On the day I shot this photo, I had originally planned to shoot a very cool coffee shop in downtown Charleston called Rutledge Coffee. It is painted a very unique shade of blue that I always admire when I head cross town.

I happened to strike up a conversation with one Mr. Allan Cummings, who was sitting outside drinking his coffee and reading the latest John Grisham novel.

During our conversation, which stretched into about an hour and a half of time, he told me the most fantastically detailed stories. Some of the highlights include:

Meeting Carl Yastrzemski in the Red Sox club house.
Meeting JFK when he worked on his campaign.
Helping his mom start a ballet company.
His sister had David Niven as a dinner partner (Pink Panther).
His sister was great friends with Mikhail Baryshnikov.

I have no idea if these stories are true, and as much as I wanted to leave to continue my day of shooting, I stayed and listened to him. I somehow felt like I owed it to him to stay.

I told him of my aspirations to become a photographer and his simple advice was “You gotta take your shot while you have it.”

Well, Allan Cummings, my new friend, I’m taking my shot, and you were there when I decided to.

I guess it felt good to be bad, and I didn’t understand why I was being punished when I was doing something that made me and others happy.

Ok Erik, where the hell are you going with this?

Well this makes me think about a few things.

The first thing is the teachers. They disciplined me the same way as they would someone who was failing out of school. They weren’t able to think outside the box, to get creative in teaching me to apply my energy in a positive way, and in a way that would have benefited both of us.

I see my scenario as a microcosm for a lot of the problems with Education in the US today. Education needs to be more personal. Lesson plans and teaching methods fluid. Every child is a unique and beautiful snowflake. Sorry Mr. Durden.

Maybe I was just a little jerk asshole, but I don’t remember it that way. In any event, I don’t hold any grudges, I made out alright. I’m doing very well for myself.

I know there is a lot more to it, but this is just my mixed objective/subjective opinion. This post isn’t an in-depth review of the current state of US Education anyway.

The second thing is the effect that getting in trouble had on me.

At first I wasn’t afraid of getting in trouble, and acted out even more. Eventually you start to get in trouble so much and so bad that you can’t ignore the punishment.

In order to stay out of trouble I had to begin to self-police myself. I wanted to make so sure that I didn’t get into trouble that I crawled into my shell. I couldn’t figure out an acceptable level of clowniness (I just invented that word) for school and class so I just sent the pendulum entirely to the other side. I closed up.

So this closing up became such a large part of my life that it even crept into places where I didn’t need to be reserved. Even general interactions with people.

Only in the last few years have I started to open up. I came to the conclusion that my subconscious was already policing me, and that I didn’t need to add my conscious to the task force. There was no need to double analyze.

I am comfortable with this for a few reasons. In general I think I’m a good person, and I think most people that know me would say that and perhaps more about me. I also know that I never set out to intentionally hurt someone. If I do truly hurt someone I possess the ability to offer a heart felt apology.

I’m starting to ramble on, but this post is partly putting into words some thoughts I have had recently, and also explaining where all my photography, writing, and general energy is coming from.

It’s quite liberating, letting go and being yourself. Try it sometime.

An interesting side note is to think about what would have been if a teacher pulled me aside and helped me channel my energy into an activity, sport, or other talent.

Thankfully I’m doing that now.

“Every second that passes is another chance to turn things around.”

I reflect to remember the good times… to jump back in my kid shoes that match up with the kid heart I carry with me always. I reflect to learn a lesson that may not have been visible to my immature eyes at the time it was originally presented.

Ever since I can remember, I was a class clown. I would crack jokes and act goofy partly for attention, partly to entertain, and lastly to push things to the edge.

To see someone else’s enjoyment is just as satisfying as seeing my own. Put simply, the former guarantees the latter. It’s a perpetual cycle of enjoyment.

I was able to goof off because I got good grades. I got good grades because I had smart parents, a photographic memory, and good memorization skills. And let’s face it, school these days’ is heavy on memorization and light on actual learning and retention.

So, as you could imagine, the teachers didn’t very much care for my performances. They weren’t happy because some of the people I put on a show for didn’t get good grades, and needed to pay extra attention in class just to pass.

Trouble followed. First from school disciplinarians and then it doubled from my parents when I got home.

A child can’t be woken
No one sleeps more peacefully
Sleeps more peacefully
Teddy clutched

You sat and observed
Nightstand and moonlit breeze
I exhaled slowly
Smelled sweet like tulip trees

Affection for you more than a token
I stroke you ever so gently
Ever so gently
Softest touch

You made your way onto the bed
Steps so soft without a sound
I dreamt of love and life with you
My feet never touched the ground

Feelings between us go unspoken
This thing never takes roots
Never takes roots
Grows and such

You stole my breath
I’m an infant you kitty cat
I stole your heart
Without consent, no going back

A breath can’t be broken
Truth is, death doesn’t hurt
Death doesn’t hurt
Near as much

***

This is based on the old wives tale about cats stealing a baby’s breath as they slept.

The last 2 verses came to me first and then I wrote the rest.

So I figured who better to ask than my parents, right?

It’s interesting to note that both my parents replied with the same exact story, but told in two different lights.

What’s certain is that my parents lived on the West side of Cleveland in the upstairs of my Grandma’s house on my Mom’s side. I had two sisters already - Candace was 2, Tiffany 7.

The hospital my Mom had been going to was also on the West side, but their only maternity ward was on the East side.

So, very early in the morning one day I decided it was time to enter the world. My Mom and Dad jumped in the car and began the trek across Cleveland. Right as they entered the East side, which apparently is notorious for cops that like to ticket, my Dad stops at the first red light he sees.

By this time my Mom is ready to burst and screams at my Dad “Do you have to stop at every God damn light!” He replies “We are on the East side, and the cops know everybody runs red lights, they look for it”. My Mom then shoots back “Well you better not!” Needless to say you don’t argue with a pregnant lady and my Dad blows through all remaining red lights.

So they make it to the hospital in the knick of time. My Dad goes to park the car, runs in and asks the nurses where my Mom is. They tell him to relax, it’s already over.

I was almost born in the elevator!

Awesome.

Other Notes

My Mom tells me that pregnant ladies like to cuss.
My nickname as a kid was Bo.
When I started to talk, it wasn’t one or two words, it was complete sentences.

A maverick called Bo with a fierce hind kick
Wide eyed at the world, it’s what makes me tick
Learning at every step, it’s what makes me stronger
One hand pushed against the end, it won’t be much longer

Mother and Father were built to sacrifice
And offer better without thinking twice
Hands used to form a roof overhead
Same ones used at night for putting to bed

***

To be continued…

I slip through back alleyways
Connected by avenues
Walk closely to the wall
Out of the light, and out of view

When my heel hits the slate
It makes a clicking sound
That’s when I know I’m there
That’s when I know I’m found

***

About Charleston nights…