MY MOTHER THE UNKNOWN DALI LAMA: BY: Hampton Pearson

Life is a wheel. A wheel that you ride until it makes you dizzy and confused.

According to Tibetan Buddhist doctrine, the Dalai Lama is the rebirth in a line of tulkus who are metaphorically considered to be manifestations of the bodhisattva of compassion, Avalokitesvara. It occurred to me on this Mothers day of May 12 2013, that my Mother as really the true Dali Lama, and that she was cheated by the male dominated religion out of spending her time in her true spiritual role. Being her son, you will see that I am biased, but after I give you the facts, just the facts. Are ready? Can you handle the truth? The truth will start you toward understanding that my Mother should have a least a goggle entry stating that she is the true Dali Lama. Mom should have been the one posing with Richard Gere for one of her famous lectures and photo shoots. Mom certainly could have spent time teaching compassion and hob knobbing with rich people to stop living such shallow lives. What mom hasnt given you a dirty look for buying something extravagant for yourself like that overpriced German sport car and penis enhancer. Especially, when on Mothers day, you got her that drug-store cheapo candy and those whittled flowers from a guy in a van. The current Dali Lama is sort of weak in his leadership role about living the compassionate life, just offering little blurbs of advice with no action. He is missing that inner Mom spirit that could get things done and cut through the YETI SHIT of life. As Dali Lama, he is resting on his male haunches, taking the easy way out, by faking real enlightenment. However, even while Mother is mediating on life with her TV; she is gathering vital information about the world, and humanities need of compassion. My Mother understood the role of greed and the need for compassion by watching her favorite soap opera the Young and the Restless. My mother even shouts out advice to those TV characters about the futility of following greed and lust into the circling crap-hole of life. Without watching soap operas or being in the shoes of the housewife, how can that sweet little guy, the Dali Lama ever understand the hardships of being compassionate in this cockeyed western world? Does the Dali Lama ever take the time to understand the trials and temptations of the West. The guy has never been married with a balloon mortgage and little sticky, stinky greedy ones called kids, running around making shrieking noises and destroying your inner piece with their demands. The master in his saffron colored robe never had anyone bothering him about getting the latest toy or electronic mind waster. Every Buddha master would really have truly tested his patience and compassion by having the job of mentoring insolent teenagers.

What would the guru do with a creature that just sits staring at their cell phones and making grunting sounds? Faced with this reality, the current Dali Lama couldnt handle all that. He most likely would go running for a cave somewhere in Nepal hiding from the greed monsters, known as kids. The Dali Lama would rather spend time with Yeti with the matted, smelly hair than with a group of sixyear-old rug rats. (Maybe it is hidden nature of Buddhism to leave the stress of family life, as the Buddha himself deserted his family and went on that long walk.) My Mother would have not deserted the family, but did practice compassion inside the family. In truth though it is much easier to be compassionate to strangers than certain family members who have pissed you off.)

Lets shake up the Lama with a woman in charge and let us see what you would get. If my Mother had been the Dali Lama, I see her as a more active Sage. Mom would be featured on TMZ catching the vain and vacuous in comprising dispassionate actions. There would be the ambush video of my eighty six year old Mother knocking a bag of cocaine out of Paris Hiltons handbag and tell her to work in a soup kitchen instead of snorting they high priced Peruvian nose candy. My Mother would have forced herself into Hiltons Condo and do a drug search and of course find more drugs and loads of shoes. This of course would then get the true Dali Lama to unload such spiritual advise about being wasteful with living in the material world. I see mom, right now raising her voice and being the loud Dali Lama: HOLY MOSES, PARIS DO REALLY NEED ANOTHER PAIR OF SHOES! This would be the new improved Dali Lama. It takes a woman as Dali Lama to have some real balls, make people confront the truth without all that soft soothing baby talk and mumbo jumbo. Now religious scholars will say, that the Dali Lamas location is in Tibet and that is that. But hold on there mister religious scholar, with the concept of rebirth, why not a rebirth taking place in Cleveland, Chicago, East Saint Louis, Wisconsin ? Why is the Dali Lama stuck in Tibet, where the low oxygen levels cloud ones thoughts and may cause unknown images of another male Dali Lama or that Hairy neighbor being the Abominable snow man? You the readers are most likely right now fighting with your greedy side and decided if this story is worth. Do I really care about a lesson about compassion, when I can go shopping in my underwear or tweet my comments on the latest Iron Man movie. My Mother, the Dali Lama, would ask you simple questions.

