I was just thinking today that I may have never shared the story of my sister's nickname, Say (she actually has more than one nickname, but this one I'm responsible for).
When I was but a toddler, my sister took me everywhere with her. I was around her a lot, especially when Mom was in the hospital giving birth to Dane with I was almost 18 months old.
I think it was when Mom returned from the hospital and I was given to her that I looked around and said, "Where say go?"
Mom was baffled. Everyone else in the room was baffled, I assume... assuming others were in the room, and it seems like Mom mentioned there were others, but I have no idea who they might have been. Nobody knew what I was talking about, even though I asked at least one other time, "Where say go?"
It wasn't until my sister walked in and I exclaimed, "There say is!" they realized I was referring to my sister Lynne (called Rusty at the time) as "Say".
And it stuck. The end.
Well, that and the fact I can't ask where my sister has gone off to without thinking of that story... mainly because I always word it as, "Where Say go?"
And yes, upon her return, I say, "There Say is!"
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Monday, May 09, 2011
"Mom, You Ignorant Slut" (A Belated Mother's Day Memory of My Mother)
This is not a story about my mother as much as it is a story about the complete and total ignorance of youth.
It was the late 70s. I was in either late elementary school or about to enter Junior High. Saturday Night Live was mostly the original cast, and I tried to watch it when I could--just because it was so "adult".
For some reason, Mom and I were standing pretty close, face-to-face. She might even have just gotten a hug from me. I have no idea. I just remember we were face-to-face. Wanting to say something funny to her, I flashed on this little tidbit from the Weekend Update part of SNL:
"Yes," thought my young and ignorant mind, "That's funny."
I looked her in the eyes and said, "Mom, you ignorant slut."
I remember she was smiling at the time. You know how things go to slow motion in your mind in a life-or-death kind of situation?
Oh yeah, totally there.
Her face started to cloud over (in slow motion--or that's how I remembered it later, of course), and I could see something was very wrong.
I blurted out as fast as I could and in a very panicked voice, "I don't know what it means! I don't know what it means!"
Yes, my quick thinking saved my life that day. I was instructed that if I don't know what a word means, perhaps I shouldn't use it. (Never mind that I had a good idea of what "ignorant" meant, but still used it.) I was, however, allowed to live.
That's one of my favorite stories to tell about my own ignorance--not just because it shows how ignorant I have been in the past (and thus may be in the future), but it's apparently crazy funny--at least Brenda seems to enjoy the story... and I enjoy that she enjoys it.
It was the late 70s. I was in either late elementary school or about to enter Junior High. Saturday Night Live was mostly the original cast, and I tried to watch it when I could--just because it was so "adult".
For some reason, Mom and I were standing pretty close, face-to-face. She might even have just gotten a hug from me. I have no idea. I just remember we were face-to-face. Wanting to say something funny to her, I flashed on this little tidbit from the Weekend Update part of SNL:
"Yes," thought my young and ignorant mind, "That's funny."
I looked her in the eyes and said, "Mom, you ignorant slut."
I remember she was smiling at the time. You know how things go to slow motion in your mind in a life-or-death kind of situation?
Oh yeah, totally there.
Her face started to cloud over (in slow motion--or that's how I remembered it later, of course), and I could see something was very wrong.
I blurted out as fast as I could and in a very panicked voice, "I don't know what it means! I don't know what it means!"
Yes, my quick thinking saved my life that day. I was instructed that if I don't know what a word means, perhaps I shouldn't use it. (Never mind that I had a good idea of what "ignorant" meant, but still used it.) I was, however, allowed to live.
That's one of my favorite stories to tell about my own ignorance--not just because it shows how ignorant I have been in the past (and thus may be in the future), but it's apparently crazy funny--at least Brenda seems to enjoy the story... and I enjoy that she enjoys it.
Thursday, March 03, 2011
I Know You Aren't Keeping Score, But...
I'm trying really hard to average a post a day on here. I'm behind by one at the moment, and it's making me crazy.
Okay, crazier. Or more crazy. Whatever. I teach math.
Anyway, I keep meaning to post things in the morning and then again in the evening, so I can get caught up... but then the time comes in the morning and I'm either running behind or have even less to say than I usually do (because I thought about typing "or I have nothing to say," and realized that's the norm on here anyway) in the morning... or if I get something posted in the morning, I don't get around to it in the evening.
Again, not that anyone is keeping score. It's just a goofy rule I've made up in my head.
Like the one I had as a kid about turning on the bathroom light before I stepped into the bathroom--otherwise something "bad" would happen. I'm not sure what... monsters attacking, maybe?
I had another rule about the sleeping bag I used to sleep in. If my foot went out the hole in the bottom, it would be chopped off.
Now my rules have no dire consequences. They're just goofy rules I try to non-blog by. I suppose my brain likes a challenge, but it terrible at rising to one.
Anyway, here's a non-blog post for today... just me, rambling about how I never get around to writing like I want to.
Next up: me rambling about how I never learned to play the piano. Or something.
Okay, crazier. Or more crazy. Whatever. I teach math.
Anyway, I keep meaning to post things in the morning and then again in the evening, so I can get caught up... but then the time comes in the morning and I'm either running behind or have even less to say than I usually do (because I thought about typing "or I have nothing to say," and realized that's the norm on here anyway) in the morning... or if I get something posted in the morning, I don't get around to it in the evening.
Again, not that anyone is keeping score. It's just a goofy rule I've made up in my head.
Like the one I had as a kid about turning on the bathroom light before I stepped into the bathroom--otherwise something "bad" would happen. I'm not sure what... monsters attacking, maybe?
I had another rule about the sleeping bag I used to sleep in. If my foot went out the hole in the bottom, it would be chopped off.
Now my rules have no dire consequences. They're just goofy rules I try to non-blog by. I suppose my brain likes a challenge, but it terrible at rising to one.
Anyway, here's a non-blog post for today... just me, rambling about how I never get around to writing like I want to.
Next up: me rambling about how I never learned to play the piano. Or something.
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Goodness Sakes! Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally!
This is old news to my friends on Facebook, but yesterday morning my status was asking non-math folks what was confusing about the order of operations.
(Warning: Math review)
For those who don't remember, that's:
1. Operations inside grouping symbols
2. Exponents
3. Multiplication and division
4. Addition and subtraction
(That's the super-simplified version, which is as complicated as we get in 7th grade.)
I have kids who seem to be struggling with it (confirmed by the quiz results yesterday, by the way), and this is one place where I'm at a loss as to how it is confusing or difficult.
Fractions, I get. I remember what confused me about fractions. That memory serves as a nice jumping-off point for finding other ways working with fractions might be confusing or difficult. Decimals, long division, even multiple-digit whole number multiplication. Yes, I get it.
Heck, I can even related to that panic one might feel when asked "What's 6 times 7?"
But the Order of Operations? C'mon! What's difficult about it?
