I’m old. Even if older people still tell me I’m just a kid and even if people usually guess me to be much younger than I am (I come across as very immature), I’m undeniably old. I know this because the music I grew up on isn’t just getting labeled as classic rock anymore -- it’s getting played on KOOL 108. They started calling it Minnesota’s Greatest Hits when they tweaked the format back in January soften the blow, but let’s face it: It’s always been the oldies station.
For the longest time, oldies meant music from the fifties and sixties. Back in high school when my best friend and I would drive around on the weekends, we’d listen to the “Saturday Night Classic Cruise” show. He really liked listening to the music, and I liked thinking that listening to songs from the American Graffitti era helped me project the illusion of possessing some kind of romantic depth. But to be honest, most of the time I would have been a lot happier with “Born in the U.S.A.” or “Pyromania” instead.
And so isn’t it great for me that now the hits from those very albums are getting played on the oldies station!! I don’t mind saying that KOOL 108 has become one of my go-to radio stations now, just because I know that most of the time they are going to be playing a song that I know and probably at least like, and just might love. I suppose if you live long enough, every song becomes an oldie (but not necessarily a classic.)To celebrate this inevitability, I’ve decided to listen to an hour or so of Minnesota’s Greatest Hits and write down whatever ideas or memories or opinions they inspire. You’re welcome....
You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet - Bachman Turner Overdrive
I actually saw them open for Van Halen on the 5150 tour. BTO was made up of four older guys (who were probably about the age I am now) who had apparently seen more than their fair share of backstage catering. They had a sense of humor about it though, and were selling concert t-shirts that read “BTO: Half a Ton of Rock and Roll.” As for this song, I’d like it a lot more if it wasn’t for that bu-bu-bu-baby stutter. Thing is, it’s not even a real stutter. It’s an affectation! I remember Casey Kasem (the national pop DJ bridge between Dick Clark and Ryan Seacrest, for those of you too young to know who he was) told me on American Top 40 one week how Randy Bachman faked that stutter to cover for the fact that he couldn’t hold a sustained note. The weird things that stick in my brain....
The Warrior - Scandal Featuring Patty Smyth
Seriously? Smyth? MTV killed this one for me. It’s not a bad song but I can’t get past two things about it: (1) The video was one of the truest examples of everything wrong that dates the 80s, and (2) the band was named Scandal Featuring Patty Smyth, when the album before, with their song “Goodbye to You?” They were just Scandal. There was nothing so great about Patty Smyth that made her deserve a separate billing like that. The change always left a bad taste in my mouth. Come on, Patty. Let a band be a band.
Hello Goodbye - The Beatles
Never been a fan. They have a few songs I like and I admit that a lot of my favorite artists were heavily influenced by them, but I just never understood the universal Beatle adulation. At least it’s a short song. Oh, wait, it’s not. There’s still another verse I have to sit through...
Hot Blooded - Foreigner
Foreigner was one of my musical bedrocks in junior high. I’m not sure how many notebook back covers I drew the cover for their “4” album on, but it was enough to master the cool bubble letter font they used in their logo. I didn’t get this song until the greatest hits package “Records.” Good song, but the guitar solo is lacking -- it’s just kind of there and doesn’t really compliment the rest of the song, and in the end it sounds like the guy playing it ran out of ideas of with another seven or eight seconds to go. The first time I heard this was when my cousin Dan’s band played it in his backyard at one of his brother or sister’s high school graduations back in the 70s. I had just started drumming so this would have been about 5th grade, and I thought seeing a guy playing on a real drum set was about the coolest thing ever.
Caught Up in You - .38 Special
Unless you were one of the Alabama fans who all seemed to work at McDonald’s in Elk River back in the mid 80s, .38 Special was about as close to country music as you were allowed to like and still be cool. I always thought their lead guitar player was underappreciated, and again, being a drummer, I liked that they actually had two drummers in the band even if I couldn’t figure out how they’d pull off two drum sets live. I actually bought this album and was a big fan of the cover artwork. If you’re curious, hit your search engine of choice and see if you can figure out why it would have appealed to a kid in eighth or ninth grade.
You Don’t Mess Around with Jim - Jim Croce
This guy was a little too folky for me to ever appreciate, but believe it or not my mother actually bought his greatest hits album on LP, and until my sister and I discovered Styx, it was the closest thing to a rock record in our house. Not that I ever played it much; this was back more during the days when I was busy memorizing “Gilligan’s Island” and “Hogan’s Heroes” reruns instead of listening to music.