HAVE YOU BEEN NICE TO SOMEONE TODAY, DID YOU CALL YOUR PARENTS, EVER? DO YOU REALLY NEED TO BUY MORE STUFF AND HAVE YOU LOOKED AT YOUR CREDIT CARD STATEMENT LATELY? DO YOU REALLY NEED TO WASTE MONEY ON ANOTHER IRON MAN MOVIE OR THAT OTHER HORRID FLICK THE HANGOVER PART III? My mother as Dali Lama would have saved you money and you could skip the lectures from your own Mother. It is a combo plate of spiritual guide and great motherly advise rolled into the new guru. Now you believers in the current hip Dali are mostly like going to send me hate mail about my unorthodox belief in my Mother and dissing the bald guy. Just hold your Yaks, mister or miss fancy robed Buddhist. My eyes witnessed my Mother being the true Lama, when I was six years old. Let me take you to that momentous day, when I witnessed my Mother rid me personally of wallowing in greed and self-interest. We were in a little Midwestern town in Illinois, and far away from Tibet with all its grandeur and tourists exploiting natives to carry their crap up a large mountain to feed their egos. The place of the real Dali Lama was in the boring Midwest, a flat place that is more conducive to religious revelations then the far east with its beautiful distractions and lack of oxygen. Mom didnt know she was Dali Lama. She thought of herself, at the time as being an average Christian, a Sunday school teacher who followed the tradition of the Midwest housewife. We had normal lives until she had that bright light from the east shine her. You see; kid parties were the norm of the day. So Mom planned of having my birthday party, which included my friends and neighbor kid numbskulls that were hungry. It was a wondrous June day, and I was a happy, dumb six-year old thinking that life was all pizza, puppies and sunshine. It was also let them eat cake day, which like Marie Antoinette and her big mouth would find out was not the right thing to say to the masses. The term cake would rile up the rabble that was about to attend my party. Yes, the sugary, delightful feature would be my birthday cake, chocolate cake my favorite. More sugar would be on tap with Soda Pop in high supply stored in the garage in plastic tubs with ice. My birthday was supposed to be perfect WITH presents, friends my special day. Then it happened; a revelation about humanity and my Mothers inner awakening to becoming the DALI LAMA. I was beaming, and my Mother and Granny were smiling ear to ear. The celebration seemed normally easy and harmless. Mother might not have been so clueless if she had had a parcel of kids like the Catholic families, but I was an only child. So Mom was unaware of the insanity of putting a troop of kids together. Bad shit will occur when there is six-year olds left alone for more than a nano second. This was a done deal of a shit storm of Yeti poop a coming that would test Moms compassion and concepts of celebrating ones birthday.

Mom and Granny really needed to spend time with Jane Goddall for what would happen next. The Tallas kids showed up, and previously they were known to be well behaved Catholic kids who were afraid of both Jesus, and their Mother. This turned out to be Catholic PR, as a catholic can be sinful and then go to church and confess their crimes and then be absolved of their crime. This loophole would cause many Mafia dons and kid from committing crimes without fear of God striking them into dust. Following the Tallas kids were the Ohlerkibs, Randy and Timmy. These two poor waifs came from a home that included no supervision, as both parents spent all their time and money in bars until they fell off the barstools. The Ohlerkibs were the original farmers of our small town and just had come into money by selling off the family farm to a housing developer. They were like the Beverly Hillbillies. Poor folks that inherit money normally dont handle it well. (This theme will later be done on the Bravo network. Damn it. I should have written this down years ago.)

