Circus

Circus: (n) a traveling company of acrobats, trained animals, and clowns that gives performances, typically in a large tent

I’m about to break one of my own cardinal rules when it comes to writing.

I don’t mention too many “pop culture” references from the past because they’re irrelevant to the majority of the people who read my blogs.
. But when I saw the word “circus,” my mind went to only one place.

When I was a kid I was portly. (Now, this is a “grandma word” used to describe a fat boy.)

I fell in love with a TV show called “Circus Boy.” I can’t tell you much about it but there was a little kid just my age, with blond hair just like mine, blue eyes–the same–and he was part of a circus. He walked around wearing an adorable hat which might cause the worst cynic to beam a smile.

I loved that show.

So one day when shopping with my parents, I noticed they were selling a replica of Circus Boy’s hat. Oh, my God–I begged. I pleaded with my parents to get the it for me. It must have been very reasonable because they didn’t quibble.

I never took it off. My greatest joy was that when people saw me in the hat, they often commented, “He looks kinda like Circus Boy.”

It was almost like I was a leper and Jesus had just touched me.

One day I was in the grocery store with my mom and dad and a man and woman came up and the lady said, “Is this your son?”

My mother nodded with pride. Then the lady said it. “You know, he really looks like ‘Circus Boy.'”

I was about to explode with a huge smile and share with her that “Circus Boy” was my favorite show on TV when the man piped in, “Yeah, kind of. Except he’s fat.”

The earth stood still.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t look in any direction without seeing human beings who needed to be far away from me at that moment.

I turned on my heel and ran out of the store, wedging myself against the back of a Coke machine in a corner, crying.

You see, the guy wasn’t mean. Just matter-of-fact.

It was such “matter-of-fact” that even I knew it was true.

To this day, “circus” brings up “Circus Boy,” which stirs a memory of my fondness for the show, circulating images of the hat I wore, pretending–but deep in my heart, knowing I couldn’t be him.

I was too … portly.

 

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Circumstance

Circumstance: (n) a condition connected with or relevant to an event or action

“Considering the circumstance…”

Damn it, don’t lie to me. You’re not really going to let me consider my circumstance. You might like to pretend you will, so that I will
consider yours.

The true breath of fresh air which enlivens the human brain is that second place cannot be excused away due to circumstance.

We might get sympathy. Some people might even agree that we got an unfair shake.

But once they walk away from us and talk to others, they will call second place what it is–a loss.

The time to consider circumstance is before an endeavor is begun, not after it’s been anemically performed.

It’s not so much that we love winners as it is that we hate losers.

If someone is able to lose with the understanding that there was a personal deficit, we’re willing to allow them into the competition again to acquire a second chance.

Even Apollo Creed gave Rocky an additional crack at the title, because Rocky did so well the first time and did not pretend he won. (Please forgive the obscure reference to a forty-year-old movie.)

What can I do to convince myself that pleading “circumstance” only makes me look like I’m needy instead of letting people know that I am fully aware that I fell short and am prepared to change things up?

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Circumspect

Circumspect: (adj) wary and unwilling to take risks.

I have decided that the best way to protect our country from terrorists is to let moms and dads examine the bags at airports.

Think about it.

Your mother and father could always find a reason that anything you planned to do would either a) hurt you; b) make your grades drop; c)
keep you from God or the church; d) kill you.

If we put these moms and dads in charge at the airport, it would only take about two weeks before frequent flyers would grow weary of bringing along anything
that might be questionable. For after all, not only would it be rejected, but also you would have to listen to the lecture on why it was stupid to consider bringing it in the first place.

Mommys and Daddys are circumspect–careful to a fault.

In the process they possibly spare their children some potential danger, but also plant seeds of suspicion and “Mommy-and-Daddyism” inside them, until such an hour that these children are in charge of their own little offspring, who likewise need to be ferociously protected.

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Circumcise

Circumcise: (v) to cut off the foreskin of a young boy a baby as a religious rite,

It is so much easier to believe in God if you don’t read the Bible. Opening up the Good Book immediately reveals some pretty bad things.

You can become one of those type of followers who rationalizes the meaning, or worse, places it in context with the times, but you always
look like you’re trying to explain the reasons that your uncle diddled his niece.

Simply reading the Bible often makes God come off as an asshole who is in charge of a bunch of sons-of-bitches. Especially when you consider there is supposed to be some significance in trimming off the stinky tip of a poopy-smelling penis.