There had to be an answer, of course, as I have so many kids who struggled on a quiz where the only steps needed were the last two (multiplication/division and addition/subtraction). I tried to take math fact fear out of the equation by making the first four problems along the lines of 3 + 2 x 5... I mean, who doesn't know 2 x 5 (or even 5 x 5, should you not remember to do the multiplication first)? Who doesn't know 3 + 10 (or 3 + 2, should you think the addition goes first)?
So the cool thing is this: lots of help from the Facebook friends.
The first was a reminder that some students are going to be freaking out about the arithmetic involved, no matter how simple it might be.
The next was the confusion as to why the Order of Operations exists--when you're working with one operation, you just go from left to right, and you don't even have to worry about that when working with addition and multiplication.
Exponents in the presence of parenthesis can be confusing--which is something I can keep in mind as we delve deeper into the whole Order of Operations thing.
A couple of people gave ideas as to how to make it "easier to remember" or "easier to understand" beyond the whole mnemonic device I used as the title of this post (although usually it's "Please Excused My Dear Aunt Sally," but as students get older some people change "Parenthesis" to "Grouping Symbols").
And one math-phobe expressed she found the Order of Operations easy to understand (comforting, even), because it was a simple list.
Oh, and lots of funny comments from my non-math friends, too.
So I think I have found a new way to irritate my Facebook friends and also get some insight into what's confusing or difficult for my kids--I mean, I have an imagination, and I do use that to figure out where the kids might get confused. However, extra brains on the task can't be a bad thing, right?
(Warning: Math review)
For those who don't remember, that's:
1. Operations inside grouping symbols
2. Exponents
3. Multiplication and division
4. Addition and subtraction
(That's the super-simplified version, which is as complicated as we get in 7th grade.)
I have kids who seem to be struggling with it (confirmed by the quiz results yesterday, by the way), and this is one place where I'm at a loss as to how it is confusing or difficult.
Fractions, I get. I remember what confused me about fractions. That memory serves as a nice jumping-off point for finding other ways working with fractions might be confusing or difficult. Decimals, long division, even multiple-digit whole number multiplication. Yes, I get it.
Heck, I can even related to that panic one might feel when asked "What's 6 times 7?"
But the Order of Operations? C'mon! What's difficult about it?
There had to be an answer, of course, as I have so many kids who struggled on a quiz where the only steps needed were the last two (multiplication/division and addition/subtraction). I tried to take math fact fear out of the equation by making the first four problems along the lines of 3 + 2 x 5... I mean, who doesn't know 2 x 5 (or even 5 x 5, should you not remember to do the multiplication first)? Who doesn't know 3 + 10 (or 3 + 2, should you think the addition goes first)?
So the cool thing is this: lots of help from the Facebook friends.
The first was a reminder that some students are going to be freaking out about the arithmetic involved, no matter how simple it might be.
The next was the confusion as to why the Order of Operations exists--when you're working with one operation, you just go from left to right, and you don't even have to worry about that when working with addition and multiplication.
Exponents in the presence of parenthesis can be confusing--which is something I can keep in mind as we delve deeper into the whole Order of Operations thing.
A couple of people gave ideas as to how to make it "easier to remember" or "easier to understand" beyond the whole mnemonic device I used as the title of this post (although usually it's "Please Excused My Dear Aunt Sally," but as students get older some people change "Parenthesis" to "Grouping Symbols").
And one math-phobe expressed she found the Order of Operations easy to understand (comforting, even), because it was a simple list.
Oh, and lots of funny comments from my non-math friends, too.
So I think I have found a new way to irritate my Facebook friends and also get some insight into what's confusing or difficult for my kids--I mean, I have an imagination, and I do use that to figure out where the kids might get confused. However, extra brains on the task can't be a bad thing, right?
Monday, February 28, 2011
Anybody Want to Research for Me?
So I was thinking about writing on a few topics, share a few stories, and so on... But I'm getting the feeling I've written on them at some point or another, and I don't want to show my Alzheimer's hand this early in the game.
Therefore, if anyone would like to do some research for me, do me a favor and go back and see if I've written on any of these topics:
1. My guardian angel story
2. The time Scott and I almost hopped on a train just to get away from our lives in Ralls County
3. The time I "got lost" at the mall in Omaha
4. My high-school obsession with iguanas
5. The time I spent the night in the theatre at Jewell, just to see if I saw Mona, the ghost that haunted the place
6. My wreck one month after I turned 16, the blackout, and the flashbacks
7. States I've travelled to and/or through
Yeah, that will give me some "on deck" topics for when I've run out of nothing to say.
(That is, if I haven't already written on all those topics...)
Okay, get researching!
Therefore, if anyone would like to do some research for me, do me a favor and go back and see if I've written on any of these topics:
1. My guardian angel story
2. The time Scott and I almost hopped on a train just to get away from our lives in Ralls County
3. The time I "got lost" at the mall in Omaha
4. My high-school obsession with iguanas
5. The time I spent the night in the theatre at Jewell, just to see if I saw Mona, the ghost that haunted the place
6. My wreck one month after I turned 16, the blackout, and the flashbacks
7. States I've travelled to and/or through
Yeah, that will give me some "on deck" topics for when I've run out of nothing to say.
(That is, if I haven't already written on all those topics...)
Okay, get researching!
The Tale of My First (and Only) School Paddling...
I was a joy as a student in 8th grade. I'm sure of this. I'm sure Mr. Carrol (Carroll? Caroll? Carol? Whatever.) thought I was his best students ever! Of course, he was a coach, so I wasn't too concerned with what he thought. That's how I rolled in grade 8, peeps.
It was in his Social Studies class, however that I had to take a geography test in which you identified (and spelled correctly) major U.S. cities. I can't remember how many there were. I just knew if I needed one, I could find one on a map (or, as it turns out, go to mapquest), so I did not feel this was information that needed to be taking up space in my head.
Everyone who did poorly had to write the cities they missed twenty-five times each.
Seriously.
This, of course, meant war.
So I wrote them out, and then cut the cities up so that I had a lot of little slips of paper with a city name written on it once. I'm pretty sure there were close to 1000 little strips of paper.
Mr. C. took me to the office to see Mr. Ray. In a wonderful Malaprop moment, Mr. Ray responded to my claims that I did the assignment as instructed (I just went above and beyond the call, right?) by saying, "The assignment was to write the cities twenty-five times each, not make graffiti."
After a pause, Mr. C. quietly said, "Confetti."
What 8th grade kid wouldn't love that moment, right? However, I had the sense not to crack up laughing. I have no idea who I borrowed it from and if I returned it promptly.
I was put into the conference room with the slips of paper and some tape, and told I would have it all taped back together by the next day, or I'd get a paddling. It was toward the end of the day anyway, so I taped some up, then took the paper bag containing my "graffiti" on the bus with me at the end of the day.
This kid who was two years older than me grabbed the bag and said, "What would you do if I threw this out the window?"
I shrugged and said, "Nothing."
Out the window it went.
