Some people have everything just rolled to them, don’t they? To them, life is a piece of angel cake. Oh yeah, life is real hoity toity easy for these freaks. But to you and me, life is one big challenge after another.

You’re probably saying “Hey! Your name is Warmheart! How could life be tough for a guy named Warmheart?” Well, it is pal and if you’d shut up for a moment maybe I could explain why.

Fathers. This is a story about fathers. Well, my father. His name, rest his soul, was Dadheart, and this story starts with his final words on this earth.

“Son”, he said between gasps for breath as he lay in that hospital bed. “I see big things in store for you. Here, you’re only twenty years old and you’re already spreading warmth and joy throughout the world. Gasp. You’ve gone further than your mother and I ever dreamed of. And now, gasp, I’m going to leave you, never with the chance to see what will become of you. Gasp.”

“But Dad….”

“Shut up, son. Listen, would you? I only got a few moments to go before I’m outta here and if you keep flapping your goddam trap like that I’m not going to be able to get across to you what I want to tell you……”. He closed his eyes. I thought he was dead.

“D-Dad?”

His eyes sprang open like the steel jaws of a bear trap. “I thought I told you to shut the hell up, Warmheart. How many times do I have to tell you that it’s all over for me and there’s something I want to leave you with. Now, if you can stay quiet for a minute I’m going to tell you.”

“Okay Dad.”

He rolled his eyes to the heavens.

“I’m coming to you Lord”, he said, gasping, “and no more will I have to listen to the incessant talking of this rude boy of mine. Gasp.. . Choke….Listen kid. I never told you about the story of…..Robi….Robin…Robin Hood. I think…. Gasp…you should be …cough…..like him…..Choke. . …….That bastard…….Oh God…….would…..go and steal from …….the goddam………………………..the goddam rich……and…..UHHHHH!” I heard the EKG flat line and he was gone.

We all love our fathers, maybe some of us more than others. Our fathers: they’re the guys who teach you not to whine when you come home with a scraped knee. With love and care they aim a backhand to your chops and tell you “I’ll give you something to cry about”. Fathers: they’re the guy who is concerned about conserving energy on long trips by demanding that the windows stay rolled up tight while they smoke their cigars. Fathers: They’re the ones who teach you not to be a loser by refusing to acknowledge you when your Little League team got plastered and on your long walk home, you realize that he just wants you to be a winner. What’s so wrong with that? Yes, we all love our fathers, and how many amongst you would not slaughter and maim to make your father’s last words come true? Sure, all of you would.

My Dad’s final words to me were to be like Robin Hood. Steal from the rich, he had said. But what was he trying to say after that? Steal from the rich…”and”….he had said. And what?

“WHAT WERE YOU GOING TO SAY YOU SON OF A BITCH?!!” I screamed as I pounded on his dead chest. The hospital workers led me out crying and sobbing. Later, upon reflection, I reached a firm conclusion. My father must have meant “Steal from the rich and get all kinds of cool stuff.” It made sense to me and to the guys at the bar, too. So I knew my new mission.

I moved to the big island of Hawaii and began working for the Hawaii Department of Disaster all the while keeping my eyes open for ways to fulfill my father’s dying wish. By dint of sheer force of will and determination, I soon found my way to make it come true. I was assigned to work with families whose homes were in the path of a particular lava flow. When I first pulled up to the community, everything seemed to come together in a heartbeat. These were expensive houses, and the people that lived in them were…..the rich!

O, how I look back upon those days with sweet sentiment. Those were my salad days. As lava would head towards a particular family’s house I would gather them out on their front lawn and have a talk with them. I’d console them and warn them that they must evacuate immediately without even taking their belongings. Without fail, they would stand there gawking at the lava, now perhaps 500 feet away and moving slowly. My hand would slip into the man’s pocket and, oh, another wallet for my collection. Being a warm hearted soul, I know psychology. I’d then remind them that, while the lava is flowing slowing now, it could suddenly rush at their house and they would be killed within it. Please, I’d tell them, get into your cars and drive away. I will stand guard here. The man would always thank me and shake my hand while his wife and children would hug me. Then, with a final tearful look, they’d drive away.

Within five minutes the moving vans would be pulling up and a new household full of appliances, furniture and electronic goodies would be mine. As we would load the last of the household belongings, I would look up towards the heavens and say “That was for you, Dad.”

It would never fail that the family would learn that their house was still not burned down. They’d return to find their possessions gone and I’d be there to comfort them and guide them again. “Don’t call your insurance agent”, I’d say. “You don’t want any nasty investigations now. Why they’ll come out, see your house is about to be torched like the Chicago Fire and boom! They’ll drop your fire insurance. Just let it go for now.”

This went on for weeks. As I said, these were my salad days. I could not have been happier or felt warmer at heart. Not only was I fulfilling my Dad’s dying wish, but I was acquiring huge warehouses of cool stuff. The stuff would be fenced and money was coming in to my pocket.

Then for some ungodly reason I will never be able to explain, it all suddenly fell apart right in front of my eyes. A neighbor who had gotten wise to my methods had videotaped me pick pocketing some guy and then loading all of his stuff into my vans. One minute I was riding on top of the world, and the next I was shot down with my face buried in the mud.

Yeah, I was arrested and tried. During the trial, I defended myself and did my utmost best to plead with the jury to let me off. I tried everything I could think of. First I told them the sob story about my dying Dad. When that didn’t seem to sway them, I tried the OJ defense. I showed them the video tape and said “Look closely, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. That guy in the video was not wearing gloves. But what about me standing here before you right now? Yes, as you can plainly see, I am wearing gloves.” I then freeze framed the video when there was a clear shot of my hands. I tried to put the glove I was wearing on the hand in the freeze frame but of course it would not go on. “If the glove doesn’t fit, you must acquit” I repeated over and over. I could see that this was going nowhere, too, and tried the Twinkie defense that had worked for Dan White. I would bring in five packages of Twinkies every day and stuff them down my throat and start raving like a lunatic. The judge just told me to knock it off. In desperation I played my final hand. I brought grape Kool-Aid laced with poison into the courtroom 0and offered it to the jury. To my utmost and everlasting amazement, they would not touch it, the bastards! Sadly, I was ruined.

I was sentenced to twenty years in prison and am writing this story from my jail cell. That’s my story, and that’s why life seems like one big challenge to me.

But, you know, every Warmheart story must have a warm and happy ending and this one is no different. I have a rather large black cellmate named Bubba. Last night he got to talking and really opened up to me. In fact he told me he likes me a lot. Not only that, but he also wants to make me his “woman”. Wow. I can only assume this means that he wants loving affection to be showed to him. What a kind, open, honest man Bubba has turned out to be. And what better man to return that kindness than yours truly, Warmheart.

Go to Warmheart's Back Issues

Go to Warmheart's Weekly Tales

Go to "the inspiration for this wonderful and magical tale"