Christmas morning of 1990, Lensey and I awoke to find a Nintendo Entertainment System, complete with Super Mario Brothers, Duck Hunt, and Tetris, among our gifts. While the system itself had been released in the U.S. for five years already, we thought it was brand new and the coolest thing that had ever been created. I remember spending hours shooting computer-generated ducks, and getting frustrated when that stupid dog laughed at me for missing a couple of shots in a row. And according to them, even Mom and Dad got in on the fun...They've said they would stay up hours after Lensey and I went to bed playing Super Mario Brothers, and we all sat in awe watching my cousin Brian beat the entire game in about five minutes. For better or for worse, it truly was a revolutionary product.
That being said, my parents made certain Lensey and I didn't abuse the privilege. We weren't allowed to play video games during the day, with the only exception being bad weather or a few minutes before we left for school. And it wasn't until a couple of years later that we got our own TV, which was relegated to Lensey's bedroom (she was the oldest). When we got our first Gameboy, the same rules applied. In all reality, Mom played the Gameboy way more than we ever did...She played Tetris on it up until just a few years ago, when the device finally quit working altogether after 15 years of road trips and power outages.
While I consider myself to be fairly technologically savvy, I'm no tech-nerd. I don't have to have the newest and best technological devices...I usually get ones that have essentially become obsolete, due to the swift-moving nature of technology today. But they're always cheaper, and, for all intents and purposes, perform any task I could conceivably ask them to. And even as much as I'd like to think otherwise, I, just like most other people, have grown to rely on technology far too much.
Perhaps it's the fact that I am surrounded by young kids everyday, but I truly feel bad for the generation that is growing up in today's society. While there's no question they will have unfathomable access to technologies and devices that, until just a few years ago, only existed in science-fiction novels, these kids are truly missing out on having a childhood like my generation had.
Sure, I played video games, and we had a computer at home (our first one was aged when we got it, and still had a floppy B Drive)...But, we also played outside. We rode bikes. We got dirty. DJ and I used to spend hours playing with a motley mix of G.I. Joes and X-Men in the creek behind my house. We'd go "exploring" in the woods we knew like the back of our hand. Lensey, our neighbor Katie, DJ, and I would create fake treasure maps, bury fake treasures, and race to see who could find the other treasure and make it back to the house first. We built clubhouses, went fishing, we found anything to kill time. Now, when I ask kids what they did over the weekend, I never hear anything like that, and it makes me sad for them.
The only thing I ever hear is this: "I played X-Box all day." Recently, in one of my resource classes, I had four boys write an essay about their favorite possession. All but one wrote about a video game system, and the one that didn't wrote about his favorite video game.
It doesn't take a genius to realize the impact that has on young kids. The epidemic of obesity in this country is a direct result of that (and poor eating and exercise habits). Sure, a lot of blame can be put on parents, who themselves have become accustomed to relying on technology to keep their kids occupied. But, what I can't seem to comprehend is how people don't get bored. How parents can't look at their children and think, "I am helping my child to an early grave."
My parents worked very hard to ensure that Lensey and I grew up as comfortably as possible, with opportunities and luxuries they would have never dreamed of as children. But, at the same time, they instilled the attitude that those luxuries are just that...Luxuries. Not to be taken for granted, and not to be relied upon as necessity. That's why they applied rules, and why, whenever we attempted to push the boundaries of those rules, were told forcefully, "Get outside and play." One of Mom and Dad's favorite lines was, "If you can't find something to do, I'll find something for you." Trust me...Whatever it was, would not be fun.
I guess parents just don't do that anymore. I guess it's easier for them to drop a couple hundred bucks on an X-Box, set their kids in front of the TV, and let them pass their life away. All the while, inadvertent as it may be, setting them up for a lifetime of lazy and slothful behavior that spills over into every aspect of their lives. Call me cynical, but judging by increasingly poor performance and just an overall lack of motivation in school (and even on the sports field), the children that will soon be adults will not possess the necessary qualities to lead full, productive lives. I guess the most alarming thing is how quickly that change has occurred...I'm barely 10 years removed from high school, and the difference between then and now is astounding.
I know you're probably thinking I need to come down off my soapbox and relax, and maybe you're right. Every generation that comes along appears, to the generation that came before it, to be the downfall of civilization as we know it. I'm not jumping off that ledge, just yet. But, I do find myself feeling increasingly sorry for a generation of kids that will never get to have the same kind of childhood I had. They can't turn their faces away from a video game, or remove their ear buds from their iPod, long enough to experience all the world around them has to offer. Even things right outside their back door. Maybe it's just me beginning to show my age, but I do find myself longing for a time before all that. And I've also grown increasingly thankful that I came along when I did. I just wish more parents nowadays had the attitude that mine did. Thanks, Mom and Dad.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Baby, You Can Drive My Car
Despite my disdain for basically every miserable part of winter, there is something inherently soothing about walking outside into the brisk, biting air of a January morning. There's a certain calmness to it that doesn't exist at any other time of year. Winter mornings possess a stillness that no other season can really claim. During the first warm months of spring, you'll hear birds chirping as they welcome the new day. And as the months grow hotter, you'll hear cicadas humming in the distance, or leaves rustling in a warm breeze. But, in the dead of winter, there is just silence and cold. A certain nothingness.
Then, on those cold mornings when you start your truck to allow it to warm up, that silence is broken by the uneven rumble of an engine, and the blowing of the defroster in the cab. And, when you are about to start your day and head off to work, you realize that you've somehow locked your only set of keys inside the cab, as they set firmly placed in the ignition.
That's how my day began yesterday morning. And as I stood outside in the sub-20 degree weather, with my truck running and wasting gas in my driveway, that soothing calmness I briefly felt was instantly blown away by the cold January wind. Not only did I have to endure the humiliation of calling my principal to explain why I would be late to work, but I also had to sit outside in the freezing cold, because I had locked myself out of the house, too. And locksmiths, like the government, are never in a big rush.
That inconvenient occurrence got me thinking about some of the past experiences I've had with the various vehicles I've driven over the years. I've made a lot of good memories driving around with friends, cranking some of our favorite tunes, somehow avoiding any serious trouble, despite our apparent desperate efforts to find it. I've also had some unfortunate and scary moments in those vehicles, but I've always come out clean on the other side. And no matter how many cars you drive in your lifetime, there's always a special place in your heart for that first one.