Turns out, being bullied by an older kid who--despite my pleas to not throw my precious project out the window--threw my beloved project out the window anyway does not equate to any sort of sympathy in this situation (actually, I didn't even play it off that way... I just said, "This older kid threw it out the window.").
And so I got the paddle.
I remember it hurt right then, but by the time I got back to class, it was fine.
The important part was: I didn't have to tape up those stupid little slips!
It was in his Social Studies class, however that I had to take a geography test in which you identified (and spelled correctly) major U.S. cities. I can't remember how many there were. I just knew if I needed one, I could find one on a map (or, as it turns out, go to mapquest), so I did not feel this was information that needed to be taking up space in my head.
Everyone who did poorly had to write the cities they missed twenty-five times each.
Seriously.
This, of course, meant war.
So I wrote them out, and then cut the cities up so that I had a lot of little slips of paper with a city name written on it once. I'm pretty sure there were close to 1000 little strips of paper.
Mr. C. took me to the office to see Mr. Ray. In a wonderful Malaprop moment, Mr. Ray responded to my claims that I did the assignment as instructed (I just went above and beyond the call, right?) by saying, "The assignment was to write the cities twenty-five times each, not make graffiti."
After a pause, Mr. C. quietly said, "Confetti."
What 8th grade kid wouldn't love that moment, right? However, I had the sense not to crack up laughing. I have no idea who I borrowed it from and if I returned it promptly.
I was put into the conference room with the slips of paper and some tape, and told I would have it all taped back together by the next day, or I'd get a paddling. It was toward the end of the day anyway, so I taped some up, then took the paper bag containing my "graffiti" on the bus with me at the end of the day.
This kid who was two years older than me grabbed the bag and said, "What would you do if I threw this out the window?"
I shrugged and said, "Nothing."
Out the window it went.
Turns out, being bullied by an older kid who--despite my pleas to not throw my precious project out the window--threw my beloved project out the window anyway does not equate to any sort of sympathy in this situation (actually, I didn't even play it off that way... I just said, "This older kid threw it out the window.").
And so I got the paddle.
I remember it hurt right then, but by the time I got back to class, it was fine.
The important part was: I didn't have to tape up those stupid little slips!
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Remembering Eighteen
Yes, I remember a lot of being 18. I remember having to register for the draft. I remember not feeling any different than I did the day before.
I didn't smoke, so being old enough to buy cigarettes was no big deal. I remember being excited I could vote, but we had a presidential election the November before, so it would be a while before I got to vote for a president.
I've said several times over the past week or so that I could never survive being a parent. I think having a kid turn 18 would be the worst of all. Where did the kid go? (Well, speaking from experience, I know the kid is still in there somewhere, just under the surface, usually. Or that's the case in the darkness behind my eyes.)
Cody turned 18 this week. Jordan turns 18 in just a little over 20 months. It's just strange.
Now begins the string of graduation ceremonies... And then I guess the nearest nursing home after all that's over, eh?
Anyway, back to school tomorrow to prepare more kids for 8th grade and beyond. Gives me something to do while all these kids I know are growing up!
I didn't smoke, so being old enough to buy cigarettes was no big deal. I remember being excited I could vote, but we had a presidential election the November before, so it would be a while before I got to vote for a president.
I've said several times over the past week or so that I could never survive being a parent. I think having a kid turn 18 would be the worst of all. Where did the kid go? (Well, speaking from experience, I know the kid is still in there somewhere, just under the surface, usually. Or that's the case in the darkness behind my eyes.)
Cody turned 18 this week. Jordan turns 18 in just a little over 20 months. It's just strange.
Now begins the string of graduation ceremonies... And then I guess the nearest nursing home after all that's over, eh?
Anyway, back to school tomorrow to prepare more kids for 8th grade and beyond. Gives me something to do while all these kids I know are growing up!
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Not Like I Ever Have Anything to Say, but...
I'm going to try to post twice today, as I was so beat last night from travels, unpacking, gift-giving, and grocery-shopping... and cooking dinner...
Where was I?
Oh yeah, I was so beat, I didn't get any blog-posting done. I watched Groundhog Day (or most of it), and decided to just call it a night.
I guess I'm strange (or not in the majority, anyway), but I enjoy snow. I'm a little sad I wasn't here for the snowfall. Snowfall is to my eyes what wind is to my ears and skin. I love a windy day. I find it very calming to hear the wind rushing around my ears and feeling it move over me. Snowfall does the same thing. I could sit in the chair by my front window and watch it snowing for hours if I wasn't so worried the neighbors would mistake me for dead and call an ambulance.
Maybe I'll make a snowman today. Most likely not, but I haven't made one (or a snow angel, for that matter ) for a while, and it's about time. I need to do something to make up for missing that snowfall!
The flight back was uneventful. Didn't say much at all to the guy next to me. Was that rude of both of us? Probably, but I think I irritated the guy next to me on the way there (the guy on the other side of me on the way their didn't say a word, and I returned the favor... and on the way back, I was on the emergency exit row, so there was no seat between me and the window)... so I didn't think it would be a good idea to talk.
And I'm so confused about the use of cell phones (or whatever the best term for them would be) on the plane. I didn't hear them say it was safe to use them on the first flight, but people with me said they did. Then on the flight back, I for sure heard them say to not turn them back on at all (unless in airplane mode, which is a complete freakin' mystery to me on this new phone--a search for "airplane mode" in help gets me nothing at all). So did my group mis-hear the Chantho-voiced (or Diagnosan-voiced) steward one of the many times she spoke over the speaker during that first flight, or does the phone thing vary from plane type to plane type? Whatever, I don't know that I'll be flying again for a while, anyway.
Anyway, I'm home, there's snow, and the kids didn't have school one of the days I was gone. This means my plans for Monday are all prepared already! Hooray!
Where was I?
Oh yeah, I was so beat, I didn't get any blog-posting done. I watched Groundhog Day (or most of it), and decided to just call it a night.
I guess I'm strange (or not in the majority, anyway), but I enjoy snow. I'm a little sad I wasn't here for the snowfall. Snowfall is to my eyes what wind is to my ears and skin. I love a windy day. I find it very calming to hear the wind rushing around my ears and feeling it move over me. Snowfall does the same thing. I could sit in the chair by my front window and watch it snowing for hours if I wasn't so worried the neighbors would mistake me for dead and call an ambulance.
Maybe I'll make a snowman today. Most likely not, but I haven't made one (or a snow angel, for that matter ) for a while, and it's about time. I need to do something to make up for missing that snowfall!
The flight back was uneventful. Didn't say much at all to the guy next to me. Was that rude of both of us? Probably, but I think I irritated the guy next to me on the way there (the guy on the other side of me on the way their didn't say a word, and I returned the favor... and on the way back, I was on the emergency exit row, so there was no seat between me and the window)... so I didn't think it would be a good idea to talk.