Yes, at one time it was considered to be a spiritual experience which set the decapitated victim apart as being one of God’s “true people” instead of one of those still wearing a fleshy penis-hat.

You see how ridiculous it sounds?

That’s why I always insist it’s much easier to be an atheist than a believer. I, myself, am circumcised, because I grew up in Ohio, to parents who tried to be faithful to the Judeo-Christian standard, which insisted on trimming the pecker.

It has never done anything for me personally.

I’ve never had a conversation about it with anyone until now.

I’ve never had a woman gasp in delight upon seeing my circumcised unit because she was impressed with my choice.

I’m not so sure there was ever a reason for it, because later on in the Book the Apostle Paul makes fun of it and says it was completely stupid.

So I guess it depends on what chapter you read. If you’re only going to read the opening part of the story, you’ll believe that dick tips have special significance to God. But if you catch the story later on, you’ll realize that apparently God got over it, and no longer felt that it was in spiritual fashion.

 

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Circulation

Circulation: (n) movement to and fro or around something, especially that of blood in the body.

“If da blood don’t get der, you be dead.”

It’s not exactly a quote from a medical journal, but it’s still true.

At one time I had poor circulation in my left foot, which made it impossible for the blood to get down there and clean out an infection
through medication.

So I lost two toes.

I’m not looking for sympathy–just a realistic appreciation that circulation has to happen.

In the body it’s blood. If the blood doesn’t get there, it turns gray and dies.

The same thing is true with life in general. When the circulation of newness, freshness, open thinking, forgiveness and compassion does not reach our soul parts, we just turn gray and die.

Just as it takes a good bit of exercise to keep some pink in the old man’s cheeks, it requires a lot of awareness, gentleness and even humor to keep each of us in the pink with our brothers and sisters–especially those younger ones who assume that as soon as we creak, we’re ready to croak.

Circulation of blood requires movement.

Circulation of spirit means that we need to move toward solution instead of taking our cemented ideas and building really, really, really big walls.

 

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Circulate

Circulate: (v) to pass or cause to pass from place to place or person to person.

I have recently been accused of being anti-social.

The diagnosis was offered because I failed to attend a party. It was assumed that anyone who didn’t want to come to this social adventure
had to be out of his or her mind.

I was supposed to come and circulate among people whom I have known for years, and read about ever-too-frequently on my Facebook page. As a matter of fact, I know so much about these folks that I could probably write personal bios for them.

But they were convinced that I had sunk into some sort of despair because I wasn’t going to come and hear the same old stories while partaking of a dip with only subtle new inclusions.

I do need to circulate–but I need to do it among people who are not necessarily related to me or benefit from me personally or financially.

A great man once said that if you only love those who love you, what in the hell is so special about that?

For instance, I just came back from the grocery store. I encountered at least twenty-five people I have never met before.

I circulated.

I conversed.

I opened up my heart to the possibility that these were good folks and I would benefit from the exchanges. I suspect about half of them thought I was crazy for being so talkative. But the other half took a risk, jumped in and, well…circulated.

We do not circulate when we only hang around those who resemble us or are friends because we buy presents for them on birthdays or Christmas.

We circulate when we allow the blood of human relationship to mingle among castes, races, genders and ideologies.

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Circular

Circular: (n) a letter or advertisement that is distributed to a large number of people.

“Shrink to think.”

If you want to get your brain functioning in the realm of creativity instead of repetition, this is better achieved by shrinking what you’re
doing down to its simplest forms.

There is no evil in technology.

There is no sinister nature to the Internet.

But sometimes if life is not simplified, the complication confuses us into believing that we are not responsible for our actions, but instead, victims of a mass plot.

When I was younger, much younger than today, I sat and read circulars. They were little reports, newspapers or flyers put out by people who wanted to communicate what they were doing, how they were doing it and even the way in which they wished others to become involved.

Usually laid out with a typewriter, they were poor quality–carelessly paragraphed and overworded.

But reading them demanded that I do something I did not want to do: stop.

The main reason we don’t start is because we can’t stop. We spend most of our time skidding into the next project with no idea about whether our passions will sustain it.

Please don’t mistake me for some old codger who yearns for the “good ole’ days.” There was so much bad that it deserves to be quarantined for all time.

But there was the introduction of pieces of paper called circulars, which made you stop long enough to think about what somebody else was doing instead of browsing the Internet, bouncing off subjects like a rubber ball.

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