Dream Weaver - Gary Wright
I remember hearing this a lot on the AM back in what must have been 1976 or 1977, when I started listening to the radio. Much like some guys will watch sports just so they have something to talk about when they get together with other guys, I listened to AT40 so I would have some idea what my older cousins were talking about. The song is a little too space-hippie for me, but it’s not terrible.
The Heart of Rock and Roll - Huey Lewis and the News
I really liked the band and the working class hipster image that seemed so bluesy back then but now seems less authentic when mixed with the dated eighties pop sound. I saw them once at the state fair with two of my high school buddies on the Sports tour, the summer between 10th and 11th grade. I know that because I remember this guy I didn’t like much complimenting me on my tour shirt during journalism class, even if it was a really bright purple. I was only able to buy that shirt because I may have sold an extra ticket outside the gate... Our tickets were for general admission so we waited nearly two hours before the show to get in and get good seats. And yeah, we were almost crushed to death when the gates opened. It was kind of scary.
Baby Hold On - Eddie Money
Never got Eddie Money. Good example of a guy who probably got a record deal from playing in a lot of bars. He had some good songs and even a couple of classics (not this one, because not every old song is a classic), but I don’t know how much actual songwriting he ever did. Anytime I hear Eddie Money now I think of a different song of his, which makes me think up a whole other memory from my college days. And not every story needs to be on the Internet.
Dream On - Aerosmith
Not my favorite old Aerosmith song. I’m not a huge fan to start with, especially since about 1988 when they started making a career of releasing different versions of the same four songs (power ballad, heavy rocker, mid-tempo swing rocker, occasional stab at demonstrating they weren’t slaves to formulaic pop). Now, Sweet Emotion? There’s a song. This one? Eh. This was the kind of song that if it came on the radio when I was cleaning out the garage on a summer afternoon? I wouldn’t necessarily enjoy it, but it wasn’t worth making the effort to change to a different station.
I’m Alright - Kenny Loggins
There’s no point writing about this one. If you try to say it doesn’t make you think of the dancing gopher from “Caddyshack,” you’re lying.
Summer of ‘69 - Bryan Adams
I LOVED Bryan Adams. When some of my girls asked me on the last day of school this year if I’d ever owned any clothing with neon colors, I had to admit my t-shirt from the Reckless tour had hot pink inside of the sleeves which was only visible when you rolled them up, and you can bet that I did. Bryan Adams was the first guy I heard drop an F bomb in concert, and since I was fifteen that was as cool as you get. This song opened side two of his Reckless album, which probably goes down in history as one of my thirty most-played album sides.
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road - Elton John
Elton really suffered mid-career with a lot of FM radio pop songs. It made sense that decades later he and Billy Joel toured together because both of their careers started off with great songs, then they hit real creative slumps, then they had late 80s/early 90s comebacks. I bought the CD of this album just to have “Funeral For a Friend / Love Lies Bleeding,” but this is another of the good songs from that. It’s a perfect example for me of the kind of song I like for of the overall tone, because I still don’t really know all of the lyrics or what they mean. And I’m not curious enough to find out.
Rhiannon - Fleetwood Mac
I did my first teaching field experience in a 4th grade classroom at Pleasantview Elementary in Sauk Rapids. There was a girl in that class named Rhiannon. I immediately figured her parents had to be Fleetwood Mac fans.
Authority Song - John Cougar Mellencamp
I’m including the Cougar because it was still part of his stage name when this song came out. Not one of my favorites of his, but I do have more than a hundred of his songs in my iTunes library, so I guess I’m a fan. The thing I remember about this is how it demonstrates that I’ve been a rule-following little toadie from way back when. I’d hear the song and think, “‘I fight authority?’ Why would you do that? You’re just going to get in trouble.” Cool drum break in the middle of the song though. Usually a cool drum part is all it takes to win me over.
Here I Go Again - Whitesnake
For the record I’m hearing the radio single edit of the song, which is an abomination. I loved the power ballad album version, but when they remixed it into this mess? With the upbeat poppy rhythm guitars instead of the John Sykes crunch riffs and the saccharine keyboard flourishes and the dubbed in backing vocals? Of all the things Whitesnake should be deservedly embarrassed about, this version has to be at the top of the list.
Okay, that’s all I’ve got. Return to your day. I’m going to go try counting gray hairs.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
Creative Whiplash
I haven't rambled about the manuscript for awhile. Here's an update on where things are, if anyone is curious.