And I'm so confused about the use of cell phones (or whatever the best term for them would be) on the plane. I didn't hear them say it was safe to use them on the first flight, but people with me said they did. Then on the flight back, I for sure heard them say to not turn them back on at all (unless in airplane mode, which is a complete freakin' mystery to me on this new phone--a search for "airplane mode" in help gets me nothing at all). So did my group mis-hear the Chantho-voiced (or Diagnosan-voiced) steward one of the many times she spoke over the speaker during that first flight, or does the phone thing vary from plane type to plane type? Whatever, I don't know that I'll be flying again for a while, anyway.
Anyway, I'm home, there's snow, and the kids didn't have school one of the days I was gone. This means my plans for Monday are all prepared already! Hooray!
Thursday, February 24, 2011
I Could Live Here...
I finally got to drive down the 10 today. I haven't been on that interstate since... 1994, maybe?
I noticed as I drove to visit Kathy that I could live here. It's beautiful. There are mountains, and that sort of deserted beauty that a desert seems to have. Where Kathy lives, you can see crazy numbers of stars. And the weather kicks butt.
Thing is, there are lots of beautiful places I could live.
Colorado. Now that's beautiful. I could live there for sure.
California: also beautiful. Seeing the ocean put my mind in such a good place back when I lived there in 1993 and 1994. I could use that sort of calm mind on a regular basis.
Germany... it's been years since I've been there (December of 1987 and January of 1988), but from what I remember, plenty of beautiful stuff.
Sydney: Also plenty of beauty. The nearby Blue Mountains were also very beautiful.
London and other bits of England: loved them. Could easily live there.
Heck, I even found beauty in New York City. Not a traditional and natural beauty, mind you, but more of a beauty that comes from the sheer life force of a place.
So the big question in my mind is this: Why don't I notice the beauty around me back home?
The follow-up question in my mind is this: What do you mean you don't notice the beauty around you back home? What do you think taking a picture a day is all about?
The follow-up statement to that follow-up question is: Okay, that was two questions. Two questions can't be a follow-up question. That's a follow-up question with a follow-the-follow-up-question question.
And the follow up statement to that follow-up statement is: Yeah, whatever. You still understood my point, right?
And from there: What do you mean? I am you!
And finally: Would you both just shut up so I can get back to the point?
My point is, familiarity may not breed contempt, but it does breed a kind of laissez-faire attitude about having an opinion one way or the other about the view.
But Arizona is really kinda beautiful. That was my original point. Kyrie might not appreciate how I took it down the road instead of around the block, but I made it back with it, didn't I?
I noticed as I drove to visit Kathy that I could live here. It's beautiful. There are mountains, and that sort of deserted beauty that a desert seems to have. Where Kathy lives, you can see crazy numbers of stars. And the weather kicks butt.
Thing is, there are lots of beautiful places I could live.
Colorado. Now that's beautiful. I could live there for sure.
California: also beautiful. Seeing the ocean put my mind in such a good place back when I lived there in 1993 and 1994. I could use that sort of calm mind on a regular basis.
Germany... it's been years since I've been there (December of 1987 and January of 1988), but from what I remember, plenty of beautiful stuff.
Sydney: Also plenty of beauty. The nearby Blue Mountains were also very beautiful.
London and other bits of England: loved them. Could easily live there.
Heck, I even found beauty in New York City. Not a traditional and natural beauty, mind you, but more of a beauty that comes from the sheer life force of a place.
So the big question in my mind is this: Why don't I notice the beauty around me back home?
The follow-up question in my mind is this: What do you mean you don't notice the beauty around you back home? What do you think taking a picture a day is all about?
The follow-up statement to that follow-up question is: Okay, that was two questions. Two questions can't be a follow-up question. That's a follow-up question with a follow-the-follow-up-question question.
And the follow up statement to that follow-up statement is: Yeah, whatever. You still understood my point, right?
And from there: What do you mean? I am you!
And finally: Would you both just shut up so I can get back to the point?
My point is, familiarity may not breed contempt, but it does breed a kind of laissez-faire attitude about having an opinion one way or the other about the view.
But Arizona is really kinda beautiful. That was my original point. Kyrie might not appreciate how I took it down the road instead of around the block, but I made it back with it, didn't I?
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
I Really Love to Teach
No irony intended in that title. I enjoy teaching. I enjoy finding new ways to reach students. I love thinking of ways to help students. I become frustrated with myself when students aren't "getting it" (although I still spend a few moments being frustrated with them, I should admit). I really do love to teach.
This summit I'm at is giving me all sorts of great ideas--and it seems to be saying a lot of things I've "felt" all along, but they're backing it up with actual research.
I really stink at sifting through research, I should say.
Anyway, I'm excited, and I have all these ideas, and I wish I could start work on some of my ideas tomorrow. I can't. But I want to.
If 80-and-out stays in place, this semester is the first semester of the last half of my teaching career (assuming I leave at the end of the school year I become eligible to leave... which I plan to do, because I love to teach, but the b.s. is just too much most days). So I may be halfway through. That seems odd.
But I want to make this last half way better than the first half--I mean I want to be a better teacher. I want to help more kids find success is math (or whatever I teach in the next 12.5 years).
All this to say I'm excited about this summit. Maybe it'll all blow up in my face and I'll be all resentful that I was ever excited about it, but right now, I'm hopeful.
So let me have this, people.
This summit I'm at is giving me all sorts of great ideas--and it seems to be saying a lot of things I've "felt" all along, but they're backing it up with actual research.
I really stink at sifting through research, I should say.
Anyway, I'm excited, and I have all these ideas, and I wish I could start work on some of my ideas tomorrow. I can't. But I want to.
If 80-and-out stays in place, this semester is the first semester of the last half of my teaching career (assuming I leave at the end of the school year I become eligible to leave... which I plan to do, because I love to teach, but the b.s. is just too much most days). So I may be halfway through. That seems odd.
But I want to make this last half way better than the first half--I mean I want to be a better teacher. I want to help more kids find success is math (or whatever I teach in the next 12.5 years).
All this to say I'm excited about this summit. Maybe it'll all blow up in my face and I'll be all resentful that I was ever excited about it, but right now, I'm hopeful.
So let me have this, people.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Phoenix!
Okay, so I surprised most of my friends by saying, "I'm going to Phoenix" today. I didn't mean to. I really have had this on my schedule for quite some time now.
It's just how I roll these days, I guess. I tell people on a need-to-know basis, not because it's top secret--but because I don't think to tell people.
So I'm in Phoenix for a Professional Learning Communities Summit. I don't know what that means, but I know it's about me being a teacher leader and... other stuff.
I'm mostly stressed about what I'm going to eat while I'm here. We should all have such difficult problems, right? So it goes.
I'm an hour in the past, by the way. I should call someone so they can tell me what's going to happen in an hour. Do you think that will work.
Oh, and I woke up at 4:00 this morning. I just happened to wake up, and thought about going back to sleep for 15 minutes--and almost did, but decided I should take the time to get ready for the trip (you know, pack and stuff). I guess it's good I did. I spent the day a little stressed about what I may or may not have forgotten.
