I am an ardent admirer of those who are able to go from life season to next life season without losing steam. I'm talking about the hearty ones. The person most of us want to be, deep down inside, when we're resolved to eat well and some late night chocolate malt shop is open 24 hours, just 3 doors down. Certainly a cage rattler for me, but some can stare savory, salty, creamy right in the face and say...>meh<. One such hearty one is mofo N0. 47, Derrick Jones.
I don't know a great deal about Derrick but I see him. Evidence of his heart, humor, and chutzpah are screwed courageously to the sticking place. He is a testament to 80s ska and rude boy culture (sans the rude); his hand-forged skate ramp and vintage Vespa collection are proof positive that his black and white checkered vans are somewhere in the closet.. He works and plays in equal measure; he adores his children, loves his muse, Tricia, and makes space for them to be who they are. Makes space for things to be...as things are.
Derrick has been tripped. He's fallen off his board. He's had some 'excitement' on his scooter; but the past is history - we've got this life season to play for! So gustily, he plays on! Maybe, someday, he'll be more together than he is now or maybe he'll reach the pinnacle of his personal success. Maybe there is no place to get to. Maybe he's already been saved...by
(Derrick Jones is N0. 47 of the '250...mofos')