Next came my best friend Andy Crapper, another poor hillbilly kid whose father had deserted the family for another woman and his love of booze. It was the scandal of its day as Ralph drunk driver got in a fender bender with a woman who wasnt his wife. Per Swaggart, or just pure swagger. The Crapper image was now in the toilet. To make matters worse, Andy Crappers father, Ralph, ironically a former Bible student at Wheaton college stole all the money out the family checking account, and left his family without a dime. Ralph instinctual pursuits were his love of drinking without responsibilities of the kids getting in his way or taking his drinking money. Ralphie Crapper was a born-again predictor of why you should never trust a certain type of bible thumper, as his actions mirrored, a guy still on TV one, Jimmy Swaggart. Ralph had the same line of bullshit and would have made a great TV preacher, ala Jimmy and his ilk. You know the type, the TV preacher crying to the lord to forgive him for getting caught with pants to his ankles, in the backseat of a Buick and being fondled by hooker named Bubbles Starbuck. Ralph, the good Christian, ran down south to the land of sun and fun, Florida. Florida seemed to fit his personality as it is swampy and filled with slimy creatures, like radio preachers and assorted amphibians, along with insects the size of Caddies.

If the old Testament God was watching he/she should have forced Ralphs car to careen into a swamp and have that man get eaten by one of those tourist attractions, the Florida gator. The Christian god seemed to be sleeping on the job, as Ralph survived his drunken drive back to Cracker Pleasantville. His devoted mother took her son in, as if he was a devoted tea-totaler. She was

deaf, dumb and blind to her wastrel son, even though she ended up breaking her hip when she fell over his cases of beer he housed in her kitchen. Helen Crapper body wasnt broken, but her monetary life was busted. The bible thumbing wife was now penniless and stuck with her hillbilly children of one Ralph Crapper. All seven little Crappers were now waiting on Jesus and his people to come to the rescue. Sadly, these Christian miracles didnt occur, as Jesus didnt pay the light bill or have magic sacks of clothes nor did real food appeared on the doorstep. In reality, the Christians in our town shunned the lady with crop of Crapper kids and the scandalous drunken husband. Helen was now listed as a shamed outcast of a lady with those horrid children who needed a bath and a new set of clothes. The Crappers were cast out of society like lepers. Except by my Mother. This is when I discovered the first sign of my Mom being the true Dali Lama. When this occurred, I realized that my Mother was a spiritual one. My Mothers second miracle event, as the Dali Lama came when she convinced my Father (nicknamed cheapo) to give Helen Crapper some cash to help her out. Helens Christian church just gave her a box of leftover food that the bible thumpers didnt want. Crappers church dropped off a box filled with food that most would find inedible: cans of smoked oysters, spam, leftover K rations from world war II and one jar of pickled pigs feet. The good Christian left the box and then ran like hell away from Crappers house, as if the house contained a plague of locust and rats. However, just as the Christians had written the Crappers off, there was a beam of light from Tibet that shined on my Mother that day. Moms round cherubic face smiled like the Buddha, and her eyes twinkled with compassion. Reincarnated into that chubby spiritual guy stood my Mother, a chubby woman in a house dress who should have been transported to Tibet for her anointment. Yes, there stood the real Dali Lama: My Mother was now in full Buddhist mode to ride in like a chubby Buddha cowboy to the rescue. Mom was now helping this clueless, forlorn, shamed housewife. Not only did Mom give her cash, but Andy Crapper spent now most of his days either getting lunch or dinner in our house, while his Mother had now become a full time librarian, along with being duties of being an overwhelmed Mother. Ironically, her own Christian church shunned her as her pick of husbands had left a stain on her to all of her ex-Christian friends. My Mother, as Dali Lama didnt forsake her and listened compassionately to her problems. Moms compassion kept on going and she was sorely tested like the Buddha himself as our neighborhood was filled up with the sorriest lot of Christian humanity to walk the earth. Personally, I think that most Buddhist would have left our town after meeting the neighbors who were normally drunk, brutish, rude or harried by making the holy dollar.

If only the current Dali Lama had seen the last of the group of kids, he would have given up all that spiritual crap and opened up a nice smoke shop in Nepal or maybe opened a hostel for the Uber rich Mountain climbers. I think it may have been the Deter clan to forced my Mother into the world of the un-materialistic that she reinvented Buddhas teachings.

