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.

Time Doesn't Wait For Me...It Keeps on Rollin

It's often a strange feeling when an event you have trumped up and looked forward to for months finally arrives.  It's as if a huge weight is lifted, and only because the excitement and build up as you approach it dominates your thoughts and concerns so heavily.  You talk about it all the time, think about it all the time, find excuses to plan for it, although all the planning has already been done and you simply want to think about it and analyze it and talk about it even more than you already have.  Then, the day finally arrives...It doesn't even come close to meeting the outlandish expectations you had for it (how could it?), and then it passes...Like a shooting star burning up the night sky: You only realize you saw it after it's already disappeared.

Then you're left wondering...What the hell do I do now?

That's how I felt Sunday afternoon as I rode shotgun in Stan's Trailblazer, on our way back from my bachelor party weekend at Lake Cumberland.  My friends and I had spent the last three months talking about the bachelor weekend that was to be the cap to our summer...Despite the new members of the crew (Tim, Adam, Clay, and Thomas), it was going to be an old-school reunion: a dip into the Fountain of Youth.  We kept saying how wild it was going to be, how much we were going to laugh (which we did a lot...My jaw still hurts).  We watched the lineup of attendees morph and change more times than I care to count.  We looked at photos of the cabin rental enough times to memorize the pattern in the carpet.  And we discussed how much food would cover 12 people...Then bought enough for twice that.  We drove every point into the ground, spent so much time thinking and planning, only to watch the weekend come and go in what seemed like the blink of an eye.  I have to admit...It was a bit depressing.

I'm not sure exactly why that was the case.  There were a lot of contributing factors, I suppose.  Maybe it was the fact that our weekend at the lake (the one we had spent so much time anticipating and was so much fun) was over; it was time to go back to the real world Monday morning.  Maybe it was the fact I desperately missed my fiance.  Maybe it was simply the lingering effects of two days worth of binge drinking...They all definitely played a role.  But I think the main reason I was depressed come Sunday, was the realization that all the new memories we created and all the old ones we reminisced upon for those two short days were just that...Memories.

I'll take you back to a funny conversation Clay, DJ, and I had early Saturday afternoon.  The three of us were standing on top of our double-decker pontoon rental, enjoying the fact that our lingering hangovers from the night before were beginning to fade.  I don't exactly remember how the conversation got started; all I know is DJ and Clay were discussing something along the lines of insurance premiums or tax-deductible donations...Whatever the case, it was something that should never be a topic of discussion under the circumstances we were in.

I simply turned and looked at them and said, "You know...We all got really old, and weren't even aware it was happening."

They both laughed, nodded in agreement, and we joked about how, at some point in the last 4 or 5 years, our on-the-lake conversations had somehow moved from how many beers we could drink, or where all the women were, to how much our employers match on 401k contributions, or if we're getting a good deal on our monthly rent.  And, while it was meant to be a joke, I feel like it was something we all thought about a lot as the rest of the weekend unfolded.  I definitely did.

Things have changed.  The old days we tried so hard to emulate this past weekend have almost totally passed us by, and what little remnants that do remain are swiftly fading away.  As we led up to the weekend, we openly compared it to some of the weekends of yore...Acting as if this weekend would be like those, just because it was "supposed" to be.  I think we all knew that wasn't going to be the case.  And thank God it wasn't.


Don't get me wrong...This weekend was incredibly fun, from start to finish, despite the underlying level of exhaustion that undoubtedly impacted our ability to throw a marathon party.  But, it wasn't exactly what I expected it was going to be...In fact, if you had asked the 22-year-old me, I would have flat out thought it was lame.  I would have thought everyone went to bed too early, and everyone acted like a bunch of whiny babies.  Frankly, we just can't do it like we used to.

I was sitting on the deck under a crystal clear, starlit sky at around 2:00 AM Sunday morning when I began to think about that fact.  And, for the first time all weekend, I began to realize that I was perfectly okay with that.  I'm honestly not sure why any of us ever expected this weekend to be what we remember those weekends from our college days to be like.  We've all out-grown that, and I thought I had come to grips with that long ago.  Perhaps, for me at least, it was the heaviness of the fact that it was my bachelor party, or, that thought coupled with a day's worth of alcohol.  Regardless, I began to realize I was on the verge of a life-changing event.  And no matter how exciting that is (and believe me, it is) there is something inherently sad about leaving that old life behind.  It's like graduating from college or high school...No matter how exciting the next step is, there will always be things about the last one you will miss.

My friend Matt flew in from Portland, Oregon, and it was the first time I had seen him in 4 years.   And despite the fact we have always been very different people (capable of arguing about virtually anything), and despite the fact we had gone that long without seeing one another, it was like nothing at all had changed.  Although there were a few new faces in the crowd, it was like I had been whisked away to a July Saturday in 2005, sitting around a campfire, listening to classic rock, living life without a care in the world.

Those are the things I will miss.  I know that the nine of us that had the time of our lives this weekend could do that every summer for the next twenty years, and it would always be an absolute blast.  But, I also know it would be different.  And that's why I was a slight bit depressed as we traveled back from Jamestown on Sunday.  No matter how incredible the future may end up to be, it will never be the same.  There's a tinge of sadness to that.

I know I sound incredibly cynical, like a Bruce Springsteen song...Like the best days of my life are behind me.  But, in all actuality, that really couldn't be further from the truth; I know that the future is going to be amazing.  I really can't wait to see what it has in store for Adrienne and I.  I can't wait to marry her, and I can't wait to take that exciting next step.  In fact, I'm almost giddy to the point I can't stand it.  But, no matter how happy I am in my life, whether it's a month from now or 10 years down the road...Anytime I hear Tom Scholz's guitar wailing that first note of "Foreplay/Long Time," in my mind I'll be sitting around with my buddies, drinking a cold beer, and staring up at the stars with a smile on my face.


A few thoughts: I want to give a special thanks to the guys that made this weekend so awesome...Eric, Clay, Matt, Stan, Thomas, Tim, Adam...You guys are hilarious in so many different, unique ways, and it made the weekend as great a bachelor party as I could have asked for.

DJ...I don't even really have to say anything about you.  Thanks for putting it all together, thanks for being my best friend for life, and thanks for spooning with me at the end of th...I mean...Yeah, bro.  You rule.

*Insert Inspirational Quote About Taking Chances

Moving is a bitch.  Pardon my French, but I don't really know how else to put it.  There are lots of obligations in life I could do without, but there is no doubt moving is near the top of the list.  It's one of the most mundane, inconvenient, and inappropriately expensive endeavors one will come across.  I've done it so much in the last 9 years, that I'm essentially a pro at it, and if not for the sheer hatred I have for moving, I could probably make a fairly decent living having people pay me to move their stuff.  Since my first move to Blanding I at UK in 2003, I've moved an additional eight times.  Only twice have I stayed in one place for longer than a year, and at one point I moved into a house, only to move again two months later.  It's mind-numbing to think about.

That being said, there are few (very, very select few) things I like about moving.  There's always the excitement of being in a new environment, even if it's just across town.  Sure, the means of getting there is always miserable, but the end is new and exciting, at least for a while.  Plus, there's the inevitable purge of meaningless trinkets, documents, and long-expired food items that have accumulated over the course of several months, or even years.  With every item I pick up to pack away, I might as well be plucking the petals from a wildflower, asking "To keep, or not to keep?"  I could furnish a small apartment with all of the things I've thrown out or donated to Goodwill over the years.

And sometimes, you come across long-forgotten items that you aren't exactly sure why you held onto to begin with, but when you discover them, you're so glad you did.  It could be an old collection of photographs you stuffed in the bottom of a drawer, reminding you of some bygone night out with the boys...Maybe a faded deck of cards you thought you'd thrown away, or that favorite, paper-thin t-shirt you had been unsuccessfully looking for for months, totally convinced it had gotten lost in the previous move.  No matter what it is, with every move I always find something I had forgotten I owned, and it always makes me smile.

As much of an inconvenience as it was moving, this most recent move has brought more excitement and change than any other, save for that first move to college back in '03.  Like that one to my first college dorm, this one marks the beginning of a new stage in life...A major step into the unknown.  I remember the feeling I had in those last few weeks before I left home for the first time.  I was so ready to start my college experience, that I hardly took the time to soak in those last few days of being at home.  I knew things were going to be different...I would no longer have Mom and Dad there all the time to keep me on point.  I wouldn't have them there to make sure I was up on time in the morning, and I wouldn't have them there to feed me three square meals a day.  I knew I wouldn't be able to see my best friends everyday, and I knew there were things I'd miss out on.  But the excitement of taking the next step, starting that new journey, totally overshadowed any fear, doubt, or sadness I had about leaving.  This time around, it's been very similar.