Okay, more news as it arises over the next few days.
So... probably no more news, right?
It's just how I roll these days, I guess. I tell people on a need-to-know basis, not because it's top secret--but because I don't think to tell people.
So I'm in Phoenix for a Professional Learning Communities Summit. I don't know what that means, but I know it's about me being a teacher leader and... other stuff.
I'm mostly stressed about what I'm going to eat while I'm here. We should all have such difficult problems, right? So it goes.
I'm an hour in the past, by the way. I should call someone so they can tell me what's going to happen in an hour. Do you think that will work.
Oh, and I woke up at 4:00 this morning. I just happened to wake up, and thought about going back to sleep for 15 minutes--and almost did, but decided I should take the time to get ready for the trip (you know, pack and stuff). I guess it's good I did. I spent the day a little stressed about what I may or may not have forgotten.
Okay, more news as it arises over the next few days.
So... probably no more news, right?
Monday, February 21, 2011
Another Random Memory (In Which Shawn and I are Stranded on Top of a Garage)
This happened back in the late 70s when I was still in elementary school. I'd have to know for sure when Mike Couch moved his old garage to where it is now (at least I think it's still where it was moved to... I haven't been back home for a while) to know for sure about when it was. It was pre-move, anyway.
For whatever reason, Shawn and I decided to climb on top of the garage. You have to understand, being Shawn's friend was often an exercise in "What to do if your friend suggested doing things that you know you shouldn't do." We have such hits as, "Pulling a little cart around behind the riding lawn mower, going as fast as possible to jump over our make-shift ramp", and "Elementary school kids take a drive out in the country while the adults are away", and "Let's see what chewing tobacco is like." What I always did, by the way, was go along while feeling very bad about the whole thing. Not "guilty" so much as "bad". Just a sick kind of, "We shouldn't be doing this, but I have to go along because that's what I do," thing.
So we climbed up on the garage. It had one of those corrugated metal roofs, and the roof was at a pretty steep slant. I don't know how long we were up there before my brother Wade (and a friend--Mike Stuart, I think) took the ladder down so we couldn't get back off the roof.
Luckily (not) for us, I realized the well house was right by the garage. All Shawn and I had to do was slide down to the edge and drop onto it. Three, maybe four feet, max!
Granted, the area around it was a brick patio, but that wasn't important. I had an idea, and we could make this work.
It did work, too. That is to say, we got down, and we didn't die, and there were no major injuries.
About one or two feet into our scoot from the apex of the roof, we started to slide. That would be an uncontrollable slide. There was no stopping us.
It was all great fun, while being a little frightening--but we were going to land on the well house (which seriously took up over half that side of the garage, so how could we miss) and I was thinking all would be well and I will have saved the day.
Of course, we missed the well house entirely. We both landed on our rears on the brick patio.
We subsequently laughed so hard we cried. I'm amazed we didn't try it again.
I feel this experience has tainted my problem-solving process, now that I think of it.
For whatever reason, Shawn and I decided to climb on top of the garage. You have to understand, being Shawn's friend was often an exercise in "What to do if your friend suggested doing things that you know you shouldn't do." We have such hits as, "Pulling a little cart around behind the riding lawn mower, going as fast as possible to jump over our make-shift ramp", and "Elementary school kids take a drive out in the country while the adults are away", and "Let's see what chewing tobacco is like." What I always did, by the way, was go along while feeling very bad about the whole thing. Not "guilty" so much as "bad". Just a sick kind of, "We shouldn't be doing this, but I have to go along because that's what I do," thing.
So we climbed up on the garage. It had one of those corrugated metal roofs, and the roof was at a pretty steep slant. I don't know how long we were up there before my brother Wade (and a friend--Mike Stuart, I think) took the ladder down so we couldn't get back off the roof.
Luckily (not) for us, I realized the well house was right by the garage. All Shawn and I had to do was slide down to the edge and drop onto it. Three, maybe four feet, max!
Granted, the area around it was a brick patio, but that wasn't important. I had an idea, and we could make this work.
It did work, too. That is to say, we got down, and we didn't die, and there were no major injuries.
About one or two feet into our scoot from the apex of the roof, we started to slide. That would be an uncontrollable slide. There was no stopping us.
It was all great fun, while being a little frightening--but we were going to land on the well house (which seriously took up over half that side of the garage, so how could we miss) and I was thinking all would be well and I will have saved the day.
Of course, we missed the well house entirely. We both landed on our rears on the brick patio.
We subsequently laughed so hard we cried. I'm amazed we didn't try it again.
I feel this experience has tainted my problem-solving process, now that I think of it.
January 29, 1967 - February 18, 2034
When I was in college, I worked out what day I was going to die.
More correctly, I figured out a day that would be freaky for me to die on. Especially if I end up having a 19-year-old son on that day.
See, Grandpa Riggs passed away, it was Valentine's Day. He was 65. He had a son who was 17. The son was Dad.
When Dad died, it was two days after Valentine's Day. He was 66. He had a son who was 18. That was me.
So if I die on February 18, 2034, and if I have a son who is 19... well, first of all: how freaky would it be for me to have a kid, right? But that poor kid only has 49 years left to live and is for sure going to kick the bucket on February 20--and have a kid who is 20.
I may have some of those numbers wrong, by the way. I was home at some point during my college years and found an obituary for Grandpa Riggs. I got that info from there, and I used it to figure out my "wouldn't it be cool if..." death date. It's been twenty-some-odd years, and I have no idea where that obituary is now. So maybe my kid will be 17, because maybe Dad was 19...
The only thing I remember clearly is the date. I hope I make it. I would love to be breathing a sigh of relief just after midnight on February 19, 2034.
But, you know, whatever. Just wanted to make an official note of it, just in case.
More correctly, I figured out a day that would be freaky for me to die on. Especially if I end up having a 19-year-old son on that day.
See, Grandpa Riggs passed away, it was Valentine's Day. He was 65. He had a son who was 17. The son was Dad.
When Dad died, it was two days after Valentine's Day. He was 66. He had a son who was 18. That was me.
So if I die on February 18, 2034, and if I have a son who is 19... well, first of all: how freaky would it be for me to have a kid, right? But that poor kid only has 49 years left to live and is for sure going to kick the bucket on February 20--and have a kid who is 20.
I may have some of those numbers wrong, by the way. I was home at some point during my college years and found an obituary for Grandpa Riggs. I got that info from there, and I used it to figure out my "wouldn't it be cool if..." death date. It's been twenty-some-odd years, and I have no idea where that obituary is now. So maybe my kid will be 17, because maybe Dad was 19...
The only thing I remember clearly is the date. I hope I make it. I would love to be breathing a sigh of relief just after midnight on February 19, 2034.