The Deters also seemed to blessed with a southern gene that caused them to fight authority and cause parties to get wilder and fiercer every year. Billy Deters and Tommy Deters may have already had a police wrap sheet at the age of five. Their father Hubert Deters was a man whose passions, of drinking and holding pig roasts were legendary. Hubert Deters was known to drive like a NASCAR driver to avoid another DUI from our town police force. All the counties within the area had his picture plastered in their headquarters My Mother should have known better, as she had witnessed the Deter back yard pig roast. This Hillbilly festival always ended up with the cops arriving to shutdown the drunken porcine feast. This party was the precursor of Woodstock, but had the same sort of vibe. The Deters had three days and nights of continuous music, swearing, guzzling beer, naked square dancing and pig eating contests. After the third night of full volume Hank Williams or Merle Haggard played at Spinal Tap sound level of eleven; the neighbors would call the cops. The cops then got their most physical struggle of the year trying to cuff the tiny, but wiry Hubert Deters and taking him into custody. My Mother saw the kids now sitting normally at our picnic table. It was the last moment of normalcy to be seen for that day. Mom and Granny then came out with the cake. They both went back inside to get more plastic forks when the troop of kids decided that this was the time to take partying to a new level. Andy Crapper the ring leader went into the garage while the troop all following. Loads of Pop in bottles stood up in containers of ice was a tempting sight. Sadly, not to drink but use as a weapon. Now Andy shook up a bottle and pointed at the Deter clan. He grabbed the bottle opener and let it rip. Now the Deter clan was covered in sticky Cherry cola. Now cake was flying at everybody as if the Three Stooges were filming in my backyard. Just then my Mother came out to check on us, and she stopped dead in her tracks. Shock and stun maybe could not be the full description, but Mom screamed in disbelief. WHAT THE HELL! OH MY GOD! LOOK THIS MESS! Just as she finished this sentence all the took off running. This is where my Mother developed her new found Buddhism.

Those little bastards, son of a bitch Mom let go a list of profanity she learned from my Father. Mom was no longer in that Buddha zone, no longer calm or serene, but the tint of red flushed her whole face. I was waiting to see steam come out of ears like in those cartoons.

Worst then steam came out Mom, as she let go with on of her proclamations. That is enough, no more of this nonsense. Hampton, your birthday parties have been canceled, forever. But, But I didnt cause the mess. Mom stared back with anger that must have been more related to the Buddhas wife when she found he had just walked out of their relationship after giving birth to his son. Clean up the mess and we are no longer going to discuss this. I ended up cleaning for hours the garage that had Jackson Pollock Pop painting on the floor. Next, my Birthday cake was now attached to the patio, the grass and our Cape cods brick walls. Plus, I was doomed by the new Dali Lama, never to have another birthday party for ten years. Mom turned away and went back inside to stress eat. Maybe, the Buddha was a secret stress eater as his statues always show a fat guy, a happy fat guy, but still a fat guy. I looked in to find my Mother stress eating a quart of ice cream and crying about my birthday debacle. Well, my Mother did kill part of my self-indulgent nature as never had another birthday party, until my Father gave me a sixteen birthday against my mothers wishes. Mom now did embrace her role as the Dali Lama, as she dragged me along when she volunteered to work at Head-start. This made her happy and did learn that helping people gives you a nice feeling. The simple premise of Buddhism was now the tenet of my Mothers life. Weirdly even without the cache of Richard Gere fawning over my Mother, she still kept on listening and helping neighbors much to the chagrin of my Father, who had to deal with consequences. One problem is that some of the needy people showed or called at any time of the day or night. It was weird but one of Moms needy people showed up at 5:30 in the morning for solace. My father who was compassionate, but was not that compassionate. Especially, when he was drinking his coffee, and smoking his breakfast cigarette in his boxer shorts. Dad was pissed off when somebody showed up at the backdoor at FIVE FUCKING THIRTY IN THE MORNING. Mom as the Dali Lama thought, this was fine, that you should not turn away the needy, even at this ungodly time.

However, he blew his stack. Father didnt want to be watched like a zoo animal during feeding time. Jesus h. Christ, cant Valeria come back when I am not here.

