FROG (prince) Dances About Architecture
It’s funny, writing this now; I remember being at La Sierra, first or second grade, and playing with my Legos in the living room. I didn’t have a whole hell of a lot then but had managed to build my very distant Lego equivalent to the Battle of the Planet’s Phoenix jet/spaceship—I can still picture the thing (my Lego ship) in my head. With the pieces I had left, I built what were really sad robots/drones to be the enemy. By this time, I had already read Miracle at Midway in which Lt(jg) Wade McClusky, a dive-bomber pilot, was my hero. He was wounded in the attack, yet managed to deliver his bombs on target and return his aircraft to his carrier.
And I ask myself, in all deadly seriousness, why I think I love her now; because if it’s because of what she did or does for me—that won’t cut it. She has seen me at my damn near worst and doesn’t think that I’m a monster; she, whether she credits herself or not, probably understands me better than any other woman and possibly anyone. Still, those are not reasons that I want to be in love with her, and I don’t think they are. Although good considerations, they are, ultimately, selfish, I think, self-centered. None of them can be “The Reason”.