Sammy - Supporting Actress

Sammy Marie – When I first met Sammy, she was exactly as I expected: quiet, unassuming, shy, behind bright blue captivating eyes. We automatically hugged because having spoken prior we had built a kind of kinship found between an aunt and niece as she refers. She says I remind her of her aunt which is a huge compliment since that is who primarily raised her.

In speaking with Sammy for the first time and really getting to know her, I scramble through my brain of metaphors to compare her to someone for my readers to identify. In the movie, “The Holiday” Kate Winslet is eating dinner with the 80 year old screen writer who tells her that she is a supporting actress in her own life, she’s not even the main character. That is the best way for me to see Sammy. Her own life has yet to begin; she has been the supporting actress in everyone else’s drama tossed from one scene to the next with no real regard for her own feelings, or storyline.

As a child, she played supporting actress between her parent’s poor choices; being tossed like a Frisbee between them and then eventually staying with her aunt being separated from her siblings. And like a Frisbee, when its usefulness was over, put in a box until the next time it was needed or useful. She learned to keep her head down and hide and is still doing this, playing turtle… don’t notice me…..

Children who grow up this way usually grow up with an overdeveloped heart. Because they haven’t had enough people in their lives to equally distribute their love to in childhood and adolescence, they have an abundance to give as young adults. This is the excuse I give for Sammy being as deeply caring and passionate as she is. It is also the reason she will continuously make poor choices when it comes to men; she wants to believe the best in everyone especially her children’s father. But even with him, she was just a supporting actress as it turns out.

The benefit of this role is that she is always there for everyone else. She is supportive, loyal, fierce, and strong for everyone else. She is SuperMom to her kids, Wonderdaughter to her ailing mom, Batfriend to all of her friends; meaning she has a superhero title when she is working for or helping someone else, unfortunately she has yet to claim her own identity.

With such empathy, she could follow her dreams and be a nurse, but money, time, and her children, are an excuse. So, she will forever be caught in a twister of indecisiveness until she is ready to become the lead role in her own life. Her potential limitless, her beauty astounding, her kindness overwhelming. We often don’t realize the worst enemies in our lives is ourselves and our fear of motion. Staying stagnant is a decision; it’s safe; it’s a Frisbee in a boxes life. But I want to see Sammy soar. Like Kafka, I want Sammy to Metamorphosis from one ridiculous thing into another. I want Sammy to morph from a Frisbee into the Eagle she was meant to be and discover all that one can do when no one else is there to throw or catch you. Because Sammy is a survivor, wouldn’t it be wonderful to see what she could accomplish? 

Mike Dayton - The Tin Man

Mike Dayton – The Tin Man

Who Stole Your Heart

The smile from your face

The innocence the light from your eyes

Who stole your heart or did you give it away
And if so then when and why
Who took away the part so essential to the whole
Left you a hollow body
Skin and bone
What robber what thief
Who stole your heart and the key ------ Tracy Chapman “The Tin Man”
 

I first heard this song back in my college days and loved the imagery and symbolism of all the lyrics; I recommend everyone listen to it. I didn’t know I would meet the real Tinman when meeting Mike Dayton.  The irony of the Tin Man is that he has misplaced his heart, he has lost it somewhere; he has so much love to give, but can’t seem to find the person, place, and time in which to fulfill his destiny. This is how it is with Mike.

I jump out of my car out of driving through the worst New York traffic desperate to make it to Long Island. Standing there waiting for me is my over 6 foot, wiry Tin Man all grins.

“You finally, made it!” he exclaims in that undeniably New York accent that hits me like strong Turkish coffee. You know its coffee, you know what it’s supposed to taste like, but nothing quite prepares you for that strong burst of flavor. That’s how Mike’s accent is. You know he’s from New York, you know what that accent is, but the long vowel sounds assault your ear canals and you realize you’re not in Kansas, or for me the South anymore…  

We joke about it; because in social media, you see people, you read what they post, but you read it with your brain, your voice. If you’re imaginative, you might create a voice for them… you might even make a connection actually speak with them. However, if you are like me, you wait to meet them in person so that you are pleasantly surprised by the nuances of their personalities in life. I make him say a few stereotypical words for me and laugh the whole time.  We fall into an easy pattern of comfortable familiarity of lifelong friends very quickly when he tells me he want to show me his favorite places: a park by a lake, to try real N.Y Pizza, and the Beach. Kindred spirits again I decide immediately.

It is at his favorite spots that I discover the Tin Man. The man that loves passionately: food, family, work, women, and alcohol. Everything that Mike does he does 110%. He works 60 + hours a week, he gives to his family, especially his mother all that he can. He speaks of his heartache and disappointment in his brother. He laments over past relationships. He is verbal, eloquent, thought provoking; he points out different flowers, birds, sights for me to see, all while sipping his wine.