It's summer vacation in these parts, which means back to grinding over the word processor. Vacation didn't start well this year, which actually isn't too uncommon for me: I don't always adjust well when going from letting my school life become all-consuming to waking up one morning and finding out that once again I'm back to being like the jet-fuel genius Tommy Shaw sang about in "Too Much Time on My Hands." Some years this existential whiplash really knocks me over and leaves me feeling depressed and aimless until I regain my footing. And since this past spring was one of the more consuming springs I've had in recent memory (to say the very, very least), I slipped into summer vacation as smoothly as a car speeding down the highway might slip into a concrete bridge support. So that first week off? Not pretty.
But! I'm over that ridiculous hump now and I'm biting off huge chunks of my summer to-do list with each passing day. Of course the biggest bullet point on that list is finishing off the manuscript once and for all, and man, I am so close to done right now I can almost taste it. Of course DONE is relative, but reaching this version of done will be big. I've just recently finished attacking a printed copy with a pencil and a highlighter, which was one of the last big steps I needed. Looking at the story on paper gives me a much different perspective than on the computer screen since I can't just scan my way through it as easily and carelessly. Also, since I can't edit on the fly I have to scribble down notes and take a little more time to think about what it is I'm going for. And now that step is finished, so all I have left is turning all of those scribbled notes into edits and revisions. After that I just have a few more very specific beta readers waiting to look it over, including one officer of the Grammar Police who will be giving it a merciless edit. Then I'll be ready to send it into the publishing world to seek its fortune, so to speak. And since I'm really only about a month behind the admittedly ambitious timeline I'd established last fall, I'm feeling pretty happy about being where I am.
So why am I pulling away from it for a few self-indulgent blog paragraphs? Am I procrastinating here, or is this really part of the process for me? God knows my process contains more than a small amount of attention deficiency, so even when I'm waist-deep in it doing what I know works for me it still feels like procrastinating... until I reach the point when surprise, surprise! Things have somehow managed to come together. Seriously, this stage is so sadly meticulous it's like taking ten minutes to write out notes on what I want two consecutive sentences to say, and then walking away from it to let my brain cook in a whole different direction for awhile before I'm ready to take those notes and build those two sentences exactly the way I want them.
Which is exactly why I'm writing this now: I'm letting two specific troublesome sentences percolate a bit, and sometimes thinking about the whole thing sideways like this is what I need to get past the roadblock. And now that I have a few unnecessary paragraphs out of my system, maybe something will be waiting for me when I go back to that file. Time to go find out.
...and for the record, anyone who isn't listening to Rush's new album "Clockwork Angels" these days is really missing out... just saying....
It's summer vacation in these parts, which means back to grinding over the word processor. Vacation didn't start well this year, which actually isn't too uncommon for me: I don't always adjust well when going from letting my school life become all-consuming to waking up one morning and finding out that once again I'm back to being like the jet-fuel genius Tommy Shaw sang about in "Too Much Time on My Hands." Some years this existential whiplash really knocks me over and leaves me feeling depressed and aimless until I regain my footing. And since this past spring was one of the more consuming springs I've had in recent memory (to say the very, very least), I slipped into summer vacation as smoothly as a car speeding down the highway might slip into a concrete bridge support. So that first week off? Not pretty.
But! I'm over that ridiculous hump now and I'm biting off huge chunks of my summer to-do list with each passing day. Of course the biggest bullet point on that list is finishing off the manuscript once and for all, and man, I am so close to done right now I can almost taste it. Of course DONE is relative, but reaching this version of done will be big. I've just recently finished attacking a printed copy with a pencil and a highlighter, which was one of the last big steps I needed. Looking at the story on paper gives me a much different perspective than on the computer screen since I can't just scan my way through it as easily and carelessly. Also, since I can't edit on the fly I have to scribble down notes and take a little more time to think about what it is I'm going for. And now that step is finished, so all I have left is turning all of those scribbled notes into edits and revisions. After that I just have a few more very specific beta readers waiting to look it over, including one officer of the Grammar Police who will be giving it a merciless edit. Then I'll be ready to send it into the publishing world to seek its fortune, so to speak. And since I'm really only about a month behind the admittedly ambitious timeline I'd established last fall, I'm feeling pretty happy about being where I am.
So why am I pulling away from it for a few self-indulgent blog paragraphs? Am I procrastinating here, or is this really part of the process for me? God knows my process contains more than a small amount of attention deficiency, so even when I'm waist-deep in it doing what I know works for me it still feels like procrastinating... until I reach the point when surprise, surprise! Things have somehow managed to come together. Seriously, this stage is so sadly meticulous it's like taking ten minutes to write out notes on what I want two consecutive sentences to say, and then walking away from it to let my brain cook in a whole different direction for awhile before I'm ready to take those notes and build those two sentences exactly the way I want them.