But, you know, whatever. Just wanted to make an official note of it, just in case.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Marilyn and Me
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| Marilyn getting her face painted at Applefest, 2007 (September 29, 2007) |
My friend Marilyn died this past December, early in the morning on the 7th. There's a beautiful story about her dying moments that caps off what could easily be called a graceful dying couple of years. I won't share it here. I don't know the full details. That's not what I'm writing about, anyway.
Marilyn had four kinds of cancer, and lived much longer than she was told she probably would. She also crammed a lot of living in that time, as well.
I may have met Marilyn at some point prior to going to church at First United Methodist in North Kansas City, but if so, I don't remember it. My first memory of note where she is concerned was at a W.O.W. night, when she told me she thought I should go to Cursillo. I had no idea what that was, and had no idea what would happen at such an event, but she seemed to feel strongly that it was for me.
I got the paperwork in, went to the weekend, and it seriously changed my life.
If you were wondering where Rube Goldberg comes in, we're there:
In a way, I think of Marilyn like some necessary piece in the Rube Goldberg machine that got me to where I am today in my faith. I can identify a lot of the pieces: my near-death experience (for lack of a better "term" for it), Jhoneric's upset at wishing me dead that very same day, Andy coming to see me at the hospital, Bert passing on to Andy news of my mother's passing, subsequent talks with Andy, and about a fifteen other things that came before and after and between those events.
Marilyn was in there, big time. She told me after that weekend how she knew it would mean something to me to go.
So whether she was the fan that blew the sailboat across the kiddie pool to knock over the glass with the golf ball in it, or she was the sailboat, the pool, the glass, the golf ball, or the pulley that activated the fan, she was an important piece in my journey. (Not to imply that I'm there yet, mind you.)
One of the last times I saw Marilyn was at my second Cursillo weekend. I was working that weekend, and she got herself assigned as my "buddy". If anyone were to ask, I wish I could say in person what it means to me that she prayed with me and for me that weekend this summer. If anyone where to ask, I wish I could say in person what it means to me that she was very adamant that she would be my buddy, or what it means to me that we had time that weekend to just sit and talk, and I got to know her better. If anyone were to ask, I wish I could say what it means to me that she enjoyed the recording of Sarah McLachlan singing Prayer of St. Francis that I brought for that weekend.
But I don't like getting upset in front of humans. I don't know if I could do it in front of Ben & Tricia's current dog, even. Their dog Killian was the best at hanging out and being all cool-dog when random upset hit me in front of him. I think Guinness would just jump in my face and try to lick my tears or something.
The point is, I don't do emotions well with humans present.
So now, in my continuing faith journey, I have to ask myself how often I'm a piece in a Rube Goldberg machine. I have to go further and ask myself how many times am I supposed to be, but fail to do my little part.
Marilyn seemed to be so good at having a caring heart with eyes of love that really looked at those around her and saw what she needed to be doing. Perfect? Probably not. But better at love than I am? For sure.
So, if you're reading this, Marilyn, thank you. Thank you for playing your part. Thank you for making me think about mine. Thank you for being you.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Things I've Learned from Binx
Binx is spending the night here. As we were going through his "Bedtime at Mark's" rituals (which used to only involve me singing every song I could think of, then several versions of "Mary had a Little..." where Binx picked the animal and then edited the color of fleece/hair/fur/skin/outer-covering as I sang, but has now evolved into stories, conversations, and singing), he shared all sorts of knowledge with me, which I share here with you:
My sister's name is really Mary Nana Riggs.
Wade is missing two toes, and we should find them and tape them on for him.
The sound of my heater kicking on is actually a snake.
Jordan's favorite color is the same as mine.
Binx's favorite color is orange.
Binx is firmly of the opinion that a couch or love seat in a home means someone sleeps on that piece of furniture..
Binx's stuffed animal frog is his nephew.
That's all I can remember now. I'm sure there were other things. And for the curious, tonight's version of "Mary had a Little..." was "Mary had a Little Dog." It's fur was brown as dirty snow.
My sister's name is really Mary Nana Riggs.
Wade is missing two toes, and we should find them and tape them on for him.
The sound of my heater kicking on is actually a snake.
Jordan's favorite color is the same as mine.
Binx's favorite color is orange.
Binx is firmly of the opinion that a couch or love seat in a home means someone sleeps on that piece of furniture..
Binx's stuffed animal frog is his nephew.
That's all I can remember now. I'm sure there were other things. And for the curious, tonight's version of "Mary had a Little..." was "Mary had a Little Dog." It's fur was brown as dirty snow.
It's Been Another Long Day
Yesterday was a long day. Except for a couple of stops to pick up people or items... or to change clothes, I didn't really get home until about 9:00, and even that stop was fleeting.
And then I was up until 1:30, which is this other story that I'm not going to get into here, but suffice it to say I need to get to bed much earlier than I have been.
And then tonight...
Conferences had me at school until 8:00. I had to run to the store, so there was another thirty minutes or so. Really, I got home about the same time I got home last night. It's just tonight I didn't have call to go out again, and then stay up much later than I should.
However, I'm up much later than I should.
So it's another long day. I'm having all kinds of ridiculous thoughts go through my head. I need to return Adam's call, but I don't know if it's too late to do that now or not.
I am wondering what happened to the guy I thought I was going to be, and I wonder if he's staying up too late in his version of reality. Probably not. He's got his act together.
I'm also thinking about everything I need to do tomorrow for my part of the in-service. Mostly I wondering what my part is supposed to be, even though I'm sure someone has told me, and told me repeatedly.
I'm also trying to figure out my plans for the weekend.
And, of course, I'm thinking about how much I like not having plans for the weekend, so I can just do nothing... which leads to my wasting a weekend and finding myself wishing I'd made plans.
You can please some of the people some of the time or whatever, but don't plan on getting on my good side. There's no pleasing me, apparently.
Anyway, a bunch of random ridiculous thoughts. I'm also wondering what it will be like to fly in a plane for the first time in over a decade--heck, for the first time in almost eighteen years, I guess. Maybe just seventeen. Heck, I wonder if I'm on that there no-fly list thing. That would suck. I ain't tryin' to walk to Arizona!
I wish I could lay my inability to sleep on the thoughts running around in my head, but I don't know these can actually be called thoughts!
Well, that's that. May your lies be halfway around the world before your truths get their shoes on.
And then I was up until 1:30, which is this other story that I'm not going to get into here, but suffice it to say I need to get to bed much earlier than I have been.
And then tonight...
Conferences had me at school until 8:00. I had to run to the store, so there was another thirty minutes or so. Really, I got home about the same time I got home last night. It's just tonight I didn't have call to go out again, and then stay up much later than I should.
However, I'm up much later than I should.
So it's another long day. I'm having all kinds of ridiculous thoughts go through my head. I need to return Adam's call, but I don't know if it's too late to do that now or not.
I am wondering what happened to the guy I thought I was going to be, and I wonder if he's staying up too late in his version of reality. Probably not. He's got his act together.