My first car was a charcoal grey 1998 Ford Escort sedan...As stock as they come. It had manual windows and locks, cloth seats, a steering wheel that could not be adjusted, a radio without a cassette deck, and 2.0L 4-cylinder engine. Let me tell you, I was the envy of all of my friends. Nonetheless, that car was reliable and got outstanding gas mileage, so I can't really complain too much. On countless Friday nights, Mom or Dad would give me a $20 bill, and I could fill my tank, go grab a bite to eat, and spend all night out with my buddies and still have some left over for Saturday. We put a lot of miles on that car driving to Paducah, cruising around looking for something to do. No matter how many times we planned on doing something epic, we usually ended up eating at Wendy's, going to the mall and walking two full laps, going to a movie or bowling, then capping the night at Steak 'n Shake. Despite the newfound freedom we had when I got my license, our weekends were usually fairly predictable.
Things didn't start out so well for me as a licensed driver. About a month after I got my license, my friend Blake and I were going to a concert at the Paducah riverfront, and as we were pulling out of a parking spot, I backed into a black Ford Mustang. I was horrified and speechless, because I knew my Dad would end my life. But, the driver of the other vehicle didn't have their headlights on, so it didn't end up being a big thing. Blake immortalized the ordeal in a song he wrote to the tune of "3 AM," by Matchbox Twenty and sang it in our Arts and Humanities class in front of 30 of my classmates. It was hilarious and incredibly embarrassing at the same time.
Another time I was driving down Scale Road on my way to Paducah. My rear passenger side tire went off the side of the road and hit a bump where a driveway met the road and sent the rear of my car spinning back towards the opposite side. I managed to get the car under control and stopped...On the edge of a ditch that sloped down about 12 feet from the road. Despite my efforts to prevent it, the car slowly (really, it felt like slow motion) creeped over the side and down into the ditch. Not two minutes after the car came to a stop, I heard the familiar sound of Papaw's diesel Ford pickup come rumbling over the hill. I flagged him down, and he and Memaw got out and soothed my nerves. At the same time, a man that lived just up the hill had heard my tires squealing, and came down in his tractor to pull me out. Me, and luckily the car, were both totally unscathed, and I continued on my way.
There were plenty of good times, too. It's funny how, when you reminisce, seemingly miniscule details become permanently engrained in your memory. So many stories my friends and I retell over and over about our high school days occurred in that car. Or at least are tied to it. We'd pack the trunk full of firewood and drive out to the lake to go camping. We'd sit in parking lots with the doors open, music blaring from the cheap, factory speakers in the doors. We'd drive around and talk about life, the future, or sit in total silence and talk about nothing at all. As I sit here now, I can almost feel the vibration of the steering wheel, or smell the old air freshener I kept in the glove compartment.
While that car was the exact opposite of a high-performance machine, it got me from point A to point B countless times. It took me on my first date. It drove me to college for the first time. It took me on my first road-trip with my friends. It got me into trouble a few times, and probably got me out of it a few more times than that. And while I don't know where it is now (the last time I saw it, it was wrecked and sitting in an impound lot), I'll always be able to remember the good times I had in it. And even some of the bad ones.
Then, on those cold mornings when you start your truck to allow it to warm up, that silence is broken by the uneven rumble of an engine, and the blowing of the defroster in the cab. And, when you are about to start your day and head off to work, you realize that you've somehow locked your only set of keys inside the cab, as they set firmly placed in the ignition.
That's how my day began yesterday morning. And as I stood outside in the sub-20 degree weather, with my truck running and wasting gas in my driveway, that soothing calmness I briefly felt was instantly blown away by the cold January wind. Not only did I have to endure the humiliation of calling my principal to explain why I would be late to work, but I also had to sit outside in the freezing cold, because I had locked myself out of the house, too. And locksmiths, like the government, are never in a big rush.
That inconvenient occurrence got me thinking about some of the past experiences I've had with the various vehicles I've driven over the years. I've made a lot of good memories driving around with friends, cranking some of our favorite tunes, somehow avoiding any serious trouble, despite our apparent desperate efforts to find it. I've also had some unfortunate and scary moments in those vehicles, but I've always come out clean on the other side. And no matter how many cars you drive in your lifetime, there's always a special place in your heart for that first one.
My first car was a charcoal grey 1998 Ford Escort sedan...As stock as they come. It had manual windows and locks, cloth seats, a steering wheel that could not be adjusted, a radio without a cassette deck, and 2.0L 4-cylinder engine. Let me tell you, I was the envy of all of my friends. Nonetheless, that car was reliable and got outstanding gas mileage, so I can't really complain too much. On countless Friday nights, Mom or Dad would give me a $20 bill, and I could fill my tank, go grab a bite to eat, and spend all night out with my buddies and still have some left over for Saturday. We put a lot of miles on that car driving to Paducah, cruising around looking for something to do. No matter how many times we planned on doing something epic, we usually ended up eating at Wendy's, going to the mall and walking two full laps, going to a movie or bowling, then capping the night at Steak 'n Shake. Despite the newfound freedom we had when I got my license, our weekends were usually fairly predictable.
Things didn't start out so well for me as a licensed driver. About a month after I got my license, my friend Blake and I were going to a concert at the Paducah riverfront, and as we were pulling out of a parking spot, I backed into a black Ford Mustang. I was horrified and speechless, because I knew my Dad would end my life. But, the driver of the other vehicle didn't have their headlights on, so it didn't end up being a big thing. Blake immortalized the ordeal in a song he wrote to the tune of "3 AM," by Matchbox Twenty and sang it in our Arts and Humanities class in front of 30 of my classmates. It was hilarious and incredibly embarrassing at the same time.
Another time I was driving down Scale Road on my way to Paducah. My rear passenger side tire went off the side of the road and hit a bump where a driveway met the road and sent the rear of my car spinning back towards the opposite side. I managed to get the car under control and stopped...On the edge of a ditch that sloped down about 12 feet from the road. Despite my efforts to prevent it, the car slowly (really, it felt like slow motion) creeped over the side and down into the ditch. Not two minutes after the car came to a stop, I heard the familiar sound of Papaw's diesel Ford pickup come rumbling over the hill. I flagged him down, and he and Memaw got out and soothed my nerves. At the same time, a man that lived just up the hill had heard my tires squealing, and came down in his tractor to pull me out. Me, and luckily the car, were both totally unscathed, and I continued on my way.
There were plenty of good times, too. It's funny how, when you reminisce, seemingly miniscule details become permanently engrained in your memory. So many stories my friends and I retell over and over about our high school days occurred in that car. Or at least are tied to it. We'd pack the trunk full of firewood and drive out to the lake to go camping. We'd sit in parking lots with the doors open, music blaring from the cheap, factory speakers in the doors. We'd drive around and talk about life, the future, or sit in total silence and talk about nothing at all. As I sit here now, I can almost feel the vibration of the steering wheel, or smell the old air freshener I kept in the glove compartment.