Adrienne and I will be starting new jobs in just a couple of weeks, and then our wedding is just over two months away.  While getting prepared for all of that has been stressful, and even a bit overwhelming, the excitement of all the changes taking place underscores everything.  We've had to decorate our first home together, we've had to adjust to living under the same roof for the first time, and we've had to get mentally (and physically) prepared for a demanding, time-consuming career as teachers.  But, the newness and the excitement is unbelievable.  Sure, it's been difficult at times getting adjusted to all the change, but I think it has gone about as smoothly as either of us could have hoped for.  

I know things are probably a bit different for Adrienne, because she's never really done this before.  She did live in the dorms at WKU for a couple of years, but home was always close by.  Being away from my family is not something I enjoy, but I've done it for so long now, that I've grown accustomed to it.  And I think Adrienne is enjoying the change so far, although I'm sure there will be times where homesickness sets in and dominates everything.  Lord knows I've been blindsided by it from time to time.  But, as she's been told many times, home is only a short drive away.  One that I'm sure we will make dozens of times over the next several months, both to her home and mine.

As smothering and taxing as a deluge of change can initially be, even when highlighted by unremitting excitement, we both know the change is for the best.  Making the move to Mount Sterling brings so many refreshing opportunities that it makes dealing with the stress a much simpler task.  Adrienne gets to start her teaching career, and I get a chance to take my teaching career in a totally new direction.  As tough as it may be, we get the chance to grow together away from our families, essentially forcing us to forge our own support system which will only strengthen us going forward as we start our lives in marriage.  On the surface, the situation couldn't have worked out much better, from the schools we will be working in, to the community we will become a part of.  It seems to be the perfect fit for both of us.  Only time will tell, obviously, but we're adjusting surprisingly well and surprisingly quickly.

Hopefully, the next time we have to pack up and move, it will be as homeowners.  Because I sure don't want to have to make this a habit. 

I'd Rather Be Camping

Summer is my favorite time of year...Always has been, always will be.  I love being able to come home from work and fire up the grill.  I love being able to stand on the deck and listen to bugs and frogs make racket from a spot merely feet away, and yet, remain totally invisible.  I love smelling the meat cooking over the coals, drinking a cold beer, and eating outside.  Even after slow-cooking a meal on the grill and enjoying it on the deck, there's still a few more hours of daylight to enjoy.  That's probably my favorite part.

But another reason I love summer so much is because I love going to the lake, and I have so many great memories tied to my experiences there.  Even though it's only March, the weather lately has been so unseasonably warm that it has felt like summer has come early.  And just about this time of year, I find myself reminiscing on memories from summers gone by. 

Sink or swim...I didn't really have much of a choice growing up.  For as long as I can remember, my parents have had a boat.  And for as long as I can remember, we've spent countless summer days out on the lake.  My dad likes to tell a story about me as a toddler.  Our boat was beached.  Dad was throwing horse shoes with some friends, and mom was laying in a lounge chair, soaking up rays.  I was doing what toddlers do...Toddling.  Exploring.  Testing out the incredible new skill of walking I had recently acquired.  My parents weren't mindless by any means...They always paid close attention to my sister and I when we were little.  But even the best of parents can lose focus at times.  They were all preoccupied for what was likely less than 30 seconds, but that's all it took for me to discover the vast water stretching out before me.  And so I walked.  And kept walking.  The next thing dad knew, the only part of me that was visible were my tiny lips and nose poking up out of the water, desperately trying to breathe.  He said he ran toward me and grabbed me up, fully expecting me to cry, but all I did was blink a few times, cough, and stare at him with a look of bewilderment.  My love of water was spawned that day.

 I don't know who invented the striped shortbread cookie, but they knew what they were doing.

It wasn't just being on the water that I loved.  Camping at the lake was (and still is) one of my favorite things to do.  When I was little, we camped at Big Bear most of the time, but we started going to Hillman Ferry later on.  The only thing I remember about Big Bear was sitting in the camper during the 4th of July fireworks display, loving the colors, but scared to death of the sounds.  I had to watch through the window.

Hillman Ferry is a different story altogether.  Virtually every rite of passage that a boy experiences en route to manhood happened for me at Hillman Ferry.  In high school, my parents spurned taking a summer vacation for leasing a campsite at Hillman Ferry for the entire summer three years in a row.  Those were some of the best times I had as a teenager.

You see, there were several other families with kids our age that did the same thing.  So, it goes without saying, many of us became very close friends.  Chance became one of my closest friends while there...We were the same age, and oddly enough, had met at the campground several years prior to our first go-round as leasers.  We were enemies at first...Grown out of battles on the basketball court.  But, once we actually took the time to get to know one another, we became fast friends.

Derek was often the third member of our little crew.  There were plenty others that would come and go with holiday weekends, but the three of us were regulars.  Lots of times Derek would come up on Friday nights by himself, and Chance and I would sleep in his camper.  We'd stay up till 4 AM drinking Kool-Aid (seriously...Just Kool-Aid) and watching American Pie.  We'd take joyrides on Derek's red moped, or we'd cruise up and down the main road in his Jeep...He'd pump the clutch, and I'd shift from the passenger's seat.  Here's a group of us, minus Derek (I'm behind the chubby guy somewhere), goofing around on our campsite.

It wasn't just us, though...There was a group of 5-10 of us that were regulars at the campground, depending on the particular weekend, and we took it as our territory.  "Tourists" that came in were welcomed with open arms, but there were always boundaries.  The picnic table at the basketball court belonged to us, plain and simple.  On Saturday nights, the campground always hosted mediocre country bands to play at the pavilion.  We'd set up shop on our picnic table, playing the occasional basketball game, or flirting with girls.  We'd all go down to the beach and lay there looking up at the stars, talking about life.  There was no curfew.  Our parents always knew we'd come in eventually.  And, even if we didn't, they knew we weren't far away.

Some nights we'd sleep in Derek's parents' boat, usually parked right next to his camper.  I'm not really sure why we preferred to sleep out in the heat and mosquitoes as opposed to the air-conditioned campers we had literally just feet away, but we liked it. 

We even had fun when it rained.  One summer night, a storm blew in and knocked the power out throughout the entire campground.  There was high wind, torrential rain, thunder, lightning...Didn't matter.  A big group of us hung out at the pavilion and waited it out.  We didn't even care that there wasn't any TV or iPods...We just sat around and talked.  Told jokes.  Laughed.  And we did those things all the time, and loved it.

I drank my first beer there.  And I drank my first malt beverage, which my parents caught me doing, there as well.  I was 16 and really stupid.  I was drinking with a group of guys from Indiana that were there occasionally, tucked away in the back of a parking lot set off from the pavilion and basketball court.  I decided to get rebellious, thinking I would finish my drink on the walk to the basketball court, dump the bottle in a trash can, and no one would be the wiser.  But, for some reason, my parents decided to take a leisurely stroll to the basketball court at the exact same time.  The odds were almost like getting struck by lightning...I mean they NEVER did that, especially so late at night.  They recognized me from far off, and I tried to hide the bottle by a tree as I walked, but they obviously saw it.  I was as conspicuous as a tall man in China.

"What was that?" My dad asked.
"What are you talking about?" I said, playing dumb and standing awkwardly far away trying to ensure he didn't smell my breath.
"You just put a bottle down over there.  What was it?"
"Oh, it was just some lemonade," I said. 

Now, I know what you're thinking, and it does sound ridiculous.  But it was the first thing that popped in my head, and it wasn't a complete lie...I just happened to leave out the "Mike's" and "Hard" from the name of the beverage.

"Lemonade, huh?" He said.  "Why don't I just walk over here and see."  Before he even started moving, I just hung my head and followed them back to the campsite.  My night, and seemingly life, was over.

I survived.  Oddly enough, they didn't really say much about it until several weeks later.  And even then, it was a mild lecture that seemed almost like it was happening because it was expected.  It was as if they chose to write it off as boys being boys.  Lensey would have been drawn and quartered for doing something like that, but they always seemed to take it easy on me.

My love for camping continued as I got older, though.  We stopped leasing the summer after my senior year, but my friends and I went camping often.  DJ, Eric, Matt, and I went tent camping just about every weekend for a while.  We were never very well prepared...We usually decided to go at about 4:00 in the afternoon, so we'd rush to the grocery and get a couple bags of chips, hot dogs, buns, and that was about it.  Then we'd drive to Paducah and try to find someone to buy us beer, because, well...We had to have beer.  We never came out and said it, but I know my parents were wise to us.  The last thing my mom always said before we left the house was, "Now, y'all behave yourselves."  She totally knew.

