Title: Call me Issac
Author: G.I.B.S
Rating: Child
Call me Issac, everyone does when they see me wandering the streets with my back straight and a shining top hat positioned on the top of my head. Perhaps the name Tom would suit you better, for that is what I am called when I put on my shabby brown jacket and rubber soled shoes. Or, you can call me Jonas, because that is my name when I walk into church on Sunday mornings ready to open my heart to the Lord and let the chimes lift my spirits. Call me Franklin, for that is what I am called in the dreams I have early in the morning
My dreams are sullen and melancholy, like soup thickened with tar and muck. It is a chunky mixture of converging ideas and sightly hauntings. It is the rifle in my hand as I look off the snow covered mountain, down into the minuscule and blurry civilization below. On the rare occasion, my dreams are blatant fantasies of kings and paupers, dragons and wild knights. My throne will sit in all its valor and I will be mighty and powerful and divine. But when morning comes, I will only be David, for that is what my wife calls me in her half sleep and heavy eyelids.
Call me Samuel as I sit with my crisp newspaper reading it diligently from cover to cover. I soak in the news and the politics and the sports I dare not play. Call me Paul because that is what I’m called when I open my bible and stand to preach the word of God with admiration and awe, I do this in hopes that the people will repent and better their lives.
It is my God who has given me so many names, so many meanings to my life. He has provided me with everything, and yet I have nothing to call my own. My father has given me life, but what life do I lead when I am known to everyone as something different. Who am I and how did I become this? Where am I and how did I get here?
Call me Bryant, call me Hamlet, call me Percival, or call me Issac; everyone else does when I wander through the streets, my back straight and my top hat shining in the sun.