I'm also thinking about everything I need to do tomorrow for my part of the in-service. Mostly I wondering what my part is supposed to be, even though I'm sure someone has told me, and told me repeatedly.
I'm also trying to figure out my plans for the weekend.
And, of course, I'm thinking about how much I like not having plans for the weekend, so I can just do nothing... which leads to my wasting a weekend and finding myself wishing I'd made plans.
You can please some of the people some of the time or whatever, but don't plan on getting on my good side. There's no pleasing me, apparently.
Anyway, a bunch of random ridiculous thoughts. I'm also wondering what it will be like to fly in a plane for the first time in over a decade--heck, for the first time in almost eighteen years, I guess. Maybe just seventeen. Heck, I wonder if I'm on that there no-fly list thing. That would suck. I ain't tryin' to walk to Arizona!
I wish I could lay my inability to sleep on the thoughts running around in my head, but I don't know these can actually be called thoughts!
Well, that's that. May your lies be halfway around the world before your truths get their shoes on.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
What a World... What a World...
I should start off by making clear that things are pretty decent right now. Nothing too major bothering me. I mean, there's plenty I can complain about, because I just have great skills in that department, but nothing major is going on.
I wanted to share some quotes about what an awful place the world was, but there were too many good ones to choose from. Seriously, Google "quotes about life being hard" and be amazed. Pick the best one and pretend I used it here.
I'm not down on the world for any particular reason. I was just thinking today about how Dad died twenty-six years ago on this date, and my thoughts brought me around to my whole nearly-dying thing back in 2005, and as I thought about it, I had a bit of a revelation--or a repeated one, if I somehow realized this before.
In that moment when I accepted I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it but just observe and learn, part of me was really happy about it.
Don't start looking into putting me on a suicide watch or anything. I'm not saying I want to off myself. I'm saying part of me was just so relieved and... well, really happy at the thought of being done with this world.
I don't know that I've ever realized that before--or maybe I did, but had blocked it out.
I'm not shocked or upset by it--or not much, anyway. And I'm glad I'm here, and hope to be here for quite some time.
It's not that I was all like, "Hooray! I get to meet my heavenly father" and whatnot, as I wasn't much of a church person at that time.
I was just glad to be getting out of this mess of a place. Sure, "devil you know" and all that, but once I accepted I didn't have a choice, I took my silver lining where I could find it!
Mom always said, "This world and one more." It was something to be said when life was difficult or times were not the best. I think of that a lot. I don't know what sort of feeling I attach to it, however. Mostly I just remember Mom and wonder what she thought of it all at the end of her life.
Nobody's answering that one for me, of course. It's just what I wonder.
I wanted to share some quotes about what an awful place the world was, but there were too many good ones to choose from. Seriously, Google "quotes about life being hard" and be amazed. Pick the best one and pretend I used it here.
I'm not down on the world for any particular reason. I was just thinking today about how Dad died twenty-six years ago on this date, and my thoughts brought me around to my whole nearly-dying thing back in 2005, and as I thought about it, I had a bit of a revelation--or a repeated one, if I somehow realized this before.
In that moment when I accepted I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it but just observe and learn, part of me was really happy about it.
Don't start looking into putting me on a suicide watch or anything. I'm not saying I want to off myself. I'm saying part of me was just so relieved and... well, really happy at the thought of being done with this world.
I don't know that I've ever realized that before--or maybe I did, but had blocked it out.
I'm not shocked or upset by it--or not much, anyway. And I'm glad I'm here, and hope to be here for quite some time.
It's not that I was all like, "Hooray! I get to meet my heavenly father" and whatnot, as I wasn't much of a church person at that time.
I was just glad to be getting out of this mess of a place. Sure, "devil you know" and all that, but once I accepted I didn't have a choice, I took my silver lining where I could find it!
Mom always said, "This world and one more." It was something to be said when life was difficult or times were not the best. I think of that a lot. I don't know what sort of feeling I attach to it, however. Mostly I just remember Mom and wonder what she thought of it all at the end of her life.
Nobody's answering that one for me, of course. It's just what I wonder.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
And My Post-Timequake Apathy Returns...
So there's this.
That just makes a person proud to be in education. It in no way makes me want to just stop making any decisions at all and give up--well, it does, but only in every possible way.
This recent bout of P.T.A. makes me want to re-read Timequake. It helped me realize I was sick, but now I'm better, and there's work to be done.
It's easy to forget when every day you struggle with large numbers of students behind on the most basic of basic educational must-haves, and worse yet no desire or their part to want to actually do anything about it.
Seriously, I cannot spend twelve more years like this if I give up my P.T.A. for good!
So I need to either find my copy, if I still have it (stupid fire), or buy another copy and re-read it. It's probably my favorite Vonnegut book, and I miss it. It makes me laugh.
If you're wanting to get me a late birthday gift, or late Valentine's Day gift to apologize for not loving me enough, or an early Pi Day gift, get me a copy of Timequake, okay?
And now, in an effort to make my P.T.A. go away, here's this.
That just makes a person proud to be in education. It in no way makes me want to just stop making any decisions at all and give up--well, it does, but only in every possible way.
This recent bout of P.T.A. makes me want to re-read Timequake. It helped me realize I was sick, but now I'm better, and there's work to be done.
It's easy to forget when every day you struggle with large numbers of students behind on the most basic of basic educational must-haves, and worse yet no desire or their part to want to actually do anything about it.
Seriously, I cannot spend twelve more years like this if I give up my P.T.A. for good!
So I need to either find my copy, if I still have it (stupid fire), or buy another copy and re-read it. It's probably my favorite Vonnegut book, and I miss it. It makes me laugh.
If you're wanting to get me a late birthday gift, or late Valentine's Day gift to apologize for not loving me enough, or an early Pi Day gift, get me a copy of Timequake, okay?
And now, in an effort to make my P.T.A. go away, here's this.
Monday, February 14, 2011
The World Belongs...
So here's a funny Terry Pratchett quote:
I share it because it's been on my mind lately. Not in any deep way or anything. It just makes me laugh, because it's just so true--or at least is true in my mind.
Valentine's Day is here (and almost over). It's no big. It makes teaching fun, because what we lack in the school day is too much manufactured drama, and this day fills that void.
I'd think this day would be useful only if it got you off the hook for the other 364 days where you didn't tell your sweetie how sweet and great and wonderful they are. I mean, beyond giving a reason to raise expectations, what's the point, really?
I should think if you're in love, every day is a big deal, and you don't need this day to be all like, "P.S., I love you."
Anyway, the world doesn't belong to me. I'm not sure what my glass is, but it's not the one described in that quote.
So I have nothing to report except I love a lot of people, a lot of people love me, and I'm better off than I have any right to be.
That, I can love.
"There are, it has been said, two types of people in the world. There are those who, when presented with a glass that is exactly half full, say: this glass is half full. And then there are those who say: this glass is half empty. The world belongs, however, to those who can look at the glass and say: What's up with this glass? Excuse me? Excuse me? This is my glass? I don't think so. My glass was full! And it was a bigger glass!"