We never did anything too wild.  We camped at a few different places: Hillman's once or twice, Birmingham Ferry, King Creek...But we usually ended up at Smith Bay.  It was a tiny little campground way off the beaten path, with no running water.  And we never had to pay...Not because we weren't supposed to, but because payments were made by the honor system in a little drop box that we knew wouldn't be checked until the following Monday.  We'd barely be there 15 hours, so we just figured it didn't make a difference.

But Smith Bay had two sites with one of the best views of the lake available, and we always seemed to get one of the two.  We'd set up the tent as it got dark, and settle in next to the fire with a beer.  We'd listen to Outlaw Hours on the radio and just talk.  Once or twice we got a little too rowdy and the Forestry Service may or may not have been called, but that's neither here nor there. 

In hindsight, those nights were always a blast (even when we did it every single weekend) and one of the things I miss most about not having responsibility.  We all knew we were on the verge of going our separate ways, even though we didn't talk about it that much.  But I'm sure that fact was something we all thought about as we sat around those fires.

Whenever we all get together now, conversation always seems to turn back to our times at the lake.  We still tell the same stories and talk about the same events.  And we still go to the lake and we still make memories, even if the personnel changes occasionally.  Like last summer...Adrienne, Stan, a couple of his friends from school, and I all rented a cabin and pontoon at Dale Hollow.  Stan's friend Emily had brought her jet ski with her and decided to take a little joy ride.  After a couple of hours, we started calling every law enforcement agency in the land because she had officially gone missing.  She was gone for 8 hours before she rolled up in the back seat of a Ford Taurus at our cabin.  The rest of the trip was fantastic, but needless to say that day was miserable.

Even as great as the new memories are, they're different.  Not different in a bad way, just different.  As in, the old memories are from a different time of life...A time that none of us can go back to.  And that's okay.  Life is about phases and moving from one point to the next.  It's about making memories.  Mom and Dad sold the camper a couple of summers ago, and even though we hadn't used it as a family in almost a decade, it was really painful to see it go.  So many memories tied to it.  As much as I miss those days, I don't want to go back to that.  I love my life now.  I love what's in store for me in the future, despite the fear that coincides with the unknown.  But I still miss the times at the lake growing up, and always look back on them with a smile.  And I hope, someday, Adrienne and our kids can say the same thing.

He's Just a Local Idiot

In the summer of 1995, I should've been outside a lot more.  I should've been out in the woods, climbing trees, playing in the creek, getting muddy.  I should've been riding my bike down a hill and jumping it over the side of an embankment, or getting into trouble like boys do.  I mean, don't get me wrong, I did all of those things at some point that summer, I'm sure.  But I spent a good portion of those long, summer days watching Forrest Gump.  I watched it everyday for about a month straight, and sometimes I'd get to the end of the film, rewind it, and watch again.

I miss the days of the sticker on the outside of the rental that said "Be Kind, Please Rewind."  And when you first popped the movie into the VCR, there was that two to three minutes of intense anticipation as you had to fast-forward through the previews, hardly able to stand the wait.  Now, there's not even the need to go to the video store (which are quickly disappearing from the landscape), much less to rewind.  But I digress.


I've never actually met anyone over the age of 15 that hasn't seen it.  And I'm not surprised.  It comes on TNT almost monthly, and usually at least twice back-to-back.  But, it's immensely popular even 18 years after it's initial release.  It really travels a roller-coaster of emotion: there are hilarious, quotable moments throughout, there are deeply sorrowful moments, and even a few that make you angry.  It has something for everyone.

And then there's Forrest Gump, the protagonist in the story.  His ignorance can be infuriating at times.  Like how he continuously lets Jenny back into his life, despite the little respect she shows for someone who is always there for her.  But the unflappable devotion he shows to her, Lieutenant Dan, his mother, and Bubba (even in death) is impossible not to envy.  The way he traverses through the most tumultuous time in American history, totally oblivious and innocent to the events taking place around him, makes Forrest Gump incredibly endearing.  Sure, he faces adversity and sadness like everyone else, but he finds happiness and fulfillment in the simplest of things (running cause he "felt like runnin'" or mowing the local Greenbow High football field).  I guess ignorance really is bliss.

The point is, you really can't judge a book by it's cover.  On the surface, he's just a stupid, overly-talkative weirdo in old shoes.  But, if you listen to him speak, you hear an incredible story of hardship, success, hate, and love.

I wish I were more like that.  Adrienne and I often catch ourselves making fun of people we see at the mall or a restaurant based solely on the way they look.  It may be an atrocious get-up they have on, or wild hair, or bad parenting on display for the world to see ("Just hang on until I get my margarita!").  But, we do it without knowing a single thing about those total strangers.  Everyone has their own story.  Everyone has their own quirks.  Everyone has their own faults, and everyone has their own strengths.

Just like everyone else, I have my own odd, quirky, and even weird guilty pleasures that I would never admit to a stranger.  But, today, I am going to expose a bit of my dark side to the four people that may actually read this.  Keep in mind, this is far from comprehensive list:

-I dance a lot.  Even if people are watching.  And while I actually do have rhythm, I go out of my way to dance extremely "white."
-I may not always act like it, but I'm fairly easily embarrassed.  One of my defense mechanisms is to try to make people laugh, especially if it's at my own expense.  It deflects the attention away from whatever embarrassed me in the first place.
-I like to run errands on my days off.  Not all the time, because that'd be silly, but about once a month when I get a random weekday off, I like going to Wal-Mart, the bank, getting a haircut, or stopping by the car wash.  It makes me feel productive, even if I wasted an entire day off by doing a bunch of things when I could've just relaxed.
-I still watch reruns of Full House when I catch it on TV.  Don't lie...If you grew up in the 90s, you watched Full House.  And you liked it.
-I constantly outline objects with my eyes.  Sometimes I'll catch myself actually drawing it in the air with my finger.  It might be the outline of the TV, a design on the side of a building, or the frame of every pair of glasses I ever see.  And the key is to try to outline the object without ever breaking the line or retracing any part of the line.
-I look up all sorts of weird things on Wikipedia.  I can't even offer examples, because there's literally no rhyme or reason to it.
-I take sports ENTIRELY too seriously, especially Kentucky Basketball and Cardinals Baseball.  It is probably taking years off my life.
-I rinse and repeat at least three times.  Every time.
-Before the days of the internet, I would sit next to my stereo and listen to a song and write down the lyrics as I went through.  Sometimes it'd take an hour or more because I'd have to stop.  Rewind.  Play again.  Stop.  Write down a few words.  Rewind.  Play again to double-check.  Fix mistakes.  Rewind.  Play again.  Then, I'd listen to the song ten or fifteen times until I memorized the lyrics.  I did this a lot.
-I will drive 10 miles out of my way to avoid stop lights.
-I have the same voice for babies, dogs, cats, or any other cute and cuddly object.  And not only do I pretend to talk AS those things, I will have on-going conversations as them.  What's worse, when I'm at home alone with Kirby, I will talk to him and respond back to me as Kirby.  It's borderline schizophrenic.

So...Hardly a comprehensive list, I know.  I realize I didn't offer too many outrageous revelations, and if there's some I most certainly left out, I'm sure I can count on you to remind me of them.  I encourage you to comment with your own quirky behaviors that not everyone may know about, as well.  And try to remember, things are not always what they seem.  And to practice what you preach.

Yes, Officer, Is Something Wrong?

Wayne's World is one of my all-time favorite movies.  I'm sure most "real" movie critics would likely laugh at that notion, but Rotten Tomatoes gives it an 85% Fresh rating, so I guess I'm not alone in my affinity for it.  There's something endearing about the characters, even the unlikable ones, and the film almost seems to poke fun at it's own silliness. It's chock full of satire, and despite the fact I've seen it hundreds of times, I still laugh everytime.

Today, Adrienne, Jackie, and I took a nice Sunday drive to visit my hometown and eat dinner at Patti's in Grand Rivers.  It was a great day...Got to show Jackie the town I grew up in, she visited my parents' house for the first time, and we got to spend time with Baby Lydia, which, by itself, makes it worth the six hours of driving.

By this point, you're probably asking yourself, "What the hell does Wayne's World have to do with going home to visit family?"  Well, you'll see in a moment.  In the meantime, watch this scene from that cinematic classic:

On the drive back, we got on I-65 at Bowling Green.  I was driving, and as we came around the exit ramp to get on the interstate, we passed a state trooper sitting on the side of the road.  None of us really thought anything of it, because there was a downed street light, so we just assumed he was taking care of that.