I would like to have my BREAKFAST IN PEACE. As the Lama, Mom kept on this strange trip of compassion, she dragged me with her when she volunteered at the Head-Start program. Mom really enjoyed this, as the kids were cute, but the fatal flaw was the Dali Lama needs to be a polyglot. This experience with Head-Start program showed me the world of the Mexican migrant struggle, as the kids came from the workers who picked crops that still resided in Illinois. These kids were truly hidden as they lived in chicken coops, and suffered the fate of the outcast status of being illegals working in the shadows. Mom couldnt figure out why they spent so much time in the bathroom, until I realized that they had never seen indoor plumbing. Those kids were fascinated by the flushing toilet and sinks magic faucet giving them water. They would laugh and flush, turn on the sink and giggle in wonderment. Strange thing was the more mom did for others the less she focused on our family's materialism. Christmas presents got canceled, which seemed to please my agnostic father and his inner cheap spirit. If you really wanted something, you could ask, and sometimes you got it, but Christmas wasnt the greed fest that focused on one's progeny, like neighbors. Some of the neighbors went whole hog for the pagan holiday that had been converted to a commercial Christian crap fest, like our neighbor Rose Stulz. Mom and Granny would both shake their heads in disgust when they saw the waste of the Neighbor throwing away last years toys to make room for this year's toys. Rose Stulz had to make sure her husband had gone to work, then in her bathrobe, smoking a Kent; she would dump all the toys from last year into the trash cans. Ironically, being Catholic, Rose knew that there was a Catholic orphanage in our town could have used them. But that would have meant extra work or compassion to those who hadnt made into our middle-class block. My Father now noticed that this compassion thing could backfire, but to save arguments he went along with most of Mothers action. . He did shake his head in concern when Helen Crapper called once again on Mom for more help. It was 1968 and the world was full of Hippies, drugs and drug arrests. It was late at night on a Friday when we got a call from one Helen Crapper, that her eldest son Johnny had been busted with a trunk load of pot in Chicago. This didnt shock me as the Crappers and many kids on my block were Hippies, smoking pot and selling pot. These guys did not always fit the imagine of being nice peace loving hippies, even when they were tripping on LSD, they were just assholes, even when hallucinating. Some of this proto-hippies were quite awful as they would taunt you and smack you around. Really, they were more like Charlie Manson then Flower children they were being sold on the TV screen.

Mom woke up Dad, who was an ex-marine, and never liked the hippie haircut. Could Moms Dali Lama mojo, get this Crapper with giant Afro and hippie garb, bail money? (Weird, we lived a very bigoted white burb. We didnt know that the town red-lined black people. Ironically, or because of the Crappers being southern, their lineage contained black folks. ( Johnny Crapper was the first real life Afro hairstyle; I witnessed in person. Just imagine a white guy

with one of those Billy Preston afros of the 1970s. ) What the hell. More money, for a hippie! Fred, just think, she has no husband and not a lot of money coming in. My Father was more logical about the Crapper clan. Maybe the dope head should spend some time in jail to get his mind right. Since my father loved his sleep, he now was as grouchy as a bear with snoot full of bees attacking his face. Jesus Friggin H. Christ, we are going to go broke with all this giving money to idiots and sons of drunken hillbillies. Mother now worked her Dali Lama magic about the need for compassion to the criminal. She just needs bail money and she will try to pay us back. Oh yes, pay us back, when pigs fly and Ralphie comes back from Florida a tea-totaler and stops spotting bullshit. Mom just had to apply more Dali Lama pressure, Well. It would make it better for Andy not see his brother spend a night in jail. The old man just threw his wallet at Mom the Dali Lama and said go ahead give her the bail money. The old man rolled over while Mom the Dali Lama, gave Helen Crapper two hundred bucks to bail out of jail one Johnny Crapper. It was strange times, with hippies, war protests, Hoover, Tricky Dick Nixon, all spinning the world around in some drugged out, power sucking, hellish ride toward a world of disappointments. But, for some reason my Mother kept on her path. Ironically, Dads comment about pigs flying and Ralph Crapper coming back was partly true. Ralph did come back, but not in a sober condition or to become an upstanding citizen. The con man had decided that his wife and her Fathers paid-up house would make him a richer and happier man then having to take care of his aging Mother.