While that car was the exact opposite of a high-performance machine, it got me from point A to point B countless times. It took me on my first date. It drove me to college for the first time. It took me on my first road-trip with my friends. It got me into trouble a few times, and probably got me out of it a few more times than that. And while I don't know where it is now (the last time I saw it, it was wrecked and sitting in an impound lot), I'll always be able to remember the good times I had in it. And even some of the bad ones.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Here's Johnny!
Well, here we are. The first week of January has come and gone, and we find ourselves neck-deep in the wasteland that is the post-holiday season. Call me grumpy. Call me melodramatic. Call me whatever you want...But I absolutely HATE this time of year. I mean, I just despise it. If there is a more depressing time of year than the six or eight weeks after New Year's, I haven't encountered it yet. Aside from college basketball, what does this stretch of time have to offer?
The weather is totally awful. In these parts, it's cold, but not cold enough to snow very often. It's just an annoying cold that forces you to wrap up when you go outside, but no snow. Just cold and wind and the occasional "wintry mix." At least most of the time. Even when we get a lot of snow, like two years ago, that gets old after just a week or so.
Everyone is sick. Some more than others, but pretty much everybody has at least a runny nose that seems to last for weeks with no discernible explanation. You can get your flu shot, wash your hands frequently, hook up to an IV of orange juice...None of it matters. Really, the only way to avoid it is to lock yourself away in a mountain hotel somewhere and wait till spring. And even then you'll just go crazy and start seeing ghosts. And it's cold.
You come off of the cheerful holiday season full of family, presents, great food, time off and then all of a sudden there's seemingly nothing to look forward to for months. Spring seems like it's a million miles away. For most folks, it's too early in the year to use vacation days. And it's cold.
All the trees are bare. They're ugly and lifeless. Grass browns and doesn't grow. If you want to buy flowers for your wife, the only ones available are small and overpriced. The days are short and the nights are long. And it is just so damn cold.
When I was in high school, this time of year was a bit more tolerable. I'd spend most afternoons after school going to the batting cage and getting some swings in, preparing for the upcoming baseball season. We'd go outside and throw on the few days it didn't rain or was warm enough for us to stand it. I played basketball a few nights a week, too, so I kept busy most of the time. That helped pass the time. I had February 15th circled on my calendar, because that was the day spring practice officially started, and the day winter unofficially ended. The weather might still suck for another month or so, but at least I knew spring was right around the corner.
Now, though, things are a bit different. I don't have those things to occupy my time like I did then. I've got more important things to worry about. But, that doesn't mean I haven't developed new ways to get through the doldrums that are January and February. I've taken some steps to help ensure I don't go totally crazy waiting on spring to finally arrive.
Kentucky basketball is the main thing that occupies my attention during this time of year. If you know me well, you know how big of a fan I am and how much I follow the Cats all year round. But, I really amp up that focus this time of year. Conference play kicks into high gear, and that plays a major role, but since college football has come to a close, and baseball is still two months away, I can put all my sports-related attention toward the Cats. And it helps (as long as they're winning).
I focus on small chunks of time, rather than thinking in terms of months. Instead of torturing myself by counting down the days to spring break, I focus on small things that pop up from time to time. Luckily, this year, I'm going on a trip Super Bowl weekend with DJ and going to another Avett Brothers concert in February with Adrienne, Liza, and Jackie. Those two big-ticket items will highlight the next six weeks. Other than that, MLK Day and the SEC Tournament are there. I have even broken down the school calendar and know how many days there are in between three-day weekends. It's the little things. It's sad, really.
Of course there's New Year's resolutions that can help, too, for most people. Although, I must admit, I don't really have any this year. I wrote a post last year about my disdain for New Year's resolutions, and I would say most of those are still in tact. I did better in 2012 than I have probably ever done in sticking with my resolutions, so I figure I shouldn't mess with a winning formula. But, most of the time, they can help occupy your attention for a while. Maybe that's why people come up with New Year's resolutions to begin with...There's nothing else to do this time of year.
I might pick up a new hobby or try to get back into working out, although neither of those usually last very long. I guess the main idea is to just try to keep your mind occupied as much as possible.
If you long for warm days, sunburns, grilled meat, cold beer, mosquito bites, thunderstorms, boats, shorts, and flip flops then you understand my disdain for this time of year. In the meantime, I encourage you to find ways to pass the long days and cure your cabin fever. Otherwise, you might just go crazy.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Readin', Ritin', and Rithmetic
I don't have very many vivid memories of my life when I was a kindergartner. I remember a handful of friends' birthday parties. And I remember a set of inflatable red monsters that my teacher, Mrs. Sue, hung above the board and used to teach us the alphabet, but I don't actually remember learning the alphabet. I couldn't even tell you where in the building (which was demolished when I was in 2nd grade) my first classroom was located.
I vividly remember a time when I told Mrs. Sue that I was a car-rider one particular day because Dad was taking me fishing. I normally rode the bus home (good old #50), but I told her Dad was picking me up that day. Mrs. Sue sat with me on the steps outside the classroom as, one-by-one, all the kids left. "Are you sure you weren't supposed to ride the bus?" She asked, multiple times. "No...Dad is coming to get me. He's probably getting the tackle box ready," I insisted. Eventually, the bus driver was called, and she came and took me home on an empty bus, which is where I was supposed to be the entire time. I don't recall if Dad and I went fishing that afternoon or not.
It doesn't really feel like it was all that long ago, but it definitely sounds like it. Twenty-three years. But when you do the math, it doesn't really sound all that daunting. Roughly 18,000 hours. About 770 days. A little over 2 years. That's how much time (estimated, of course) I've spent in a school of one kind or another as a student. Growing up, it feels like we spend more time at school than we do anywhere else, but if you were to create a pie chart of my life divided by hours, I've actually only spent about 8% of my time on earth in school.
This week marks the end of my standard education. I'll take my Praxis exam next week and will have my Rank-I certification in Special Education. It makes me sound really important. It makes me seem extremely learned (pronounced learn-ed, like in 18th century England). The truth is, I've probably forgotten more than I care to admit, and just because I have a couple of degrees framed on my wall, I don't feel like I should have a particular label or status applied to me. It really just means I've spent entirely too much of my parents' money.
School was never all that difficult for me. I don't say that to brag...It's really just a fact. Truth be told, no matter what grade I was in, I never really pushed myself all that much. I always did all my homework, and I was well-behaved for the most part. But I coasted. I did enough to get by with good enough grades that my parents stayed off my back. They got plenty upset when I got as low as a B, but if I had really put forth effort, I could have easily finished with straight A's from 1st grade all the way til now. Lensey was always a better student than I was, but she will tell you she had to work a lot harder than I did to be successful. And she reminds me of that frequently.