We continued on, and I saw in the rear-view mirror that the cop had pulled back onto the highway, but, again, didn't think anything of it.  About three minutes later, he pulled behind me and flashed his blue lights.  Inside the car, we were clueless.

"Why are you getting pulled over?" Adrienne said.
"I honestly have no idea...I'm not speeding or anything," I replied.  And I wasn't speeding.
"He's probably been following us for a long time," Jackie said.
"No, we passed him just a second ago...He was parked on the side of the road."
"Well, everybody just stay calm...Oh, I don't have my seat belt on," Jackie commented from the backseat.  It was one of those comments made out loud that's not really intended for any particular listener.  But she buckled up anyway.

So I pulled over, growing increasingly nervous, because I honestly had no idea why I had been pulled over.  The cop approached the passenger side, and I rolled down the window.

Before I could even ask what the problem was, he chimed in.  "I clocked you at 74 in a 55 MPH zone."
I was blindsided, and my candor most definitely illustrated that point.
"REALLY?!  WHERE?!" I exclaimed.
"You were speeding in a work zone."
"I didn't see any signs!"
"There were four."
"Well, I must say, I didn't see any signs either," Jackie said from the back.

He asked for my license, and I handed it over.  He then asked if I had proof of insurance.
"I don't know, it's her car," I said as I pointed at Jackie.  Adrienne shot me a glare from the passenger side.

Jackie instructed Adrienne to find the insurance card in the glove compartment.  Of course, the only card in there was expired, so Jackie turned on the dome light to search through her purse for the current one.

The officer was met with a great aerial view of McDonald's bags, empty cups, a beautiful Looney Tunes pillow, a blanket or two, and Jackie, frantically pulling card after card from her wallet.

"Let's see...2011...2011, nope....Oh, here it is.  And here's my registration sticker," she said as she handed to goodies to Adrienne.

 "Thank you," the officer said as he shined his Maglight on the card.  "Uh, ma'am, do you have a current proof of insurance?"
"OH, hahaha, I'm sorry.  Hang on just a second!" She said going back to the wallet with old receipts and gift cards poking out of every crevice.  "2011.......Nope, 2011..."
Adrienne glanced at the officer and slightly shook her head, as if to say "what can you do?"  He just stood there...Freezing, and growing increasingly impatient.

"Do you even have insurance?" He finally asked.
"Hahaha...Yes I do...Farm Bureau!"  Despite the uneasy situation, it was almost impossible not to laugh.
"Well, I'm going to take your word for it.  Just pay more attention, slow down, and make sure you put this registration tag on your plates when you get home," he said, obviously a bit annoyed by the entire ordeal.
"Hahaha, oh I definitely will, officer.  Thank you so much."  Jackie never stopped laughing the entire time.

As we continued on, we laughed for days about the entire situation.  The fact Jackie couldn't find her insurance card was one thing...The fact she gave the cop her current registration tags unsolicited was hilarious.  Then, to top it off, he literally could've cited us for three violations, and let us go.  All because of Jackie's hilarious antics in the back seat.

There's no question I would've gotten a ticket had she and Adrienne not been in the car, and for that I'm grateful.  But, even if I had gotten a ticket, the whole situation would still be hilarious, and one worth retelling over and over.  Which, I'm sure we will.  What a great day.

I Needed That Yesterday

I've never really understood the concept of New Year's Resolutions.  I'm not sure that should be a proper noun, but given how much emphasis people seem to put on them, I guess it's important enough to warrant capitalization.  I've always made resolutions when the calendar rolls over from December to January, but not because I see the point.  Mostly because everyone else does, and I really want to fit in.  I guess the whole concept is flawed, because New Year's Resolutions are typically things people should do all year long, without an excuse like a new year to get them going.  Easier said than done, I know, but that's beside the point.  And most people make the mistake of making resolutions that are unrealistic, or in the very least, lofty goals.

Some real examples I've seen at one time or another:
I resolve to lose 30 pounds by summer.
I resolve to stop cursing.
I resolve to read 10 books this year.
I resolve to stop eating chocolate.

Now, on the surface, those don't appear to be too difficult.  If someone worked out vigorously and watched their diet, they could lose 30 pounds in 5 months.  They could fairly easily stop cursing.  They could read 10 books in a year...I mean, that's less than 1 per month.  And they could stop eating chocolate, without much of a problem.  The problem with resolutions like these, in most cases, the people making them usually don't have any real expectation of keeping them past Martin Luther King Day or, if they're working really hard, Valentine's Day.  Furthermore, people tend to make resolutions that reflect almost the exact opposite of how they've lived for years.  The one wanting to lose 30 pounds in 5 months hasn't stepped foot in a gym in years, and loves McDonald's too much.  The curser?  They use language that would make a sailor blush.  The reader?  Has been two chapters into A Time to Kill since two weeks after they saw the movie in theaters.  And as for eighty-sixing chocolate?  They have a Snickers and M&M's within arm's reach at all times.

I realize why people make resolutions...They see flaws in themselves that they want to improve upon.  And I'm all for that...I'm the same exact way.  But more people would be able to keep their resolutions, and morph those resolutions into new habits, if they just made them more attainable.  The one wanting to lose 30 pounds by summer?  Why not resolve to lose 10 pounds without a timetable.  Once you reach that goal, resolve to lose another 10 pounds.  Before you know it, you've lost 30 pounds and you've set up yourself to continue a healthy lifestyle.  Sure, it might be August instead of May, but you've still looked better in a bathing suit all summer long, which was the whole point in your resolution to begin with.  As for the others?  Wean yourself off of cursing gradually...Eliminate them one at a time.  The non-reader?  Resolve to finish A Time to Kill...Then start a new book and resolve to finish it.  Before you know it, you're setting aside time each night to read and you'll reach your goal quicker than you realize.  The chocoholic should just resolve to only eat chocolate on special occasions...They're few and far between.

So what makes me such an expert?  Well, experience really...I've made irrational New Year's Resolutions more than once, and like so many others, failed miserably.  So, despite my disdain for New Year's Resolutions, I've made some myself.  And this year, I am determined to keep them.  So, instead of outrageous goals I know good and well I won't be able to keep, I'm keeping them simple.  2012 is for winning.

1. Drink 1 or fewer soft drinks every week.  I've really been doing well with this one.
2. Lose 20 pounds.  Not started yet, but I swear I'm going to.
3. Stop complaining so much...This should be one for everybody.
4. Finish reading A People's History of the United States.
5. Get a teaching job...Might be difficult, but I will not rest until I have one.
6. Marry Adrienne...Might be the easiest one I've ever had.

So, there you have it.  Easy enough.  2012 is shaping up to be a great year, and I'm going to stick with my resolutions.  I hope you do too, and best wishes in the coming year.

Pretty Girl From Waterview (Water View)

Life doesn't make sense.  I realize that sentence is one of the most overused cliches in the history of mankind, but maybe that's because it is so incredibly true.  Because life makes no sense whatsoever.  Good things happen to bad people, bad things happen to good people, seemingly sound and logical people do really dumb things.  Sometimes the harder you try at something, the more difficult it becomes.  And, sometimes, things happen totally by chance, when you aren't trying at all.

That's what happened when Adrienne and I met.  I've never really been a believer in love at first sight, and I've always thought fate was more of a made-up explanation for strange coincidences than something that actually affected our everyday lives.  That is, until I met Adrienne.

I still won't say that it was totally love at first sight...It wasn't.  I say that because I think that's impossible.  You can't love someone that you don't know.  But, I will say the time it took to realize I loved her was short.  Strangely short, actually.  As for the idea of fate?  There's just too many strange circumstances surrounding our first meeting that can't be written off as simple coincidence.  There was a higher power at work that we were unaware of until enough time passed for us to have hindsight.  At least, I think so.

I finally got hired at Metcalfe County in May of 2010 after two years of one interview after another ending the same way.  I was overjoyed to have a job, but I wasn't thrilled to be moving to the middle of nowhere with no friends or family within a two hour drive.  It was a tiny school in a tiny place I didn't even know existed until the day I went for my interview.

It's mind-boggling to me to think about it, now.  In a three year period I probably spent more than $200 on postage to ship out countless numbers of application packets to school districts all over the state.  I spent hour after hour filling out online applications, emailing principles, completing mind-numbingly repetitive paperwork...It never ended.  And of all the school districts in the state (and even a few in Tennessee and Georgia), I got hired at Metcalfe County.  And so did someone else.