Helen Crapper, didnt really learn much from her bible, since she cajoled and bribed Ralph to come back to be the great husband and father, he was supposed to be. Helen bought the drunken SOB a AUDI sports coupe. It was the first time I met the great man, Ralph Crapper a man who was the spitting image of one Billy Graham, handsome with great wavy hair and a ruddy, rugged face. His

appearance didnt match his forlorn and previously forgotten wife, as she was shaped like a dumpling and had given up on personal appearance once she Ralph had took flight for Florida. However, now, Ralph the great man was back: Ralph was honking his horn and waving us to get into this bright yellow, fancy sports coupe. He flagged us down on Elm street to give us a ride in his new car. Even the car was different than all the others in the neighborhood. It was German and it was sleek, fast and impressive. It was a car that shouted look at me. It was a Audi, an car brand I never heard of before. This was my first time in an expensive German car and also the first time I watched someone actually drink and drive simultaneously. Ralph beamed and joked about giving us a ride in the Nazi car. You guys, I fought against those bastards. I was there on D-day. Holy Crap, was that pure hell. Andy beamed as his father was a war hero, but I had my doubts. Ralphie regaled us with stories and jokes, while taking large gulps out of silver flask. Personally, I was worried about his passion of booze getting us killed, but he handled the car like a professional drinker and driver. He also had a knack to be so charming that you would let your guard down. You guys need to practice your pitching for this years little league. Ralph said this the prodigal father returning trying to be a hero in his youngest sons mind. Look here guys; I have to go to a business meeting, so I am going to drop you guys at Emerson Park and give you a gift to both of you. Ralph shoved the flask in his pocket, then slowed down the car and pulled it next to the ball-diamond in Emerson park. Ralph grasps a brown paper bag from under the seat and announced. Okay, guys these are professional ball player gloves, so that you two can try out for the Cubbies. WOW, LOOK REAL OFFICIAL MITTS FROM THE MAJOR LEAGUE. Andy shouted this and sat back stunned that we were given gifts. Ralph tossed us the gloves and said he had to go. Andy was euphorically high with the gift, but for me, it seemed like some sort of trick, a con of some kind.

Andy now had his dream a pitcher for a major-league team. We now tossed and practiced pitching; both stunned by the return of this Father. Little did I know, but Andys gift was the last good thing that his long-lost father would give him. In reality, Ralph should have stayed in Florida, as he was not a changed man, not a great role model. His disease and desire to drink would have consequences that

would destroy my friendship and shake my Moms faith in being kind and generous. The reality bomb had now been set to go off with horrid results.. As Dali Lama, my mother didnt realize that the compassion, you give is not equal to the compassion you receive. Most people still shunned the Crappers, especially now that Ralph had magically reappeared. Mom even gave Ralph some compassion, which proves that the Dali Lama can be befuddled and foolish. Helen Crapper would turn to my Mother and complain that since Ralphs returned no one would spend time with them. Our Christian bible thumpers would certainly still be not accepting the Crapper clan. Therefore, they were shunned and shame mode against the Crapper clan held tight with our Church-going neighbors, as they unlike Jesus, they would never forgive sinners. However, Moms inner Dali Lama made her even have compassion for one Ralph Crapper. My Mother forced my Father to have dinner with the Crappers, which turned out to be an eye-opening bitch slap of reality to my Mother the Dali Lama. You see, my Father like a lot of men, understand the nature of the drunk, as they had to have been over served at one point or another. My father pointed out that Ralph during dinner went to the washroom about twenty times that night and since the washroom was next to the bar, he most likely was getting a shot of whiskey to get the courage up to pee. Even the clueless Helen Crapper realized that dear old Ralphie was still a full blown drunk. She had been kidding herself that he was a new sober man. However, during the first Christmas back with the family, the fact of Ralph pissing in the living room proved that he was still a disorderly drunk. Sadly, Jesus hadnt stopped Ralphie from his horrid addiction or stopped the man from soiling the carpet and the kids presents. Mom still listened to her complaints and even suggested that may be giving Ralph another attempt at fatherhood and husbandry was a big mistake. Helen agreed but still left Ralph in her unhappy home. Her high school boys became stoned hippies; the oldest daughter left for art school and was wrapped up in the hippie lifestyle of fun and finding oneself. Andy was a pitcher and making progress in sports, but even he now realized that dear old Dad wasnt worth a bucket of warm spit. The youngest daughter, Joy mainly lived in her own little world, a bookish girl, who survived by staying in her room. I watched Andy in little league, but found the adults to be so unhinged about their kids winning that I turned away from sports and into my own version of a hippie. I gave up on baseball and took up music. Andy now had a chip on his shoulder, and I moved away from his interests. I was sad when I heard that Andy took to petty crimes and following his older brother into the life of wasted time and wasted ways.