That sentiment reminds me of something Liza told me a couple of years ago. When I was in graduate school at UK, Dr. Kathy Swan, the director of the MIC program in which I was enrolled, never really liked me. And it was obvious. She called me out constantly for not shaving everyday, told me I needed to dress more professionally (for class, mind you), and was much harder on my written assignments than some of my classmates. Don't get me wrong, I was a bit of a cut-up in class at times, but when it came time to be serious, I was. I just tried to lighten the mood sometimes, and I guess she didn't care for that. I returned from my first interview, and when she asked how it went, I said "It went well. The principal said I was the best-dressed interviewee they had." It was just my subtle way of flipping her the bird, which I'm fairly certain she understood.
But anyway, Liza was my academic adviser at the time, and worked closely with Dr. Swan. So, when Adrienne and I started dating, I asked Liza if Dr. Swan didn't like me. She absolutely confirmed its truth, and when I asked why, she said "Dr. Swan just thought things came too easily for you." Perhaps it was my own fault for not carrying myself a certain way all the time, but regardless...A very silly reason to dislike one of your students. It never really bothered me that Dr. Swan didn't like me, though. It was plenty clear she had her favorites, and quite frankly, I'm glad I didn't belong to that group. But, hearing that from Liza sums up my education pretty well. I was always successful, but I could have done a lot more.
Do I have regrets in that regard? Not exactly...I have way too many great memories of times with friends or doing things that I enjoyed to sit around and worry about an exam I took 5 years ago. Sure, I look back and know I could have studied harder and made a better grade here or there, but as I sit here now, I'm totally convinced it would have had little impact on the way my life has turned out. And I wouldn't trade the memories I made for anything...So, no...I don't regret it.
To me, education was always more than just learning facts, or training for a career...It was training for life. It was learning about myself. How I deal with adversity. How I interact with other people. How I prioritize my life. How I set goals and prepare to meet those goals. As much as I'm sure I learned in a classroom, I feel like the experience of an education taught me even more.
I will miss certain aspects of being a student, even though my most recent experience at the University of the Cumberlands has been totally different than anything else I've ever been involved in. But, even though my official education is over, it has instilled a love of learning in me that I can always continue to feed as I go through life. Education is on-going and something we should all take seriously. I might not have always taken my "schooling" as serious as I could or should have, I definitely took my education seriously. While the degrees hanging on the wall tell me I'm specifically trained to be a teacher, I don't always have to teach. I might. I might not. That isn't the point. The point is, I have been extremely fortunate to be able to get a good education, and having that experience has taught me more than any textbook or lecture ever could.
I vividly remember a time when I told Mrs. Sue that I was a car-rider one particular day because Dad was taking me fishing. I normally rode the bus home (good old #50), but I told her Dad was picking me up that day. Mrs. Sue sat with me on the steps outside the classroom as, one-by-one, all the kids left. "Are you sure you weren't supposed to ride the bus?" She asked, multiple times. "No...Dad is coming to get me. He's probably getting the tackle box ready," I insisted. Eventually, the bus driver was called, and she came and took me home on an empty bus, which is where I was supposed to be the entire time. I don't recall if Dad and I went fishing that afternoon or not.
It doesn't really feel like it was all that long ago, but it definitely sounds like it. Twenty-three years. But when you do the math, it doesn't really sound all that daunting. Roughly 18,000 hours. About 770 days. A little over 2 years. That's how much time (estimated, of course) I've spent in a school of one kind or another as a student. Growing up, it feels like we spend more time at school than we do anywhere else, but if you were to create a pie chart of my life divided by hours, I've actually only spent about 8% of my time on earth in school.
This week marks the end of my standard education. I'll take my Praxis exam next week and will have my Rank-I certification in Special Education. It makes me sound really important. It makes me seem extremely learned (pronounced learn-ed, like in 18th century England). The truth is, I've probably forgotten more than I care to admit, and just because I have a couple of degrees framed on my wall, I don't feel like I should have a particular label or status applied to me. It really just means I've spent entirely too much of my parents' money.
School was never all that difficult for me. I don't say that to brag...It's really just a fact. Truth be told, no matter what grade I was in, I never really pushed myself all that much. I always did all my homework, and I was well-behaved for the most part. But I coasted. I did enough to get by with good enough grades that my parents stayed off my back. They got plenty upset when I got as low as a B, but if I had really put forth effort, I could have easily finished with straight A's from 1st grade all the way til now. Lensey was always a better student than I was, but she will tell you she had to work a lot harder than I did to be successful. And she reminds me of that frequently.
That sentiment reminds me of something Liza told me a couple of years ago. When I was in graduate school at UK, Dr. Kathy Swan, the director of the MIC program in which I was enrolled, never really liked me. And it was obvious. She called me out constantly for not shaving everyday, told me I needed to dress more professionally (for class, mind you), and was much harder on my written assignments than some of my classmates. Don't get me wrong, I was a bit of a cut-up in class at times, but when it came time to be serious, I was. I just tried to lighten the mood sometimes, and I guess she didn't care for that. I returned from my first interview, and when she asked how it went, I said "It went well. The principal said I was the best-dressed interviewee they had." It was just my subtle way of flipping her the bird, which I'm fairly certain she understood.
But anyway, Liza was my academic adviser at the time, and worked closely with Dr. Swan. So, when Adrienne and I started dating, I asked Liza if Dr. Swan didn't like me. She absolutely confirmed its truth, and when I asked why, she said "Dr. Swan just thought things came too easily for you." Perhaps it was my own fault for not carrying myself a certain way all the time, but regardless...A very silly reason to dislike one of your students. It never really bothered me that Dr. Swan didn't like me, though. It was plenty clear she had her favorites, and quite frankly, I'm glad I didn't belong to that group. But, hearing that from Liza sums up my education pretty well. I was always successful, but I could have done a lot more.
Do I have regrets in that regard? Not exactly...I have way too many great memories of times with friends or doing things that I enjoyed to sit around and worry about an exam I took 5 years ago. Sure, I look back and know I could have studied harder and made a better grade here or there, but as I sit here now, I'm totally convinced it would have had little impact on the way my life has turned out. And I wouldn't trade the memories I made for anything...So, no...I don't regret it.
To me, education was always more than just learning facts, or training for a career...It was training for life. It was learning about myself. How I deal with adversity. How I interact with other people. How I prioritize my life. How I set goals and prepare to meet those goals. As much as I'm sure I learned in a classroom, I feel like the experience of an education taught me even more.
