Independence Day on Display

Sunset, July 4^th, 2020 and the fireworks begin.

My little dog comes to my side begging, I sur-

mise, to make the explosions stop outside.

The neighborhood erupts with fireworks all

around. And we claim celebration in the name

of our country’s Independence.

I watch the festivities around the country

on TV. Various cities and their symphonies

play stirring march music to commemorate

and romanticize the bombs bursting in air.

My pup barks and whines at the battle

raging outside. It is a violation of city ordi-

nace to set off fireworks here, but those

who are determined to participate are

unaffected by either the law or common

sense.

There is the disrupting cacophony of

noise plus the proven danger of fire

and personal injury.

I hold my pup in my lap and try to

reassure her that we’re going to get

through this and be okay. I’m sure

she can sense that I too am pissed.

And I come to realize the stark reality

that we Americans as an insubordinate

people often feel privileged to ignore

the laws protecting us all.

And, in the name of exercising our god

given rights we are more than willing to

disregard common sense, inflicting upon

others our thoughtless and lawless actions.

I suppose it is in our selfish and innate

primitive nature to set things on fire 

and our predilectio to blow shit up.

And it’s all in the name of freedom and

Liberty for All, we shamelessly claim.

                        -30-

Chris Hanch 7-5-2020

Yearning to Breath Free (Independence Day)

I believe we are witnessing the demise

of our society. History will say the virus

brought the final blow.

The precursors, the root causes, though,

have been underlying and brewing for

decades, one could say for centuries, a

bad seed sown from the beginning.

Freedom and democracy, many have

proclaimed it was all about Me, the

power and the greed. Everyone has

to have their way, and always the poor,

the needy, and the abused minorities

must pay.

Equal rights they say, yet equality only

applies to the privileged, the evangelical,

the gun, insurance, oil and big pharma

lobbies as Congress gets paid to legislate

their way. 

And then there is the President who

turned our allies and the free world

against us, who allied with and relied

upon dictatorial adversarial powers,

right-wing extremists and googly

eyed, mesmerized followers to elect

him to office.

Me, Me, Me, it has become the me

First and Me only society. You won’t

even wear a mask and maintain social

distancing to prevent the spread of a

deadly contagious pandemic, all

the while claiming your rights under

The First Ammendment.

Me, Me Me, it has become, the Me

First, the One and Only Me Society.

Global Warming, Global Pandemic,

Equal Justice and Equal Rights, it’s

all just a Hoax, you claim. And what

of the most vulnerable among us

Yearning to Breathe Free?

The New Colossus, and hope for

the World is crumbling before our

very eyes.

                             -30-

Chris Hanch 7-4-2020

“The unexamined life is not worth living.”

-Socrates

A Brief Greek Family History (for David, Rita, Brian and Becca)

Grandpa George immigrated from Greece to the

United States around 1917. He died in the 1950s

when I was about seven or eight.

As an adult in 1988, I visited Greece. I saw lots of

older men who reminded me of my Grandpa, at least

given my faded childhood perception of him.

My father, named George after his father, looked

Greek, but was born and raised in the States. He,

an all-American boy, was not exposed to many

Greek customs, and other than facial features did

not exibit predominant Hellenistic tendencies.

He and his brother, Ray, were brought up during The

Great Depression by the nuns at St. Joseph Academy,

a military boarding school in the Chicago area. Dad

and his brother spent their summers with their mom

who ran a beauty parlor. Divorced from George Sr.,

Agnes Prokes was hard-driving woman of Czech descent.

I have two brothers, and we three were raised all-American

as well, homogenized white and not having any exposure to

or influence from our ancestral origins.

I’ve been told many times that I more than my siblings look

like my father. I have been to Greece, photographed the

Greeks, am an avid student of Greek history, have celebrated

with the Greeks, drank Retsina and Ouzo with the Greeks,

sang and danced with the Greeks.

I have watched Never on Sunday twice, and Zorba the Greek

five or six times. I sport a long full beard like Socrates, all of

which inherently and inextricably connects me to my Grandpa

George’s bloodline.

The other day, I bought a Greek flag on Amazon to give

my grand kids when I pass away. Along with Western

Democracy, Homer, Zeus, Athena, Alexander the Great,

Helen of Troy, Souvlaki and Baklava, I would proudly

pass along to them Grandpa’s Greek legacy as well.

Greek is more than a bloodline, it is a proud, historic

and cultural state of mind from where the Hajiannis

(changed to Hanch at Ellis Island in the earlier 1900s)

name and family originally came.

Oh, and you are entitled to fly the flag of the United

States with allegiance and pride too. They are to be

found in all sizes and shapes, are readilly available,

and much easier to get.

Opa! Opa!

                              -30-

Chris Hanch 7-4-2020

Masked Man to the Rescue

Yesterday, my son came over to my place

wearing a mask to guard against spreading

the Coronavirus (a wise and considerate

thing to do).