Mom still was helping people as she was working at Wards and got the neighbor ladies jobs. Ironically, Mom was also happy and smiling like the Buddha helping others, but with our family, she could show her stern, less compassionate nature. I decided to pursue my interests of music and started to avoid Andy, who was getting into more and more trouble.

Interesting enough Mom still talked to Helen, but since Ralph was back the relationship were strained. Ralph main goal was to get Helens fathers house and kick back even further into the lifestyle he dreamed of. The last time I saw Andy came as a shock. It was the 1960s, and I had a Jazz-rock garage band. I was in Junior high, but had the music bug. Ironically the band kept me busy and out of trouble. Sometimes the band was great, and sometimes we sucked. However, the band taught me a lot about life, mainly that people have trouble working in groups and bands like friends normally break up bitterly. It was during one of our band practices that I saw Andy for the last time. My grandmother must have let Andy in as he came down our basement stairs during one of the rehearsals of the Traffic tune, The low spark of high heeled boys. Immediately, the band stopped playing. I was shocked that Andys presence would have caused such a shock, but Andys image had changed, and he was labeled as the bad kid. I felt guilty. I had dropped Andy as a friend, when his father came back, not thinking he needed anybody. What are you doing here, Crapper? The band members stated this in stereo. Awkwardly, I should have stood up and said he was my friend, but at times one remembers when Andy screwed up my birthday party or the time he kicked me in the nuts for telling him the truth about his father. Finely, my Mothers conscience got the better of me. Andy is an old friend. I stammered that I had shocked the crowd. They almost gasp as the band members including our girl pianist was taken back. It was weird, but it was like Keith Richards, Mick Jagger or Alice Cooper was in my basement offering to make them partners in his league with the devil. Andy tried to fit in, as he bragged that he could play the bass. Sadly, my band did need a bass player. The rest of the kids stared in horror when Andy said he played bass. I was the co-leader of the band with Mark Tester, so they must have feared that I would let Andy in. I let the matter drop, and Andy left dejected. It would be the very last time I would see him.

My Mothers training made me feel guilty about my treatment of Andy, but the pressure of avoiding being with a kid labeled bad news trumped my compassion. It was strange, but destined that my Mother got the phone call. Normally, my Mother had calls all the time, as she listened to everybodys problems. This day it was Helen again, so I almost didnt bother to pay attention. However, then Mom started crying immediately.

Mom was also speechless, but said one thing. I am so sorry for your loss. Then the bombshell, We loved Andy so much. It hit me, Andy was dead, but how. He was just fourteen years old. Mom was stunned and put the phone down. How did it happen? How did Andy die? Now my Granny had come into the room; she had taken care of me Andy and me most days, as my Mother had a normal job. Granny made Andy and me Tuna fish sandwiches one of his favorites. Even my Father stopped his building his model airplane and rushed in when he heard my Mother crying. We all had a soft spot for the kid. What happened? Dad said this with a look of pain. Ralph, kicked Andy out of the house, and he went with his friends to Foxlake and the boat tipped over and he drowned trying to save his girlfriend. Ralph had the nerve to kick Andy out of the house. That drunken son of a bitch, didnt have the right to kick anybody out of the house. My father had been forced to spend time with Ralph because of my Mother, but his comment showed his true contempt. Now we started to recall the stories we had of Andys eating family meals with us, while his Father had been getting drunk in the land of sun and fun. We remember all the meals and times Andy was with us; he was part of our family in so many ways. Dad now remembered the shrimp incident. Remember when we bought him a bag of shrimp from Dons Dock, and he ate so many he had got sick. Jesus, that kid could pitch a mean fastball. My Father remembered the time he would play catch with both Andy and I. He was too young to go. Granny said this crying.