I will miss certain aspects of being a student, even though my most recent experience at the University of the Cumberlands has been totally different than anything else I've ever been involved in. But, even though my official education is over, it has instilled a love of learning in me that I can always continue to feed as I go through life. Education is on-going and something we should all take seriously. I might not have always taken my "schooling" as serious as I could or should have, I definitely took my education seriously. While the degrees hanging on the wall tell me I'm specifically trained to be a teacher, I don't always have to teach. I might. I might not. That isn't the point. The point is, I have been extremely fortunate to be able to get a good education, and having that experience has taught me more than any textbook or lecture ever could.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
These Are a Few of My Favorite Things
I am fully aware that it has been nearly two months since my last post, and I am equally aware that a lot has happened between then and now that could have warranted any number of possible writing prompts. But, nonetheless, I have neglected my personal goal of committing to writing more and for that I apologize.
One thing that has inspired me a bit has been the recent Facebook trend of posting status updates each day about things people are thankful for. For the last month, my Newsfeed has been chock full of them from dozens of my Facebook friends. Granted, some were a bit sappy and over the top. Some were obvious things to be thankful for ("I'm thankful for oxygen, water, and food so I can survive"). And others were so perfect and eloquently written that it really made you sit back for a second and contemplate everything that is important to you in life.
I didn't get into all that, though. I'm eternally thankful for so many things that assigning a Facebook status to any of them (regardless of the depth) seemed trivial to me. That's not a shot at anyone that did that...To each his own. But, it's just not really my style I guess. I hope I do a good enough job of expressing my thanks for the things I love that I don't have to resort to public declarations that 99.9% of the people reading them couldn't care less about.
I know I may be a few days late, and most people have fully transitioned into Christmas mode. But if there's one thing the Peanuts gang taught me, it is we should be thankful all year long, not just on Thanksgiving. So, with that sentiment in mind, I want to express my thanks for the little things in life...The ones that often get taken for granted, and never really get mentioned around a table on Thanksgiving.
In no particular order:
1. I am thankful for college basketball games on TV. After Christmas, winter drags on and the cold, dreary weather can wear on a person. Basketball seems to make January and February more bearable.
2. I am thankful for exact change. I don't carry cash nearly as often as I should, and on those rare occasions when I not only have bills, but coins too and can pay the exact amount owed, it just makes me smile.
3. I am thankful for unexpected days off. Whether it is a snow day so there's no school, or just a time where some dreaded obligation gets cancelled, it's a great feeling.
4. I'm thankful for photographs. I often make fun of my mom for taking 5 or 6 pictures of the same exact thing, or for having the video camera out for mundane things like opening a birthday card, but I have to admit I'm really glad I have those memories to look back on. I don't take enough pictures (unless I'm at an Avett Brothers concert), so I'm glad someone else does. (Note: Pictures of homemade desserts, plants, and bottles of wine do not count, Liza).
5. I'm thankful for sunburns. Now, I don't mean those severe ones that make even the most mundane movements feel like pure misery. But that first slight sting of summer (how's that for alliteration?) you feel after spending that first warm afternoon in the sun is glorious.
6. I'm thankful for Kentucky bourbon.
7. I'm thankful for the smell after someone mows. I can't really describe what it smells like, but you know what I'm talking about. And the smell of outside early in the morning in the spring. That one too.
8. I am thankful for Boston and AC/DC. There are other musical acts that I might like more, but I simply cannot listen to "Something About You" or "If You Want Blood, You Got It" without immediately being in a good mood. Seriously...Try it.
9. I am thankful for the cool side of the pillow. When are they going to invent a pillow that stays that temperature all the time?
10. I am thankful I don't look like Cody Zeller.
Hardly an exhaustive list, but I encourage you to take the time to really think about the things you are thankful for. Sometimes we don't realize how much we truly take for granted.
One thing that has inspired me a bit has been the recent Facebook trend of posting status updates each day about things people are thankful for. For the last month, my Newsfeed has been chock full of them from dozens of my Facebook friends. Granted, some were a bit sappy and over the top. Some were obvious things to be thankful for ("I'm thankful for oxygen, water, and food so I can survive"). And others were so perfect and eloquently written that it really made you sit back for a second and contemplate everything that is important to you in life.
I didn't get into all that, though. I'm eternally thankful for so many things that assigning a Facebook status to any of them (regardless of the depth) seemed trivial to me. That's not a shot at anyone that did that...To each his own. But, it's just not really my style I guess. I hope I do a good enough job of expressing my thanks for the things I love that I don't have to resort to public declarations that 99.9% of the people reading them couldn't care less about.
I know I may be a few days late, and most people have fully transitioned into Christmas mode. But if there's one thing the Peanuts gang taught me, it is we should be thankful all year long, not just on Thanksgiving. So, with that sentiment in mind, I want to express my thanks for the little things in life...The ones that often get taken for granted, and never really get mentioned around a table on Thanksgiving.
In no particular order:
1. I am thankful for college basketball games on TV. After Christmas, winter drags on and the cold, dreary weather can wear on a person. Basketball seems to make January and February more bearable.
2. I am thankful for exact change. I don't carry cash nearly as often as I should, and on those rare occasions when I not only have bills, but coins too and can pay the exact amount owed, it just makes me smile.
3. I am thankful for unexpected days off. Whether it is a snow day so there's no school, or just a time where some dreaded obligation gets cancelled, it's a great feeling.
4. I'm thankful for photographs. I often make fun of my mom for taking 5 or 6 pictures of the same exact thing, or for having the video camera out for mundane things like opening a birthday card, but I have to admit I'm really glad I have those memories to look back on. I don't take enough pictures (unless I'm at an Avett Brothers concert), so I'm glad someone else does. (Note: Pictures of homemade desserts, plants, and bottles of wine do not count, Liza).
5. I'm thankful for sunburns. Now, I don't mean those severe ones that make even the most mundane movements feel like pure misery. But that first slight sting of summer (how's that for alliteration?) you feel after spending that first warm afternoon in the sun is glorious.
6. I'm thankful for Kentucky bourbon.
7. I'm thankful for the smell after someone mows. I can't really describe what it smells like, but you know what I'm talking about. And the smell of outside early in the morning in the spring. That one too.
8. I am thankful for Boston and AC/DC. There are other musical acts that I might like more, but I simply cannot listen to "Something About You" or "If You Want Blood, You Got It" without immediately being in a good mood. Seriously...Try it.
9. I am thankful for the cool side of the pillow. When are they going to invent a pillow that stays that temperature all the time?
10. I am thankful I don't look like Cody Zeller.
Hardly an exhaustive list, but I encourage you to take the time to really think about the things you are thankful for. Sometimes we don't realize how much we truly take for granted.
