with a jolt, but her reaction turned to confusion as my stance wasn't making sense with the smile on my face.

That reaction changed to her worrying about me, literally biting her fingernails as the light changed and cars were coming within inches of me, to get me to move out of the way. In fact, a car might have even run over my foot, but I could have cared less, and would move for the world. I just stood there, looking at her beautiful face and then her gun. Time and time again,

Then I spotted her shoulders and realized, You're not going to be talking to anybody with a broken jaw. I then relaxed my stance and put my hands out in front to accept handcuffs, sadly I looked at her and said, "Please."

She started blushing and put her hands in front of her face, she did her thinking out loud, "Oh God! What do I do? Tell him to buzz off? I can't do this, he's so nice. Ah, ah, ah, I just wished he'd shoo. That's it, tell him to shoo!"

I guess this wasn't covered in any police manual, but her womanly instinct took over. She stood with her hips dropped, legs crossed and with the flipping of the backs of her hands started saying, "Shoo! Shoo! Oh come on, please shoo!"

I turned and started walking, "Yes! That's it shoo!" I tried to turn around and she yelled, "You better move it buster!" Then she giggled and said, "Oh you shouldn't have done that, that's bad."

At the other side of the street, I turned around and waved. Without hesitation she went into a shooting stance and lifted her gun a couple of inches out of the holster. I immediately yelled, "Why are you going to shoot me when my heart has already been pierced by your spirit!"

She slammed her gun back in its holster and stomping her feet, with clenched fists and looking up to heaven, yelled at the top of her lungs, "Oh, God! Why is this happening to me!" Just as with Jean, I too felt God's hand in it.

Something happened like this with another woman, I was hit with a particular feeling about her spirit. "I just have to tell you, you are beautiful!"

"Well, I'm married!"

"I don't care about that."

"Oh!" I then explained myself and what I meant, we both had a safe, but enjoyable conversation and I learned a lot about her. I moved on with the feeling that despite any earthly restrictions, I was meant to meet her and tell her that.

I did have one oddball experience. I was camping with the troop at a cabin in Dillsburg, Pennsylvania and wanted to get permission to use the shooting range next door. Instead of the older man that tends the property, it was a woman.

What struck me as strange was, the more I talked, the more she was becoming suspicious of me. Suddenly, she yelled at the top of her lungs, "You went to Parkville Senior High!"

This floored me and my only thought was, Jesus Christ, they must have printed posters of me! We talked about things for a while, and I found out that she lived in the apartments that were across from the school. She had no idea why I stuck out in her mind.

I did have the desire to stay with her, but I had to fit my shooting schedule into the troops. It was at that time, I was to have learned a valuable lesson. Don't practice quick draw, with rapid fire using a new handgun. In less than a second, I came very close to shooting myself in a foot, three times. I should have stayed with her!

My favorite dealing with women came from a walk home from work. On the side of the Parkville Shopping Center, was located a bank. I had just turned the corner and saw a group of very attractive black women talking. One of them pointed to me and said, "He's as good as any!"

She walked up to me and said, "I told my girls that I can prove any white person is a racist, and you happened to walk by."

"Hey, I'm game, but I have to warn you that I consider everyone my equal until they prove otherwise."

"Oh." But she insisted to trying and I enjoyed the challenge. It was a more, "What about this, what about that," enquiry.

I had no reason to lie, so I answered them honestly and openly. But they soon went out of control, so I had to reply, "Hey look, that behavior isn't acceptable to me and won't be tolerated."

She gave a look of see that to her friends, so I interjected, "Don't tell me that behavior would be acceptable or tolerated by a black woman. If you wouldn't put up with that yourself, then you shouldn't expect me to because I am white."

She ended up with the final argument of, "One's thing's for sure, you'd never make love to a black woman!"

-Hell, I was looking at three of the most attractive black women that I ever saw, I had the attitude of, Hell, let's try all three at the same time and pick the one that's best.

I took a step toward them, and her two friends immediately took a step back, the ring leader told me, "Forget it! You'z too eager and you'z ain't scared." Their loss in my mind, I know I would have impressed.

There was another spiritual element entering into my mind. When I was attending the Rhode Island School of Photography and wrestling with getting over Jean's death, I had decided to approach life in a certain behavior and approach. Just in case something horrible would happen again. This was crossing my mind more and more, as the notion, the only way I could find out this being is correct, is for something horrible to occur again.

When it came to myself, I was actually happy to be a loner, but I suffered guilt as I was afraid that I was really disappointing my mother. That thought wore on me, and frustrated me heavily. By this time, my father pretty much figured that I was a failure with women.

One weekend morning, Mom was sitting on the couch, when I sat on the chair across from it, sat down and said, "Mom, I'm sorry that I am such a fuck up."

"Ah Mike, can you tell me which fuck up we are talking about?"

"It's that I can't find any women."

"Mike, I thought about things and it isn't you. It's the way things are in this society. When I was young, there were plenty of ways to meet boys socially; most of us didn't go steady. Today, the girls go from one steady relationship to another, and don't really meet enough people to be able to figure out how to make a decent, life long relationship."

"Look, I call them pretend marriages, which is why the marriages never work out. Doing things the way we did, we had more boyfriends to shake a stick at. They are also friends for life. When I met your dad, I knew he was the one for me. I also didn't lose friendship over my decision either."

Mom and I spent just about the entire morning talking and I was now amazed, on just how much work she put into the family and myself. Also why she did things the way she did. She based how she raised us on how they recommended you do it in the Bible and was confident that she would please God. This was the first time I saw this side of her.

She did slip in a Mickey, "Mike, I want you to know, if anything happens to me, I'm not to be put on a respirator."

Shocked, I asked her why.

"Mike, you know that I was a nurse. I worked around people on respirators and know how they end up. If you're put on one, life won't be worth living, neither for the person on them, or their families. If you find me on one, I expect you to take me off. Understand me?"

"I told your father, but his love for me may keep me on it. That's why I expect you." She picked up on my uneasy hesitation. "Look Mike, all I am going to say is, if I am kept on one, you all will deserve what you get. I'm not joking."

While that was strange, suddenly it seemed that women were interested in me. Asking who I was and what I did, they also indicated that they wanted a friendship with me and that they cared. Being everything that I always wanted, I was really warming up to that notion. While the lamp was shelved, it was now more me, than the principle and curiosity of it all.