I found out about Adrienne just a couple of days after school started.  As it turned out, my co-worker was dating Liza and she had been my academic adviser and one of my graduate school professors while I was a student at UK.  He said she had a younger sister they wanted to hook me up with.  I said no.

More than once.

But, he bugged me for two or three days, gave me her phone number unsolicited, and finally convinced me to go out on a double date with them.  I was extremely reluctant...Adrienne would say the same thing if you asked her.  Blind dates are so awkward and, in most cases, go absolutely nowhere.  But this was different, and it was different immediately.

There aren't many moments in life that we can look back upon with such clarity and vividness that it's as if we are there in the moment.  But the first time I laid eyes on her is one of those moments.  I remember nervously walking down my stairs to the car trying to collect myself; I wondered what I was going to say, I wondered what she would say, I wondered how my hair looked.  The walk down the stairs didn't take nearly as long as I would have liked, and before I knew it, I was in the car.

I had done my fair share of Facebook creeping the night before, so I had seen several pictures of Adrienne beforehand.  But not one of those prepared me for her in person.  I'm sure if you were to ask her how she looked that night, she would've come up with some ridiculous reason to say she looked terrible.  But she was absolutely stunning...The most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  I could feel the knot in my stomach tightening.

That first night was fantastic, minus the God-awful movie we were forced to sit through.  It was Step Up 3D and we were the only four people in the entire theater (big shock).  But we had a great time making fun of the movie and making fun of ourselves in our ridiculous 3D glasses.

We hung out a couple of more times as doubles after that;  we all went to breakfast together a few days later, and Liza had us over for dinner at her house one night.  I knew that night at Liza's that I really liked Adrienne, and finally got the nerve to ask her on an actual date that night in the driveway.  I was so nervous I almost didn't do it, but I wouldn't have been able to look myself in the mirror when I got home if I didn't.

That first date was a little different.  We didn't have the safety net of other people to keep the tension down, and it was apparent we were both a little nervous.  I thought the whole evening I was going to kiss her for the first time, and I thought as she was leaving (since it hadn't happened yet) it would be the perfect time.  And then one of the most awkward and embarrassing moments of my entire life took place.

I walked Adrienne to her car expecting her to stop and stand there before getting in to give me time to make a move...But, instead, she immediately opened the door and got in the car.  She had thrown me a curveball and I didn't know how to react.  So, I busted out this little gem:

"Days of the New, huh?" I said in reference to the music playing on her iPod.  Smooth, one, Zach.
"Yeah," she said, obviously impressed with my musical knowledge.  I paused for a moment, not really sure what to say next.
"I have that song on my iPod, too."
"That's cool."

As painfully awkward as you can imagine that exchange was, the main event was what happened next.  We said our goodbyes, and I was fully intent on kissing her goodbye.  So I leaned in, expecting her to reciprocate, but she turned her head slightly to the side.  So, at the last moment, I bailed out and gave her the most awkward, ego-bursting hug imaginable.  It was painful.  As she drove off, I stood inside the door and just shook my head.  She didn't like me the way I liked her, and it was extremely obvious.

But, she gave me another chance and that first kiss did come.  And a lot less awkwardly.  Thankfully.

I remember when I realized I loved her.  We were sitting on my parents back deck after going to dinner in Paducah.  Oddly enough, I don't really remember what we were talking about.  I just remember the thought creeping into my mind.  I remember that feeling you get when you think your heart is going to burst out of your chest.  I've had that feeling a thousand times since then.  Usually at times when you wouldn't even expect it.

Watching her fix her hair in the mirror, trying to look pretty.  When all I can think about is how beautiful she is all the time.  As my mother puts it, "She'd be pretty with a shaved-head wearing a burlap sack."  Yes, she would.
When she's stressing about all the schoolwork she has to get done, or when she gets a 49/50 on an assignment.  I don't think about her complaints...I think about her drive and the excellence she expects out of herself everyday.  And I admire it.  I'm jealous of it.
When she gives me that look...The one where I'm doing or saying something ridiculous.  I'm sure you've seen the photographic evidence of this one.
When she laughs at one of my corny jokes, and then beats it with something even more corny.  Mainly because she said she always hated corny...Until I came along, of course.

I love her frankness.  To a lot of people it can come off as harsh sometimes, but mostly I just look at it as brutal honesty.  And that is an extremely rare quality to find in a person.  As I told Jackie one time, with Adrienne, there is no guessing.  She tells it like it is.  And I love it.

I love her sense of humor.  I can have an odd, sometimes borderline inappropriate, sense of humor.  Sometimes we don't necessarily agree on what is funny and what isn't, but most of the time I'll point something out on TV or on a poorly written billboard, and she will finish my sentence and we'll bust out laughing.

I love how she accepts my faults.  I'm FAR from perfect in so many different ways, but Adrienne doesn't seem to mind.  Sure, she tells me when I'm being annoying, or out of line, or whatever the case is...And in the moment, I will usually argue.  But, as much as it pains me to admit this, she's right most of the time.  Not ALL of the time as she might lead you to believe...But a vast, vast majority of it, she is.

I love her family.  I've never met someone with a family so similar to mine.  The first time I met her family, I felt as though I fitted in like a dirty shirt.  The love and closeness between her and her entire family was apparent immediately.  It made me feel like I was at home.  I've often told Adrienne this...Given the fact I was in a new place with no friends and no family nearby, and the difficulties I faced in my first year teaching, I don't know how I would have gotten through it without them.  The walls of a small apartment can feel very close when you are homesick and alone.  Having Adrienne's house to go to, filled with the warmth and love that exists there (the same warmth and love I feel at home) was the best thing that could've happened to me.

The past 15 months have been unreal.  From the unlikely and unseen beginning, to where we are now...I still have trouble wrapping my head around it.  Adrienne and I have said several times...From day one it was just so easy.  And it was.  I remember the first time I went to her house.  We sat on the porch swing until the wee hours of the morning just talking.  The conversation flowed so easily, it was as if we had known each other for years.  Oddly enough, I don't remember much of what we talked about except for one thing: what cereals we liked the most.  No matter the depth, I knew when I drove home that night that there was something special there.

We've grown as a couple since that time in countless ways.  We've grown as people in even more.  I've grown to love her with every ounce of energy I have.  I've grown to stop thinking in terms of "me" and "I."  It's become "we" and "us."  Every decision I make, every choice I'm met with, is accompanied by the thought, "how will this affect Adrienne and I?"  I don't live for myself anymore...I live for us.

That was the overriding thought that made me realize I was ready to propose to Adrienne.  I had always told myself I would never jump into something like that if I wasn't 100 percent positive I was ready.  Knowing that her life and her happiness was more important than my own gave me the assurance I was absolutely ready.

I went to bed that Friday night not knowing exactly when I was going to propose.  I had given it a ton of thought, and I had already talked to Jackie about it, which was an absolute necessity as far as I was concerned.  So, after that, it basically just came down to me planning it.  I woke up Saturday morning, and as I was driving to work I thought to myself, "I'm going to propose tonight."  I had bought the ring two weeks earlier, and the waiting was killing me.  As Adrienne will tell you, I can hardly stand it when I have a card to give her, much less an engagement ring.  I can't keep surprises to myself because I get so giddy about them, I will at least give her hints.

We went to dinner that night, and despite subtle hints throughout the evening, I don't think Adrienne had the slightest clue.  I had requested she bring Scrabble with her so we could play, and while she was preoccupied with my cat Kirby, I got the necessary letter tiles out of the bag, and put them in my pocket.

Adrienne played a few words, and I did too, but I had no intention of finishing the game.  I took a turn to exchange some tiles and through a very sleek slide of hand, I got all the tiles from out of my pocket to the little wooden stand.  By this point, I was about to jump out of my skin.

When it came to be my turn, I moved very slowly and deliberately, trying extremely hard not to look at Adrienne.  As I completed the spelling of "Marry Me," Adrienne sat there for a moment.  It took her a minute to catch on.

"That's not even a word!  You can't play two words at once!" She exclaimed.  As I pulled the ring from behind a throw pillow on the couch and got down on one knee, I could see the realization start to creep over her face.

"Wait...Is this real?  Is this really happening?"  I just grinned ear to ear and opened the box, watching her reaction.  She said yes.

Here's the Scrabble board:

After 26 years on this planet, I've had a good life and I've learned a lot. But, one lesson I didn't learn until I met Adrienne was just how much my life was lacking.  And now that we are engaged, I won't have to worry about that ever again.  Life is full of ups and downs, full of stress and questions about the unknown...But I can rest each night, now, knowing that I won't have to face those alone.  And that is such an amazing feeling.