Monday, October 8, 2012
I Gotta Good Feeling
Up until the time Adrienne and I got engaged, I never really thought about my wedding or what I wanted it to be like. That's not a really something guys sit around and talk about. There were certain aspects of weddings I'd go to or see in a movie that I liked, but as to where I wanted my own wedding to take place, or what kind of food I wanted...I never really gave it much thought.
But when Adrienne and I began planning our wedding, that changed a bit. As more time progressed, I began to give serious thought as to what I wanted in our wedding. I left color choices, flowers, cake, and things like that up to Adrienne, because let's be honest...She has much better taste than I, and none of that stuff really mattered all that much to me. It was her day, and I wanted it to be perfect for her.
What I wanted was to have a wedding and reception that I would want to go to if I were a guest. I wanted the wedding itself to be classic and elegant, but approachable and enjoyable for the people in attendance. I wanted it to be large enough for all of our friends and family to attend, but I wanted it to be intimate and seem exclusive at the same time. I wanted the reception to be a huge party...We were there to celebrate, not sit around and eat cake. It could have been all those things, I guess, no matter where we had it, but the First Christian Church in Burkesville and Dale Hollow State Park turned out to be absolutely perfect in every conceivable way.
It felt, to me, like a destination wedding, despite the fact it was right in Adrienne's own backyard. Virtually all of my guests had at least a three-hour drive, and most came in a day or two early so we all got to hang out at the hotel the night before. It was almost like an extension of my bachelor party, only much more reserved and more about just hanging out than anything. Thursday night, Clay and I laid around and watched TV...Just like we did countless nights back in our dorm at UK. Friday, a group of us all played golf before the rehearsal dinner, and Friday night the late-arrivals joined us on the patio of the second floor where we all sat around telling stories (almost all at my own expense) until early Saturday morning.
I told myself leading up to the weekend that I was going to slow down and make a conscious effort to soak it all in. It would have been very easy to look forward to the wedding itself all weekend, and let so many other great moments pass me by. And, in all reality, I did a good job of that. I remember thinking to myself early Friday afternoon just before teeing off on the 14th hole that it had felt like the weekend should almost be over, but it hadn't even really begun. And that was a wonderful feeling.
I wish that I could remember the ceremony as vividly as I do so many other things about that weekend. Truthfully, the ceremony itself was so nerve-wracking that I really only feel like I have a handful of mental images. I don't really remember much that was said by Brother Seth. I don't really remember seeing many familiar faces in the crowd. It was just one big blur...A church full of faceless bodies, the teacher from Peanuts squawking in the background, and the occasional private little moment between Adrienne and I as we stood at the alter. And I guess part of me likes it that way...The clearest memory I have of that day is Adrienne standing in front of me, her hands in mine, looking more stunningly beautiful than I could have ever imagined she'd look.
I'm so glad we were able to convince Jackie to have the reception at Dale Hollow. They all did a masterful job of decorating the reception hall, and it was exactly what I would have wanted it to be. I remember walking in early Friday morning and thinking it looked great already, and as Adrienne and I walked in with the room totally done and packed with our loved ones, I was blown away. It really looked like something out of a magazine. During the meal, I leaned over to my best man and said "This is exactly what I wanted from day one." He smiled, patted me on the back, and simply said, "I'm glad."
But it wasn't just the way it looked. It was the feel the room had all night. I looked around so many different times and saw my mom smiling and laughing, or doing the Wobble. I saw Jackie with an ear-to-ear grin, wine glass in hand, having the time of her life. All the work had been done and it was time to celebrate. And because we were there with that great staff catering to our every need, they were able to do just that. Like Liza said...I hope it was worth every penny.
Adrienne and I had the best time of our lives that entire weekend, and we were sitting on the couch last night on the verge of depression because it was over. We wanted to do it all again. From the golf game, to the rehearsal dinner, to the ceremony and reception...I literally could not have imagined it being any better, and I am so grateful to all the people that helped make it happen.
To my groomsmen and friends...You guys took time out of your own busy schedules to travel, rent tuxes, get a hotel room, play golf...Your collective presence made me forget about the nerves and provided me with memories I will cherish forever. It was awesome.
To Jackie and my Mom...You are both amazing women in your own right. Jackie, you spear-headed the planning of the entire thing when Adrienne and I were having to focus on other things, you took the responsibility of making sure the weekend went smoothly and executed it beautifully. We are both eternally thankful for that. Mom...You helped me in so many different ways, I can't really begin to describe them. You were instrumental in ensuring that so many of our loved ones were there, and you deflected any stress I might have been feeling. Thank you for being you.
To Liza...You introduced me to Adrienne. This weekend would have never happened had you not thought me worthy to date your sister. I look back on the version of myself that you knew and wonder how that was possible, but I am so glad it was. Seriously...From the bottom of my heart, thank you for that.
To Leigh...You ran around like a crazy person all day Saturday taking pictures and changing clothes and taking care of an energetic 3-year-old, and you did it all incredibly effectively. Thank you so much...Adrienne and I cannot wait to see all the pictures.
To the rest of my family and friends that made the long trip to attend...I can't explain how much it meant to have you all there to share in the day with me and Adrienne. I mean, I really can't. It was incredible, and I love you all.
I know Adrienne and I will always look back on it as the best weekend of our lives, because I honestly don't know how it could be topped. It was simply perfect in every way.
But when Adrienne and I began planning our wedding, that changed a bit. As more time progressed, I began to give serious thought as to what I wanted in our wedding. I left color choices, flowers, cake, and things like that up to Adrienne, because let's be honest...She has much better taste than I, and none of that stuff really mattered all that much to me. It was her day, and I wanted it to be perfect for her.
What I wanted was to have a wedding and reception that I would want to go to if I were a guest. I wanted the wedding itself to be classic and elegant, but approachable and enjoyable for the people in attendance. I wanted it to be large enough for all of our friends and family to attend, but I wanted it to be intimate and seem exclusive at the same time. I wanted the reception to be a huge party...We were there to celebrate, not sit around and eat cake. It could have been all those things, I guess, no matter where we had it, but the First Christian Church in Burkesville and Dale Hollow State Park turned out to be absolutely perfect in every conceivable way.
It felt, to me, like a destination wedding, despite the fact it was right in Adrienne's own backyard. Virtually all of my guests had at least a three-hour drive, and most came in a day or two early so we all got to hang out at the hotel the night before. It was almost like an extension of my bachelor party, only much more reserved and more about just hanging out than anything. Thursday night, Clay and I laid around and watched TV...Just like we did countless nights back in our dorm at UK. Friday, a group of us all played golf before the rehearsal dinner, and Friday night the late-arrivals joined us on the patio of the second floor where we all sat around telling stories (almost all at my own expense) until early Saturday morning.