He helped me install a device on my TV

so that I could subscribe to and receive

Disney + which will be featuring Hamilton

the Musical on their stream.

I have had that marvelous production on

CD and have listened to it many times. One

of my favorites shows in the annuls of Amer-

ican musicals. A stunningly creative master-

piece.

My son would have invited me to enjoy

watching it at his house, but I am one of

those elderly and autoimmune who would

be adversely affected by the pandemic.

Hamilton the Musical has been on my

bucket list since I heard it for the very

first time several years ago.

I would have paid the price to see the

production live and in person on Broad-

way, but given my personal disabled

condition and the shutdown of theaters

across the country that would not be a

likely happening for me.

So, today I will watch Hamilton on TV in the

security of my place, thanks to my son who

arrived in the nick of time as the masked man

who rode in on his four-wheeled stallion to 

save the day.


Rise up!

                           -30-

Chris Hanch 7-3-2020

To Be or Not to Be

Funny how life can be.

In eighth grade

and about to graduate

Sister Anne

had the class participate

in a guessing game.

Pick a classmate

and propose

in the years to come

what they were likely

to be.

Paul A., an argumentative kid,

was sure to become

an attorney, one suggested.

Robert O., a star with the

glove and bat, surely was

destined for the

Major Leagues, another

offered.

Christine W., artist extraordinaire,

would design fashions for the

socially elite.

Robin B., friendly and

considerate of others,

would most assuredly

teach.

Robert T., excelled in science,

a doctor, many agreed.

And on and on, hands

were raised, and predictions

were made.

You see, in class

I never paid much

attention and

rarely made the grade.

I was never mentioned

in the career parade

that day.

But nonetheless

I eventually grew to

become likely too.

Likely to what

I never knew.

Until now,

and my likely to

could never

have been imagined,

especially by me.

And then before I knew it

Likely to be, I became

seventy-three,

Still alive and kicking,

and writing poetry,

                      -30-

Chris Hanch 7-2-2020

Nickname

Growing up, I always had one or two good friends.

I was never the popular one who always had lots

of friends, never was one who all the other kids

were attracted to. I wasn’t the strongest, the fastest,

the meanest or the best looking kid on the block or

at school.

Different neighborhoods, different schools, I had

one or two friends with whom I would usually play,

invite over to my house or likewise be invited over

to theirs.

On Oakland Avenue, our first house, there was Larry

who lived up the street. We would ride our bikes to the

creek to hunt crawdads and turtles.

And then there was Otis who everyone called “Lucky.”

I never knew exactly why. Even his parents called him

that. I figured if they were going to do that, why didn’t

they just name him “Lucky” in the first place?

I did wonder what made him so lucky, anyway? I do

know that his parents belonged to an exclusive country

club. So then, why weren’t they all called “Lucky?” Why

just him?

I was often invited to go to that club’s swimming pool

with Lucky and his mom in the summer. I guess in a way

I was lucky too.

I never had a nickname growing up. Most kids I knew

either called me, “ Hanch” which is my last name. Or

sometimes I went by “Shithead” when kids wanted to be

funny or nasty. Mostly, only the Catholic kids I went to

school with did that.

I suppose they figured they could be forgiven in Confes-

sion on Saturday for using dirty words. The Protestant

kids I knew never cursed me like that. They didn’t have

the Catholic Sacrament of Confession to save them from

going to hell.

Suppose I was lucky enough growing up with one or two

good friends at a time who called me by my last name,

even though I had no nickname which told me so.

                                      -30-

Chris Hanch 7-1-2020

Over Coffee and Dessert

How can I be kind to this woman? How can

I show her I actually care? She had some sad

and terrible things about her life to share.

It began by my asking, tell me about yourself?

And, by God, that she did, offering far more than

I expected to hear at our first meeting, anyway.

I wanted to help her out, but not being involved

in the first place, I realized that there was nothing

I could do, except try to listen attentively, nod my

head in agreement and occasionally say, Oh my,

in measured surprise.

She was mostly pleasant and well-mannered in

appearance which of course made it easier for

me to pay attention.

I must admit, though, I was a novice at this psy-

chology bit. Had I the know-how or professional

training, I may have been better prepared to

understand and relate to her child and adult-

hood abuses from various men.

Instead, I tried to assure her I was not like

those others, and that she was safe with me.

But all I could offer was to say I’m sorry for

what she had been through.

After picking up the check for coffee and dessert

we had at the espresso house that day, I should

have seen her to her car, shook her hand cordially

or perhaps even given her a sympathetic hug, and

wished her the best.

She looked me in the eye and said, “Don’t feel

sorry for me.” Along with my polite assurrance

that I wouldn’t, I made a serious error in judge-

ment by asking her out again.

Even though my ego made me feel as if I

could play the white night in shining armor

come to the rescue in the drama of her life,

that was only my first mistake.

And in the long line of succession, it would

turn out not to be my last. Hell, I wasn’t

even all that comfortable in my own skin.

                           -30-

Chris Hanch 7-1-2020