--from The Truth
I share it because it's been on my mind lately. Not in any deep way or anything. It just makes me laugh, because it's just so true--or at least is true in my mind.
Valentine's Day is here (and almost over). It's no big. It makes teaching fun, because what we lack in the school day is too much manufactured drama, and this day fills that void.
I'd think this day would be useful only if it got you off the hook for the other 364 days where you didn't tell your sweetie how sweet and great and wonderful they are. I mean, beyond giving a reason to raise expectations, what's the point, really?
I should think if you're in love, every day is a big deal, and you don't need this day to be all like, "P.S., I love you."
Anyway, the world doesn't belong to me. I'm not sure what my glass is, but it's not the one described in that quote.
So I have nothing to report except I love a lot of people, a lot of people love me, and I'm better off than I have any right to be.
That, I can love.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
My One Proud Moment from the World of Sports
First, a disclaimer: I have this nagging suspicion I've shared this story on here before. If I have, it's not my fault. I wasn't myself when I wrote it, and thus I don't remember it, so technically I'm not at fault.
My one proud moment from the world of sports is all about a baseball game against Palmyra back when still young enough for other kids my age to want to play baseball (around 7th grade or so, kids lost interest, and I started having to play on the older kids' team, which mean a lot of time in right field and much disappointment at bat).
Palmyra was the team we hated to play, and hated to lose to--which were one and the same, really. If we played them, we lost.
They had these awful kids on their team that--if I remember correctly--were twins. They'd say awful things to you if you were near enough to hear them, but far enough away from any umpire they wouldn't be heard by the wrong person. I'd love to give you an example, but I have none. I just remember they were terrible.
It would make for a much more pleasing narrative if I could say this particular incident involved one of those twins directly, but I can't remember if it does or not (I can't even remember if we're talking about twins or not).
We were in Center, playing Palmyra, losing badly. Nothing new about any of this, really.
It was the late 70s, so that should help you imagine what the people in the stands were wearing.
I was pitching. Brad Gibbons was catching. Matt Harris was out in right field. Six other people were spread all over the place. I have no idea who they were. I'd assume John Richard (or however it's spelled--I remember learning how to spell his last name and not mix it up with the last name of our classmate Marilyn (Riechards, I think), but I haven't needed that knowledge for over twenty-five years now) was on the team, and if I had to guess, maybe John Taylor, maybe Joe Wisner, maybe Chad Laird... or maybe not. They weren't directly involved in my proud moment.
For all to be right in the narrative world, the bases would have been loaded. I have no idea if they were. I'm pretty sure at least one base had a runner on it, but that's as good as I can do.
Again, it's not important.
Also not important is how much I hated pitching. I still cringe at the thought of being that responsible for what's happening with a team at a sporting event. I absolutely hated pitching. I wanted to catch, or play second base, or center field... but not pitch.
One of the pitches I threw to this particular batter (who may or may not have been one of the guys who may or may not have been twins) was just right for him to hit it flying out to right field.
We were all ticked off. It's just how you were when you played Palmyra.
Matt got the ball and threw it as hard as he could to me.
It didn't matter that we were going to lose no matter what. It didn't matter that over thirty-some-odd years later the details would be very hazy in my head.
What did matter was, by God, this kid was not going to make a home run, but he obviously was. And that was infuriating.
I caught that ball, and turned and threw it as hard as I could (actually, probably harder, inasmuch as that's possible) to the backstop--not even to Brad, really. I wasn't aiming. I was just ticked off and wanted to throw the ball as hard as I could.
My aim was terrible. It went right to Brad. Brad caught it and tagged the guy out.
No lie.
It was the greatest feeling in the world! We got the guy out! Matt to me to Brad and he's out! I was on top of the world for several minutes, until Brad took off his glove and his fingers were bleeding around his fingernails because of how hard I threw the ball to him.
For the record: he didn't care. He was just as excited as I was that we got that kid out.
So we lost the game, but we got that kid out. And I made Brad's fingers bleed. What a day!
My one proud moment from the world of sports is all about a baseball game against Palmyra back when still young enough for other kids my age to want to play baseball (around 7th grade or so, kids lost interest, and I started having to play on the older kids' team, which mean a lot of time in right field and much disappointment at bat).
Palmyra was the team we hated to play, and hated to lose to--which were one and the same, really. If we played them, we lost.
They had these awful kids on their team that--if I remember correctly--were twins. They'd say awful things to you if you were near enough to hear them, but far enough away from any umpire they wouldn't be heard by the wrong person. I'd love to give you an example, but I have none. I just remember they were terrible.
It would make for a much more pleasing narrative if I could say this particular incident involved one of those twins directly, but I can't remember if it does or not (I can't even remember if we're talking about twins or not).
We were in Center, playing Palmyra, losing badly. Nothing new about any of this, really.
It was the late 70s, so that should help you imagine what the people in the stands were wearing.
I was pitching. Brad Gibbons was catching. Matt Harris was out in right field. Six other people were spread all over the place. I have no idea who they were. I'd assume John Richard (or however it's spelled--I remember learning how to spell his last name and not mix it up with the last name of our classmate Marilyn (Riechards, I think), but I haven't needed that knowledge for over twenty-five years now) was on the team, and if I had to guess, maybe John Taylor, maybe Joe Wisner, maybe Chad Laird... or maybe not. They weren't directly involved in my proud moment.
For all to be right in the narrative world, the bases would have been loaded. I have no idea if they were. I'm pretty sure at least one base had a runner on it, but that's as good as I can do.
Again, it's not important.
Also not important is how much I hated pitching. I still cringe at the thought of being that responsible for what's happening with a team at a sporting event. I absolutely hated pitching. I wanted to catch, or play second base, or center field... but not pitch.
One of the pitches I threw to this particular batter (who may or may not have been one of the guys who may or may not have been twins) was just right for him to hit it flying out to right field.
We were all ticked off. It's just how you were when you played Palmyra.
Matt got the ball and threw it as hard as he could to me.
It didn't matter that we were going to lose no matter what. It didn't matter that over thirty-some-odd years later the details would be very hazy in my head.
What did matter was, by God, this kid was not going to make a home run, but he obviously was. And that was infuriating.
I caught that ball, and turned and threw it as hard as I could (actually, probably harder, inasmuch as that's possible) to the backstop--not even to Brad, really. I wasn't aiming. I was just ticked off and wanted to throw the ball as hard as I could.
My aim was terrible. It went right to Brad. Brad caught it and tagged the guy out.
No lie.
It was the greatest feeling in the world! We got the guy out! Matt to me to Brad and he's out! I was on top of the world for several minutes, until Brad took off his glove and his fingers were bleeding around his fingernails because of how hard I threw the ball to him.
For the record: he didn't care. He was just as excited as I was that we got that kid out.
So we lost the game, but we got that kid out. And I made Brad's fingers bleed. What a day!
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