Midgets Can See Ghosts

spoday's 3rd musing

I forgot the most important part of being a ghost, short of sliming Bill Murray, are the announcements. In order to pull off such a feat the mailers have to go to the USPS: "I am a ghost!! Boo!" So, I failed. Hey, maybe I was trying to make a point. Was I? I don't know, sounds too sophisticated; ok sounds wrong to use sophisticated, how bout thoughtful, no not it either, let's go with aware. Wait, this is suddenly turning into an episode of Dr. Phil and we all know how that ends: sitting in utter confusion wondering how morons get their own TV show. Fucking ghosts are so indecisive and who really cares about their feelings.

I am not a ghost, true.

I don't think ghosts can type.

But, as a kid, I was watching some television with my sister Carol Anne and she tuned me in to a new channel. It was odd because after I discovered this channel Carol Anne was incessant upon viewing; they were all the same thereafter for her. No matter what I turned to it was all the same, and fucking Carol Anne became a total pain in the ass to watch tube with. I mean it really didn't matter if Mind of Mencia or Colors with Penn and Duvall (a cinematic achievement) was on, she'd just repeat over and over again; "They're here", with a quixotic look upon her face.

My initial response, being the older brother, was always yes they are Carol Anne but they cut the grass. I see now how this was flawed. It took some time and growth and many more of these conversations to overcome her fears. There was always an easy answer whether it was, you like tacos don't you or, ok I really never got further than he cuts our lawn and they created tacos.

It was enough to appease her.

It was almost fun.

A total sense of accomplishment knowing that my little sister could move on from ghosts in the TV and I could be a guiding factor in her socialization. Wow, after typing that, it was more powerful than I thought. Anyway, if I accomplished nothing in life, I could rest on the laurels that I set Carol Anne on a solid path, basically adulthood, where there are no ghosts in the TV or bogeymen in your closet.

And, I was content.

Years after those young days of childhood naiveté I went to see my younger, beautiful, successful, Carol Anne, a professional no less, a slayer of ghosts and bogeyman alike. We clicked on the TV, the news. They said Joe Biden's running for president. I saw a look I had dreaded for a lot of my life and there was no need for explanation:

"THEY'RE BACK!"

(Written while hiding under my bed)


-presents for all-