We were all stunned, but not shocked about Ralph being the asshole that kicked Andy out the house. The day of Andys funeral, I stayed home. I couldnt bring myself to go, or find what difference it would make if I did. Mom and Dad went to the funeral and that was first time Mom as the Dali Lama saw that compassion is surely a one way street. Helen said she would never forget the kindness we showed Andy. The pain

of the event with Ralph being there sort of foretold that people will inflict their pain by hanging on to a bad man just cause you think they can change. Now Mom never heard back from Helen after that, it could have been the slip of the tongue that she thought that Ralph was no good. However, Ralph being a drunken asshole was given, all you had to do was have eyes to see he had been a waste of humanity. Ironically, after Andys death the church that had shunned her now let her back in. Helen now thought Jesus would absolve her of the sin of bringing a drunken man back into her house. Ralph of course stayed as he had found his meal ticket. He certainly wasnt a real father or breadwinner. As a BULLSHIT artist, Ralph became a realtor and loved the game, but his real plan was to get Helens fathers house. Helens father rightly hated the drunk, so for Ralph it was his way of pissing on the old guy by living in that grand brick house. Ralph of course went on drinking and lived to inherit the old mans house. But, maybe the old testament God woke up, as he lived only a few years getting struck down my cancer. Helen never called again or visited us again. Ironically, she joined a new hipper church a couple blocks from our house. Jesus, however, never whispered in her ear, Hey! Remember the Hampton family that helped you for all those years. Ironically, we would run into her, and she would almost pretend that we were just a mirage. It was at a grocery store that I saw her and wanted to lay into her that she was a horrid person, but I kept my mouth shut. I never forgave her for not returning compassion. As my granny got older, and older I felt sorry that Helen never would visit and acknowledge her kindness to her departed son. Granny died, at our home with me holding her hand in the middle of the night. Granny was ninety she had been great person, but forgotten to the outside world.

Mom went on being the Dali Lama, but she was starting to learn that her compassion was a onesided trip to the land of her depression and disappointment. The neighbor lady who had been on food stamps got money from my Mom to go visit her kids. This compassion never got returned especially when I asked for her to bring my Mom some lunch on my dime and would have included a lunch for husband. Old man Tallas was a man who spent his workday sitting on the porch staring into space like

the original Buddha. Ironically, the guy, although a life long Republican has a strong aversion to work. His Catholic training allows him to run and hide, when I bring Mom home and need help with her wheelchair. Sadly, all I wanted him to do is hold the door, nothing more. So goes the wheel of compassion. Mom now the dejected Dali Lama is eighty-six and realized that her compassion didnt resound back to her. I have a litany of her compassionate deeds. Her boss needed money to get back to her homeland in Thailand for Mothers funeral. Father almost blew a gasket on that one, until the woman did pay back the loan. The boss from Thailand a true Christian just couldnt help herself to her natural greed as she then conned my mother out of her wedding dishes, upon her return. After the wedding dishes were in her paws, she never called again and disappeared into that fog of users and self-obsessed assholes, that plagued my Mother. These recipients of Moms compassion and her journeys as the Dali Lama somehow turned to be a big cluster Fbomb. They are all disappointments of unenlightened greedy bastards, who would only give back to themselves.

Compassion for the true Dali Lama comes without fanfare and in the form of a Son with missing birthday who cares for the now old broken-down Dali Lama, my Mother. Her only true compassionate friends happen to be of the feline variety. The two compassionate ones Mom has are her cats Freddy and Peppy. These mammals truly are more wise, nice and compassionate then all the collection of humanity my Mother encountered. Ma, the Dali Lama, now regrets most of her compassionate acts and jokes she should have stuck to pets.

This is a true story, with name changes, but I hope it makes you compassionate toward people or at least get a nice pet. The real Dali Lama is currently working on her new project for money, as she now states: MONEY CANT BUY YOU HAPPINESS, BUT YOU CAN RENT FOR A FEW HOURS. The Dali Lama new epic book and project is a script for her soap opera, THE OLD AND THE POOPED. Most of the heroes and heroines of the script somehow turn out to be cats.