I told myself leading up to the weekend that I was going to slow down and make a conscious effort to soak it all in. It would have been very easy to look forward to the wedding itself all weekend, and let so many other great moments pass me by. And, in all reality, I did a good job of that. I remember thinking to myself early Friday afternoon just before teeing off on the 14th hole that it had felt like the weekend should almost be over, but it hadn't even really begun. And that was a wonderful feeling.
I wish that I could remember the ceremony as vividly as I do so many other things about that weekend. Truthfully, the ceremony itself was so nerve-wracking that I really only feel like I have a handful of mental images. I don't really remember much that was said by Brother Seth. I don't really remember seeing many familiar faces in the crowd. It was just one big blur...A church full of faceless bodies, the teacher from Peanuts squawking in the background, and the occasional private little moment between Adrienne and I as we stood at the alter. And I guess part of me likes it that way...The clearest memory I have of that day is Adrienne standing in front of me, her hands in mine, looking more stunningly beautiful than I could have ever imagined she'd look.
I'm so glad we were able to convince Jackie to have the reception at Dale Hollow. They all did a masterful job of decorating the reception hall, and it was exactly what I would have wanted it to be. I remember walking in early Friday morning and thinking it looked great already, and as Adrienne and I walked in with the room totally done and packed with our loved ones, I was blown away. It really looked like something out of a magazine. During the meal, I leaned over to my best man and said "This is exactly what I wanted from day one." He smiled, patted me on the back, and simply said, "I'm glad."
But it wasn't just the way it looked. It was the feel the room had all night. I looked around so many different times and saw my mom smiling and laughing, or doing the Wobble. I saw Jackie with an ear-to-ear grin, wine glass in hand, having the time of her life. All the work had been done and it was time to celebrate. And because we were there with that great staff catering to our every need, they were able to do just that. Like Liza said...I hope it was worth every penny.
Adrienne and I had the best time of our lives that entire weekend, and we were sitting on the couch last night on the verge of depression because it was over. We wanted to do it all again. From the golf game, to the rehearsal dinner, to the ceremony and reception...I literally could not have imagined it being any better, and I am so grateful to all the people that helped make it happen.
To my groomsmen and friends...You guys took time out of your own busy schedules to travel, rent tuxes, get a hotel room, play golf...Your collective presence made me forget about the nerves and provided me with memories I will cherish forever. It was awesome.
To Jackie and my Mom...You are both amazing women in your own right. Jackie, you spear-headed the planning of the entire thing when Adrienne and I were having to focus on other things, you took the responsibility of making sure the weekend went smoothly and executed it beautifully. We are both eternally thankful for that. Mom...You helped me in so many different ways, I can't really begin to describe them. You were instrumental in ensuring that so many of our loved ones were there, and you deflected any stress I might have been feeling. Thank you for being you.
To Liza...You introduced me to Adrienne. This weekend would have never happened had you not thought me worthy to date your sister. I look back on the version of myself that you knew and wonder how that was possible, but I am so glad it was. Seriously...From the bottom of my heart, thank you for that.
To Leigh...You ran around like a crazy person all day Saturday taking pictures and changing clothes and taking care of an energetic 3-year-old, and you did it all incredibly effectively. Thank you so much...Adrienne and I cannot wait to see all the pictures.
To the rest of my family and friends that made the long trip to attend...I can't explain how much it meant to have you all there to share in the day with me and Adrienne. I mean, I really can't. It was incredible, and I love you all.
I know Adrienne and I will always look back on it as the best weekend of our lives, because I honestly don't know how it could be topped. It was simply perfect in every way.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
I Meant What I Said When I Said I Would Rearrange My Plans and Change For You: Marrying a Turner Girl
Lately I've found myself wondering what the 2006 or 2007 version of myself would have thought if I told him he'd be married in 5 years. He probably would have laughed in my face and told me I was crazy...He isn't going to get married for a while, he'd say. He wants to travel and be able to just worry about himself for a while before he settles down, he'd say. Besides, 30 is the new 20, he'd arrogantly point out. I'd just smile, nod, and say well, we'll see, I guess. Then he'd chuckle, unconvinced, shrug his shoulders and sarcastically agree with me.
I never planned for this. For virtually my entire adult life I knew I would probably take a different path than the rest of my family. I was going to be a late bloomer, in a sense. I was going to wait to marry, not really because I was afraid or avoiding it, but because I just wanted to put off that responsibility for a while. I wanted to be able to live my life at a moment's notice. I wanted to be able to do what I wanted, when I wanted, and get all of that out of my system before jobs, kids, and raising a family took over.
Then I met Adrienne, and all that stuff I had planned for seemed increasingly foolish and trivial. The only plan I had after that was to be with her.
It just doesn't make sense that my wedding is a mere week away. I've been looking forward to it since the day I proposed to Adrienne, but in a "It's going to be so great when the day comes" kind of way. It's strange how things we anticipate like that always seem to feel so far away, and even if we count down the days, are still able to sneak up on us like an old friend surprisingly grabbing our arm on a crowded street.
I've gone over every possible scenario in my mind, played it out from start to finish over and over, although I know any preconceptions I have about it won't do it justice. I can't really imagine what it's going to feel like standing at the alter, watching the love of my life walk towards me in her beautiful gown, the music playing, and a few hundred sets of eyes fixed directly on her. I almost feel jealous, like all those eyes don't deserve it...That moment should be just for me...For us. But, I also know how ridiculous that is, because she will be sharing that moment, that day, with her mother and sisters. When I remember that, the silly jealousy fades away and turns to excitement because I'm glad her family and mine will all be there sharing in our joy with us. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
You see, I knew exactly what I was signing up for when I decided I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Adrienne Ross Turner.
The Turner Girls are a unique breed, and it takes very little time to realize that. They all exude a quiet confidence that, when pushed to do so, boils over the surface like a pot on the stove that's been filled just a bit too much...Slowly, but suddenly.
They all have a contagious and addicting sense of humor, and an uncanny ability to laugh at their own faults. Poking fun of one another is both acceptable and expected, but God have mercy on the poor soul that crosses that line from the outside.
They all look at life and the daily challenges that accompany it with a sense of joy and exuberance that almost seems fake, but is laced with more sincerity than most people can apply to anything.
They all tell stories about the husband, father, teacher, and friend that left such an indelible mark on so many lives with such vividness and love that the listener might as well be standing in the room at the moment the recollection happened. I love watching their faces brighten when they speak of him.
They all love the little piece of land off Highway 90 in Waterview, that no matter where they go, will always be home. Not that I blame them...Pulling up the driveway makes me feel like I've been sucked into a Ken Holland painting. And I always feel like I'm home when I go there.