I know things won't always be great...I know the proverbial honeymoon will end.  I know we'll have disagreements and arguments...We'll probably have a couple knock-down, drag-out fights.  We'll stress about work and money and bills and everything else that comes with the real world.  We will face sickness (hopefully nothing more than a mild case of the flu), we'll face health, we'll face better and worse...We will face the highest of highs, and the lowest of lows.  But, through whatever this world can throw at us, one thing will always remain:  us.  The best of the best is worthless without someone to share it with.  And the worst of the worst is impossible to get through without someone there to support you.  And we will always have one another.  And I absolutely cannot wait to see what the future has in store for us.

So there…There was two of us in the wolf pack. I was alone first in the pack and Doug joined in later.

In the United States, the bachelor party (or stag night, stag do, stag party, depending what continent you are on...The concept is the same) has long been a tradition for men about to cross into the world of matrimony.  Many would consider bachelor parties a rite of passage in some ways, but I think most just look at it as a good excuse to party one last time with the boys.  The term "bachelor party" didn't even appear until 1922, but the concept of a final night of debauchery for the groom before marriage dates back as early as the 5th century BC...Ancient Spartans held feasts in honor of their friends about to marry and would toast them accordingly.

Now, the stereotypical bachelor party usually brings to mind images from The Hangover...The groom's party flocking to Vegas or some other notorious hot spot, engaging in heavy drinking, hotel room destruction, possible recreational drug use, and likely a trip to a strip club or two.  It would make for a better movie if I could tell you that's what happened at DJ's bachelor party, but his more resembled a marathon tailgate than a bachelor party.  And that was just fine for those of us in attendance.

We rented a cabin on the lake at Moor's Resort and spent all day Friday and Saturday playing cornhole, grilling out, playing beer pong, listening to music, swarpin', watching football, hollerin', hitting golf balls into the lake, and of course, drinking beer.  We got so wild, Saturday afternoon 5 of us walked a couple hundred yards to the Moor Fun Putt-Putt course and got in a round of golf.  We were so crazy, we took our own putters and golf balls and played without a score card.  We didn't even pay the $2 at the resort office.  What can I say?  We walk on the wild side.

The highlights of the weekend were our epic beer pong tournaments.  Stan and I were the most powerful duo, but we fell short of the title both nights...Falling in the finals after clawing our way out of the loser's bracket of the double elimination tournament.

We blasted hits from MC Hammer, Boyz 2 Men, Led Zeppelin, Garth Brooks, and anything else Pandora decided to play.  We went through enough tailgate food (burgers, chicken, dogs, chips, salsa, sandwiches) to last a week (we were there two days), and we made an immaculate resort cabin look like a tornado came through.  It was a blast.

Standing on the threshold of DJ's wedding (it comes in just a little over 4 weeks) and spending the weekend partying with some of my best friends makes it nearly impossible not to reminisce on things.  Late Saturday night, as we all sat around the table playing Circle of Death, an old staple of a drinking game, we stood up and toasted the groom to be.  It got me to thinking about all the things DJ and I have been through together.

Growing up a man in this country can be tough.  There are very high expectations placed on males in our largely patriarchal society, and without a brother or close friend that can understand what you're going through, it can be difficult.  Don't get me wrong, I never had it bad.  My parents always supported me in everything I did, they were great at keeping things in perspective, and they gave me the freedom to make my own mistakes.  My dad has always been the epitome of a role model for what a man should be.  But, despite that, there are things you experience in your critical teen years that hardly anyone (especially your parents that have been there before) can understand.  DJ was the brother I never had, and he helped me get through some very (seemingly) difficult times in my life.  Just as I know I likewise helped him.

We met in January of 1993.  It had started snowing on a Friday afternoon, and we got out of school early.  By Saturday morning, there was already close to 8 inches of snow on the ground with the snow showing no signs of stopping.  My sister Lensey, our neighbor Katie, and I were out playing.  We knew a kid our age had just moved into the neighborhood, so we decided to go see if he wanted to come out.

Decked out in our puffy winter coats, boots, gloves, and ski masks, we probably looked like we were going to try to rob the place, rather than extend an invite to come play.  I knocked on the door and this lanky, nerdy kid dressed in corduroys and a Bill Cosby sweater answered the door.

"Hey.  Do you want to come outside and play in the snow with us?" I asked him.  We didn't even think to introduce ourselves.
"No, thanks.  I think I'll just stay in," he replied.  He was noticeably shy.
"Well, ok.  If you change your mind we'll be back in the woods across the road."

We left and went on our way.  About 30 minutes later, he came bumbling down the hill toward us.  We finally made our introductions.

"I'm Zach."
"I'm DJ." 

We still talk of that first meeting from time to time, and DJ says his mom basically guilted him into going outside to make some friends.  What a loser.

I won't say DJ and I became instant friends, because that wouldn't be totally accurate.  To be honest, we didn't have much in common at first.  I was really into sports, DJ was into dinosaurs.  In fact, he told me in the first few days we knew one another that he wanted to be an archaeologist when he grew up.  I can't say I totally blame him...This was right around the time Jurassic Park was coming out, and I'm sure a lot of kids were intrigued by the field of archaeology.  I just wasn't one of them.  We basically started hanging out because we were the only two boys in the whole neighborhood that were around the same age.  But, we did become very close friends very quickly, despite our differences.

DJ and I were great at two things: laughing and getting into trouble.  We laughed all the time and were total goofballs, something that remains to this day.  And we never did anything that bad...It was more the way we tried to cover things up than what we actually did that got us into trouble.

One time when we were around 10 years old, DJ got a model car to build.  The same week, he had received a brand new dresser and chest of drawers from his grandfather.  DJ and I glued pieces together and painted the body of the car blue.  DJ placed the little jar of paint in the box at the end of the day, and put it on his dresser until we could continue working on it the following day.

I went to his house the next day, and what we found was absolutely horrible.  When DJ went to lift the box, it stuck, as if it were glued to the dresser.  He finally got it free and we were horrified when we saw the silver dollar size blue spot that was right in the middle of his brand new dresser.  We frantically began searching for a remedy.  In our pre-pubescent wisdom, we decided we could scrape the paint off the surface with a pocket knife.  All we did was scratch out a small crater.  Becoming increasingly scared, we grabbed a brown crayon that appeared to match the dresser and began coloring in the crater.  It did nothing but leave crayon residue on top of an atrocious hole in the middle of the perfectly constructed dresser.

Lucky for us, DJ had also recently gotten a new stereo, which was setting on the far right side of the dresser.  DJ moved the stereo to the center of the dresser, towards the front...A totally inconspicuous location for a small boombox to set.  We just knew it would work.  Amazingly, it did...DJ's parents didn't see the spot until years later.

A few years later, when DJ and I were around 15, far old enough to know better, we were tossing a foam football across the living room.  DJ's house had a high valted ceiling with a fan hanging down from the center.  The power cord was about 5 feet long, and dangled directly in the center of the living room.  We threw the ball dangerously close to the cord, with the fan running, several times.  Finally, our luck ran out.  I'm fairly certain I was the one that threw the ball.  The cord was struck, swung upward, and wrapped around the base of the fan.  It came to a screeching stop.  We immediately turned the fan off and just stared at each other.  We unraveled the cord to see about two feet of it fall to the floor.  We were able to mend it, and as I often did, I left to go home before DJ's parents arrived and left him to deal with the aftermath.  I'm a good friend.

Another time, DJ and I were kicking a small soccer ball around the living room.  This time, we were even older...Probably 16 or 17.  DJ lined up a penalty kick aimed directly at the front door, seemingly a safe bet.  But, in a weird twist of fate, the ball hit dead center of the door knob and shot straight up towards one of the two chandeliers that hung in the foyer of the house.  One of the plastic crystal pieces fell to the floor and the small hole at the top that hung on a hook broke off.  We were in familiar territory. 

We assumed this would be an easy fix.  We used clear scotch tape to repair the hole, hung the piece back up on the chandelier, and stepped back to examine our work.

"You know, you won't notice it unless you look directly at it.  And who looks directly at that thing?"
"I know.  I think we'll be fine."

Less than an hour later, DJ's step-father Andy came home.  Inexplicably, he walked directly to the chandelier and stared up at it.  THIS HAD NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE.  Why, on that one day, did he choose to do so?  We may never know.  But, we were caught.  Fortunately, it wasn't that big of a deal and we were off the hook, minus a small butt-chewing.  But the chances...Just hysterical.