I owe my first foodgasm to Mike. I now understand the Hoopla behind New York Pizza. He asked me what I wanted Sicilian or New York style. I had no clue; I said thick?? That’s obviously Sicilian. He took me to Gino’s. Where this father, son, daughter, operation was going on. Eh, oh, eh, yo, conversation was normal. Mike ordered us two slices of pizza and we sat.

I bit into the square of unassuming dough of ecstasy, and my world as I knew pizza changed forever. Garlic, butter, sweet cream nectar of the gods exploded in my mouth, dough so soft, hot, wet, and full of flavor I literally, not figuratively melted and melded into my booth chair. The fact that the old Italian father was speaking in Italian on the phone behind me made the erotic sensation even better. I had found Nirvana. Mike just laughed at all the facial expressions and sounds I was apparently making.

From there we hit the beach, and the second bottle of wine. The surf and sunset was the backdrop for him to share his heartache. He told me some more of his past relationships, and why he thinks he is doomed to be single. He told me who he is crushing on currently. He feels things so passionately, he is willing to move across the country if a girl would just give him the chance. Hopeless romantic, or hopeful romantic?

We spent a lot of time together that weekend, Mike and I did. I met his roommate, I met the other people in the group at a picnic. I built a lasting friendship with him. I know some of his pain and sorrows and he knows mine. I know that like the Tin Man, Mike has to realize that he has everything he needs, but like the rest of us, he needs to try and shed the past to welcome the future.

Samuel Adams - Indian Lager

Samuel Adams – Indian Lager

His dry wit and outlandish humor that one picks up through the computer monitor is only one facet of this multi layered character. I got to meet Sam for breakfast and coffee, outside of Edison, New Jersey at a mom and pops deli, with Oh my God to die for Corn Beef and eggs.

One of the concerns with social media is will the person you are meeting look like their pictures. How often do people lie about their appearances? I had met several who grossly exaggerated and some who were dead on target. Sam? Sam had never told anyone what he looked like because his profile picture was that of The Rock or Samuel “The Rock” Johnson. Therefore, I would have to trust that I hadn’t lied about my looks or perception, and he would recognize me. I hadn’t.

When I arrived at the deli, up walked a beefy Ali Baba himself, with Jessica Alba eyelashes and grin from ear to ear.  We fell into sync talking because Sam and I had spoken frequently in private messages previously. He was one of the few I had gotten to know a little better prior to this adventure. I knew he had a girlfriend of 5 years; I knew he was in law enforcement; I knew he was intelligent and got my twisted sense of humor too; and I think I knew he was Indian from India, but I knew it now, as we sat down and he told me his history.

He tells me he’s from Bombay, but is frequently confused with someone from Samoa. I laugh because inside my head I’m thinking only Asians or Indians would think this; Caucasians would not look at Sam and struggle overly long with his ethnicity. This to me is something that individual races do. For example when I taught high school, I never realized there was different shades of black. Only black people see different shades of black. So to Samuel Adams, he had to explain to me in his witty humor that his bald head, long lashed almond eyes, beefy build was not that of a typical Indian man despite the sandy shade of epidermis layer, but that it was most definitely more of a Samoan look. I took his word for it.

I think overall Sam is running away from anything that reminds him of who he is or where he came from. He speaks highly of his parents as far as loving them, but doesn’t want to divulge too much information. I do discover that he had a typical arranged Indian marriage that did not end well, and that could be the reason for his turning from and denying his culture so vehemently. How many Indians from Bombay do you know are veteran U.S law enforcement officers, dating blond haired American women, lifting weights daily to beef up, have wit, charm, intelligence and sarcasm on group social media with strange friends and use The Rock Johnson to describe themselves?

Then again, how many of us do the same thing, consciously or subconsciously find a way to escape our pasts by recreating our futures. His present and future are not sad ones. He is very much alive and personable. He has his demons from years in military and law enforcement, but he copes and searches for a better life. It’s just another thing that ties us together in the crazy mixed up world.  

When I go to leave, he refuses to say goodbye. He tells me he doesn’t say goodbye to people. He says something like “see you soon.” He doesn’t want to hug me, but I force him to because I’m a hugger. This is the first time where I can tell that saying goodbye has an emotional and raw effect on him. Leaving people is something he can’t face or do. So I tell him, “I’ll see you soon, brother.” And that’s what Samuel is, a brother. After meeting this, shy unassuming hide behind the mask Indian turned Samoan turned American…. After meeting this bright eyed, sweet, kind, goofy, loving, muscular Buddha. You want to hug and squeeze him, even if it does make him uncomfortable and call him Brother.