I've witnessed a stronger bond between the Turner Girls and some horses and dogs on that farm than most people ever find with another person.
None of them are perfect, and each would be the first to tell you that. Sure, they're confident in themselves, but they fail to cross the fine line between confidence and arrogance. Despite their noticeable confidence, Turner women are built humble.
And stubborn. That innate stubbornness leads to disagreements and the occasional heated argument, just like in any family. I would prefer to stay out of them, but if push comes to shove, Adrienne will always be right (sorry, Jackie, Liza, and Leigh). But no matter the topic of disagreement, or the severity, there is always forgiveness on both sides.
They each have their own preferences, interests, and styles, but influences from all the others can be easily seen. I've never seen a group of people so different and so similar at the same time.
And above all else...The bond that has been forged in them by blood and experience is absolutely unbreakable. There will never be anything more important to them than family, and that has been abundantly clear since the very beginning.
So what does it mean to be marrying a Turner Girl? Well...
It means I have a new-found responsibility, not only to Adrienne and our future family, but to her family too. It means I have a new family that has welcomed me with open arms, and, despite all my faults and short-comings, has somehow come to grips with the fact Adrienne chose me.
It means I know my kids will grow up with an amazing support system from both sides. They'll see great examples of the love, devotion, determination, and hard work from my family AND Adrienne's. It means the stereotype of "dreaded in-laws" doesn't exist for me.
It means if I ever screw up and hurt Adrienne in any way, I not only have to answer to her and her family, but also about 6,000 Cumberland County residents.
It means the woman I get to spend the rest of my life with is a strong, confident, smart, and loving woman built upon a foundation as strong as the one I grew up with. Adrienne and I talked about how similar our families were very early on, and is one of the things I like the most about mine and Adrienne's relationship.
It means I get to spend the rest of my life with the woman of my dreams. It means I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the rest of the Turner Girls for helping mold Adrienne into the unbelievably incredible woman she is today, and to Liza for introducing us in the first place. Without the Turner Girls, I'd have nothing.
I guess above all else, it means I got really damn lucky.
I never planned for this. For virtually my entire adult life I knew I would probably take a different path than the rest of my family. I was going to be a late bloomer, in a sense. I was going to wait to marry, not really because I was afraid or avoiding it, but because I just wanted to put off that responsibility for a while. I wanted to be able to live my life at a moment's notice. I wanted to be able to do what I wanted, when I wanted, and get all of that out of my system before jobs, kids, and raising a family took over.
Then I met Adrienne, and all that stuff I had planned for seemed increasingly foolish and trivial. The only plan I had after that was to be with her.
It just doesn't make sense that my wedding is a mere week away. I've been looking forward to it since the day I proposed to Adrienne, but in a "It's going to be so great when the day comes" kind of way. It's strange how things we anticipate like that always seem to feel so far away, and even if we count down the days, are still able to sneak up on us like an old friend surprisingly grabbing our arm on a crowded street.
I've gone over every possible scenario in my mind, played it out from start to finish over and over, although I know any preconceptions I have about it won't do it justice. I can't really imagine what it's going to feel like standing at the alter, watching the love of my life walk towards me in her beautiful gown, the music playing, and a few hundred sets of eyes fixed directly on her. I almost feel jealous, like all those eyes don't deserve it...That moment should be just for me...For us. But, I also know how ridiculous that is, because she will be sharing that moment, that day, with her mother and sisters. When I remember that, the silly jealousy fades away and turns to excitement because I'm glad her family and mine will all be there sharing in our joy with us. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
You see, I knew exactly what I was signing up for when I decided I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Adrienne Ross Turner.
The Turner Girls are a unique breed, and it takes very little time to realize that. They all exude a quiet confidence that, when pushed to do so, boils over the surface like a pot on the stove that's been filled just a bit too much...Slowly, but suddenly.
They all have a contagious and addicting sense of humor, and an uncanny ability to laugh at their own faults. Poking fun of one another is both acceptable and expected, but God have mercy on the poor soul that crosses that line from the outside.
They all look at life and the daily challenges that accompany it with a sense of joy and exuberance that almost seems fake, but is laced with more sincerity than most people can apply to anything.
They all tell stories about the husband, father, teacher, and friend that left such an indelible mark on so many lives with such vividness and love that the listener might as well be standing in the room at the moment the recollection happened. I love watching their faces brighten when they speak of him.
They all love the little piece of land off Highway 90 in Waterview, that no matter where they go, will always be home. Not that I blame them...Pulling up the driveway makes me feel like I've been sucked into a Ken Holland painting. And I always feel like I'm home when I go there.
I've witnessed a stronger bond between the Turner Girls and some horses and dogs on that farm than most people ever find with another person.
None of them are perfect, and each would be the first to tell you that. Sure, they're confident in themselves, but they fail to cross the fine line between confidence and arrogance. Despite their noticeable confidence, Turner women are built humble.
And stubborn. That innate stubbornness leads to disagreements and the occasional heated argument, just like in any family. I would prefer to stay out of them, but if push comes to shove, Adrienne will always be right (sorry, Jackie, Liza, and Leigh). But no matter the topic of disagreement, or the severity, there is always forgiveness on both sides.
They each have their own preferences, interests, and styles, but influences from all the others can be easily seen. I've never seen a group of people so different and so similar at the same time.
And above all else...The bond that has been forged in them by blood and experience is absolutely unbreakable. There will never be anything more important to them than family, and that has been abundantly clear since the very beginning.
So what does it mean to be marrying a Turner Girl? Well...
It means I have a new-found responsibility, not only to Adrienne and our future family, but to her family too. It means I have a new family that has welcomed me with open arms, and, despite all my faults and short-comings, has somehow come to grips with the fact Adrienne chose me.
It means I know my kids will grow up with an amazing support system from both sides. They'll see great examples of the love, devotion, determination, and hard work from my family AND Adrienne's. It means the stereotype of "dreaded in-laws" doesn't exist for me.
It means if I ever screw up and hurt Adrienne in any way, I not only have to answer to her and her family, but also about 6,000 Cumberland County residents.
It means the woman I get to spend the rest of my life with is a strong, confident, smart, and loving woman built upon a foundation as strong as the one I grew up with. Adrienne and I talked about how similar our families were very early on, and is one of the things I like the most about mine and Adrienne's relationship.
It means I get to spend the rest of my life with the woman of my dreams. It means I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the rest of the Turner Girls for helping mold Adrienne into the unbelievably incredible woman she is today, and to Liza for introducing us in the first place. Without the Turner Girls, I'd have nothing.
I guess above all else, it means I got really damn lucky.
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