I could write a novel about all of the funny things that happened between us.  But it wasn't all funny.  We had our arguments, we both went through rough times occasionally.  But we always had our trampoline talks in DJ's back yard, and we always had one another's back.  By this point, we're not friends anymore...We're family.  And even though I knew I would be the best man at his wedding about 10 years ago, it is still an honor and privilege to be able to stand up there as he marries the woman of his dreams.

DJ's bachelor party was a great time for all of us to hang out, but for me it was a time to look back.  Friends like that don't come around too often, and I'm extremely lucky to have one. 

Never Forget

-

There are many things that make the United States unique in this world.  There is no country on Earth as culturally, racially, religiously, or otherwise diverse as the U.S. of A.  And despite that diversity, there are times in this nation's history that bring all of those different races, age groups, religions, and ideologies together under one cause.  At those few times that dot our historical landscape, we are no longer Kentuckians, or whites, or blacks, or Jews, or Protestants, or Catholics, Hispanics, Southerners, Northerners, Indians, or anything else...We are all Americans.

The American Revolution...World War II...The Cold War...Putting a man on the moon...The 1980 Olympic Games...Regardless of their historical significance, they all have one thing in common:  they united the people of this great nation together for one goal.  Whether it was gaining independence, destroying suppression and tyranny, being the world's greatest military power, planting an American flag on the moon, or winning a hockey game...It was US vs. Them...Whether for better or worse.

My dad could tell you where he was and what he was doing when Neil Armstrong uttered those famous words from the surface of the moon.  He could tell you where he was and what he was doing when a group of young, American college students defeated the mighty Soviets at their game.  My grandparents could likely tell you where they were when they heard the news that Nazi Germany had fallen, and Japan had surrendered.  For those that experienced them, those few instances are engrained in their memories forever.

Today is September 11, 2011.  It's hard to believe it has been ten years since that fateful day when radical terrorists highjacked four commercial planes, flew them into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and (due to the heroic acts of a few brave passengers) a Pennsylvania field.  More than 3,000 lives were lost that day, and the entire country watched in horror as the events unfolded before our eyes on national television.

Like my father with the moonwalk and the 1980 Olympic hockey semifinals, and like millions of Americans across this country, I remember where I was and what I was doing that day.

I remember driving to school.  The sky was a crystal blue, without even a hint of a cloud anywhere to be seen.  There was that first bit of a fall chill in the morning air, but the perfect weather for driving with the windows down.  Which I did.

I hung out in the commons area at school when I arrived, just like I did every morning that I wasn't running late.  The first bell rang, and we all filed down the halls to our respective classrooms.  My first period class was Mr. Leeper's junior English class, one of my favorite classes ever.

We took our seats, awaiting morning announcements to come over the intercom.  I sat in the far left row, second seat from the front.  Mr. Leeper took attendance, and then we heard the familiar "ding" from the intercom, expecting the announcements.  Only this time, all we heard was, "Teachers, please check your email."  Then nothing more.  I didn't think twice about it.

Mr. Leeper walked over to his computer, checking his email like he had been instructed.  I remember watching him intently, and to this day I'm not really sure why.  Things like that happened all the time, but for some reason, I was interested in his facial expression.  His reaction to whatever it was he was reading.  You could see the concern and surprise on his face, but he didn't say a word.  He turned around, reached up, and turned on the television.

I will never forget the first images I saw.  It was a live video of the first tower, it's upper quarter engulfed in flames, with thick, black smoke billowing out the top of it like a stack from an Industrial Age factory.  The commentators were saying how it appeared to be a tragic accident.  A few gasps could be heard around the classroom, but besides that, it was total silence.

About that time, they cut to a news anchor who was standing across the bay in New Jersey with the World Trade Center in the background.  I don't remember what he was saying, but while he was in mid-sentence, the second plane could be seen in the background flying into the tower, a huge fireball as the gas tanks exploded, and his shock as he turned around at the sound of the explosion.  At that moment, we didn't need the news reporters to tell us what we were seeing was no accident.

I can't speak for everyone, but for me, at that moment, I knew things would never be the same.  There are very few moments in one's life where they understand the significance as an event is happening, but that is one of the few times that I knew what I was watching and experiencing was something none of us would ever forget.

For the rest of the day, we did nothing but watch news coverage in every class.  In the hallways and at lunch, it was the only topic of conversation.  When I went home that afternoon, I watched more coverage.  It was the most important event I have ever witnessed.

The tragic nature of the events that day cannot be understated.  I could write forever and not be able to do it the justice it deserves, especially for those who were directly involved or who lost family members.  So I won't even try.  But, like the other significant historical events I mentioned, September 11, 2001 united this country in a way I had not previously seen in my lifetime, and likely won't see again.

People from all walks of life, all religions, all cultures, were drawn under one banner.  One cause.  After air traffic returned, after baseball and football continued to play games, and after the first American troops landed in Afghanistan, this country was no longer a breadbasket.  We were united as one, and fighting the same battle.  Whether we were wearing a uniform and carrying a gun, hanging an American flag in the yard, or just exhibiting a sense of pride and brotherhood, we were all on the same team.

That's what I remember about September 11.  I absolutely wish the events that took place that day had never happened.  I wish the thousands of families that lost loved ones still had those people sitting around the dinner table with them.  I wish the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq had never taken place, and I wish the American lives that were lost fighting those wars were never taken.  With that being said, seeing the pride the American people embodied, seeing the attitude and ideology that made this country so great was inspiring.  Despite all of the violence, racism, and hatred that has tarnished the history of the United States, we proved we could come together and put our differences aside, if for just a short time.

Unfortunately, those events didn't unite us for long.  And, in some ways, they helped divide us.  They helped illustrate the darkness that can exist in all humans, and that part is extremely disheartening.  I want to share something that occurred last year in one of my classes while I was teaching at Metcalfe County to help illustrate my point.

We were covering World War II in my U.S. History class, and as part of the unit, we were discussing the imprisonment of Japanese-Americans during the war.  At one point during the discussion, a girl piped up and said, "We ought to do the same thing to all the Muslims."  I stopped speaking, completely frozen.  I didn't even know how to respond.

I asked her, "Why exactly should we imprison all the Muslims?"
"Because they attacked the World Trade Center.  We ought to put all of 'em here in jail, and nuke the rest," she said with all of the sincerity as possible.

I couldn't believe my ears.  The exact thing that had caused all of it...Hate...Was now rearing its ugly head after the fact.  I tried to explain to her that the act of a few radical psychopaths was no reason to collectively label every Muslim on the planet.  I tried to use the Westboro Baptist Church as an example.

"Is it fair to say every Baptist in the world is as heartless and misguided as those that protest military funerals?"
"No, but it's different.  I hate Muslims, they're awful," she said.
"Have you ever actually met one?" I asked, knowing she hadn't.
"No, but I've seen them.  I saw three or four at a Waffle House with my dad once, and they were making fun of Americans," she said.  I almost laughed.
"Ok, so, three people?  That's enough to say you hate a group of millions?"
"Yeah."

It was like talking to a brick wall.  I could've offered any counter-argument imaginable and she wouldn't have budged.  Hearing that was saddening.  Just like anyone else, I hate what the terrorists did and continue to do on a daily basis.  But I also realize that millions of Muslims around the world, and virtually all of them in this country, denounce what terrorist groups like Al-Qaeda stand for.  Make sure you remember that, as well.

I challenge you to reflect on the events that took place that day in 2001.  I challenge you to remember those that serve our country, those that put their own lives at risk everyday to protect us at home, and to protect this nation.  Say a prayer for them and their families.  Shake the hand of a soldier.  If you know one, call them up and thank them.  Say a prayer for the leaders of this country, that they'll make sound decisions and bring our troops home.  Remember where you were, what you thought, how you felt.  But don't let those feelings fuel hatred.  As Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. so eloquently put it, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." Never forget.

Tell me your story in the comments below.  Thanks for reading.

That's Life...That's What All the People Say

Over the weekend, Adrienne and I went to my parents house so we could go to the lake one last time before the boating season winds down.  When we first arrived, I noticed a box in my closet labeled "Pat and Betty's Letters."  Betty is my dad's mother, Memaw.  Pat is Dad's father, but tragically, he passed away in October 1957 when my dad was just six months old.  I had heard my Dad talk about the letters before, but I had never actually seen them, so I was intrigued.  But, we had just gotten to my parents' house, so I had to go visit with them for a while.

The next night, I couldn't sleep so I decided what better time to take a look at the letters.  I retrieved the box from the closet, sat down in the floor, and placed the old shoe box held together with a shoestring on my lap.

I sat there for a few moments, I'm not really sure how long.  For some reason, I was frozen.  I couldn't immediately open the box.  Perhaps I was nervous about reading them, although I'm not sure why I would be.  Maybe I was just overcome with a feeling of solemnity.  I was about to see my grandfather's handwriting for the first time.  Finally, I took a deep breath and opened the box.

I was astonished at the vast number of letters.  There had to be at least 100 of them in the box, or at least it seemed like it.  They were in chronological order, running from August of 1951, to September of 1956.  I started reading from the top of the stack, and was immediately intrigued.

In all reality, I don't know that much about Daddy Pat (as he is affectionately known among our family).  My dad obviously never got the chance to know him, and has only relayed things he's heard from Memaw and the rest of the family.  I did know he was a Military Policeman in the Air Force, and I knew he had lived in Detroit for a while.  I knew he and Memaw lived in South Dakota for a while, and I knew he died of a brain tumor.  Other than that, I didn't know much.  So, getting a contemporary look inside his life was very intriguing to say the least.

The first letters were nothing of much significance.  In fact, if you had no connection whatsoever and were simply reading the letters for reading's sake, you might think they were relatively boring.  The first letter was written right after he had moved to Detroit, just three months after graduating high school.  Virtually every letter at the top of the stack talked about how he was trying to find a job, how he had just found a place to live.  How he would need a good winter coat, because it was already beginning to get chilly in Detroit.  He talked about Memaw too, and how they "always had a good time."  On Sundays they would go eat at a relative's house (I can't remember who it was) and watch television.  He even talked about how he was hoping the Army had forgotten about him.  Can't say I blame him.

I didn't read all of the letters...By this point, it was already about 2:00 AM and I was beginning to get sleepy.  So, I jumped ahead to the later letters.  One of which was amazing.  This one was well after Memaw and Daddy Pat were married.  It was the second to last letter in the stack, and in Memaw's handwriting.  She was writing to Daddy Pat's parents and she told them that Karen and Patty (my aunts) were doing well, and they were waiting to get clearance to leave the base.  Daddy Pat was in the Air Force by this time, obviously.  She also talked about how he had been to see several doctors.  He had already begun to get sick.  Seeing that part was painful, but there was light amongst the dark.  She said she had been feeling ill for a while, and she was pretty sure why.  "Looks like you are going to be Grandparents again," she said.  "After two kids, I think I know the symptoms pretty well.  If I'm pregnant, I think I'm about 2 months along."  The letter was written in September of '56, and my dad came along the following April.  Exactly seven months later.  She was right on the money.  Oddly enough, she said Dad was born on the exact day he was due.

The letters stopped after the next one, because the family was getting packed to move back to Benton.  Daddy Pat had gotten discharged from the Air Force for being permanently unable to perform...The cancer.  Just over a year later, he was gone.

Reading those letters, and hearing stories about their lives for years, got me to thinking about my Memaw and the incredible and painful life she has led.  Memaw was the youngest in her family, and both of her parents had passed away by the time she was only six years old.  Her father was killed after getting hit by a car, and I'm uncertain how her mother died.  But, she was essentially raised by her older sisters.  Even though a couple of her sisters were married with children at that time, I can't imagine what it would be like to grow up without "real" parents.  That's just the start.

Memaw and Daddy Pat were married in 1952, and they had three children together.  My dad, and my aunts Karen and Patty that I mentioned earlier.  They obviously knew Daddy Pat was very sick, even before my dad came along.  The incredible fear that she must have felt with two young daughters and a third child on the way, knowing they would grow up without their father, must have been unbelievably devastating.  Then, when the time came, she faced raising two daughters and an infant son on her own.  And through it all, she was steadfast.

Despite the unspeakable pain, she had to move on.  She married my Papaw who had dealt with an equally difficult situation in his own life.  He and his wife had a son, my uncle Darryl, and an infant daughter, Sheila, and were driving in his old Studebaker one night when a drunk driver swerved into their lane, hitting them head on.  His wife was killed, and he too was left alone with two young children.  From what I've heard, Daddy Pat's mother (Granny Edwards) introduced Memaw and Papaw to one another and the rest is history.  They are a real life Brady Bunch.

There was more tragedy in Memaw's life.  Her brother lived in a small trailer behind their house for a while and in very mysterious circumstances, committed suicide one night.  When he didn't come to the house for meals the following day, Memaw became suspicious and went to check on him and found his body.  I can't imagine losing a sibling in that manner, but I definitely can't imagine finding their body.  Memaw has endured so much in her amazing life, that I can't even fathom it.

What is most amazing about her, is that despite all of the hardship and pain she has dealt with in her life, she is one of the most caring, loving, and compassionate people I have ever met.  If there was ever a person who deserved to be cynical or bitter, it is her.  But she is anything but.  She loves her family with unwavering constancy, and if she has ever been in a bad mood, I've not seen it.

I like to think that I'm her favorite grandchild.  She'd never say so, and I'm not sure why I would be the favorite, other than the fact I'm totally awesome.  But, Memaw and I have always had a special bond.  She was stricken with breast cancer when I was little, and while our house was being built, we lived with her and Papaw for a few months.  She says having Lensey and I there helped her get through the treatments, and ultimately, beat the disease.  Perhaps that's why we have that bond, but I'm not really sure.  Nonetheless, it's there, and always has been.

Lensey and I used to spend afternoons there after school.  I'd spend hours sitting on the dishwasher door, watching Memaw clean or cook dinner.  The door was permanently damaged from it, but I don't think she minded.  Or I'd sit at my table she set up in the living room so I could watch Nick Jr. and wait for her to bring me a ham and cheese sandwich with the crust cut off, with a tall glass of chocolate milk.  Memaw's chocolate milk was always the best.

In my 26 years on this planet, I only remember her even remotely getting upset with me one time.  I was about five or six years old, and Memaw decided to make some brownies and I wanted to help.  I asked her if I could break the eggs, and she reluctantly agreed.

"You can break the eggs, but be very careful and don't make a mess."

It was like telling a dog not to eat out of the garbage.  I really didn't mean to, but I slammed the egg down on the edge of the counter like I was driving a nail.  Of course, egg went all over the place.

"Zachery!  I told you not to make a mess!"  I stared up at her, in total shock.  I immediately began crying and ran back to the bedroom.

After a few minutes, long enough for her to clean up my mess I'm sure, Memaw came back into the room to console me and apologize.  She didn't really have a reason to apologize...I had done exactly what she told me not to do, and she didn't even yell at me.  I was just a fragile little boy, and it felt like she had.  But since that point, she has never even come close to doing it again.  Not even after I ripped the hook off the door in the bathroom because I was trying to climb up Papaw's belt that he always hung there.  Not even after bugging her hundreds of time to take me to Wal-Mart because "Suzy probably needs some food."  I knew Suzy (their dog) didn't need food.  I just knew she'd buy me a G.I. Joe.

I look at Memaw's life, and see how she is as a person, and I can't wrap my head around it.  She raised five incredible children, has been an amazing grandmother to 11 grandchildren, and now, as a great-grandmother, she continues that tradition.  She's the most genuine person I know and hasn't deserved such pain and anguish throughout her life.  But she lived it, and dealt with it, all the same.  The strength she embodies on a daily basis is something that I can't even begin to comprehend.

I feel guilty.  My life has been a cake walk compared to some of my closest friends and relatives.  I've never had to endure even one significant loss in my life, and Memaw had to endure losing both parents, a husband, and a brother long before that should have even been on the radar.  Adrienne and her family have had to endure losing a father, husband, brother, and a friend to hundreds of people much too soon.  DJ's father was fine and healthy one day, gone the next.  What have I had to go through?  Any problems I've had in my life have been so temporary and pointless, the fact I ever worried about anything sickens me now.

Trust me, I'm EXTREMELY thankful for the hand that I've been dealt, and I realize how incredibly blessed my life is.  Or at least I try to realize it.  But it doesn't stop me from thinking that it isn't fair.  Memaw, Adrienne and her entire family, DJ...They're all better people than I am, in so, SO many ways.  And yet, they've had to endure more in their lives than I could even begin to think about.  I don't want to know that pain, no more than they ever wanted to.  They're stronger than I could ever strive to be, and I have nothing but respect and love for all of them. 

I look back on times where I felt like my life was falling apart and, now, I just laugh.  I don't laugh because it's funny, I laugh because of how ridiculous I was.  I've been blessed, there's no question.  And having those people in my life (Memaw, Adrienne, DJ) has given me even more blessings because of the inspiration the provide on a daily basis.  If I'm ever able to become even half the person any one of them are, then my life will have been a good one.