Which is exactly why I'm writing this now: I'm letting two specific troublesome sentences percolate a bit, and sometimes thinking about the whole thing sideways like this is what I need to get past the roadblock. And now that I have a few unnecessary paragraphs out of my system, maybe something will be waiting for me when I go back to that file. Time to go find out.
...and for the record, anyone who isn't listening to Rush's new album "Clockwork Angels" these days is really missing out... just saying....
Monday, June 4, 2012
Graduation Day, Part 2
Please ignore the typos. This came fast and furious in the middle of the night.
When I went to my nephew's graduation ceremony last night, I had the privilege of seeing two former students graduate. One I knew would be there. She had told me at the end of 5th grade she was moving and attending the same middle school as my nephew, and wrote in my yearbook she was going to look for him when she got there. I saw her collect her diploma and pass by, tall, poised, beautiful, big smile and perfect hair, like so many of the other girls graduation ceremonies seem to be created for.
During the ceremony I was scanning the program to find how many names I recognized as my nephew's friends from over the years, and I recognized the name of another student. I wasn't sure at first: It looked familiar, but I had to cross check the name with the memories of who I thought she was before I could say it was her.
Like the first girl, this one was a memorable student but for other reasons. First off, she looked different from a lot of the other kids in her class, and while that is hardly extraordinary in my school now it certainly was back then, and she felt noticeably insecure about it. She was also a head taller than most of the others, and having this thick tuft of curly hair up on top that was always just on the verge of getting out of control didn't help that. She often walked around with a slight hunch trying to make herself smaller. Her family was new at our school that year, and they came to us with what I will graciously describe as some challenges in their lives. Things weren't easy for her even beyond that since she had some academic and emotional difficulties, and if that wasn't enough, she was hit by a car while crossing the street one spring evening only blocks away from our school.
Even though she functioned well enough inside a small group of girls she spent time with, she only ever seemed to have one real friend. This other sweetheart of a girl noticed they lived nearby each other soon after the school year began and asked her to play after school one day, seeing that she was new to the school, didn't have any friends yet and probably needed one. I don't t think there's anything more heroic one kid can do for another than that. It was this one real friend of hers who kept us updated on her progress while she was away from school and healing from her accident.
Her emotional troubles led to occasional outbursts, which were off-putting and intimidating for the other students. I clearly remember her fall conference that year. Her mother talked about how happy she was with the transition to a new school, but had been concerned and upset one week in October when she had to struggle to get her daughter on the bus and even come to school. It had been so out of character she figured something had to be wrong, and when they talked to another teacher she worked with to find out what was happening, she learned her daughter didn't want to come to school because I wasn't there. This was the week of school I missed right after my sister died.
All of the kids knew that was a big event in my life, and they each dealt with it in different ways. Some broke down crying at the news and had to talk to the social worker. Many of them made sympathy cards. Some came with their parents to the visitation. This girl bought me a gift. Years before my sisters had given me this huge stuffed three-foot shark as a gag Christmas gift, and I kept it on display in my classroom because I couldn't think of anything else to do with it. The kids loved it and it became a centerpiece every year. While out looking through garage sales with her family, this girl spotted a much smaller but identical version of that same stuffed shark, and absolutely demanded that her mother buy it so she could give it to me. I still have it to this day.
I wasn't completely sure it was going to be this same girl graduating until I saw her face appear on the big screen in Mariucci Arena and heard her name read. But there she was. She was so much more mature and slightly ill at ease amidst the ceremony, but it was absolutely recognizably her. I tracked her across the stage, watched her proudly cross the floor in front of me, whispered a congratulations she couldn't possibly have heard, and just smiled. When my nephew's best friend got his diploma, I had a huge grin. When my nephew got his, I choked up. When the girl I knew I would see got hers, I just basked in the confidence she exuded. When this last girl picked up hers, my eyes immediately filled with tears.
So of course as my family was leaving, I saw this girl standing with her family at the bottom of the same escalator I was riding down, and knew I had to say something. I reached the bottom, walked over and called her name. She looked at me, stunned for a moment, not able to place my face as someone she would have expected to be seeing in that context. "Do you remember me?" I asked. "From fifth grade?" After a moment her face broke into this shy but guileless smile. I looked over and said a quick hello to her mother, then turned back and explained why I was there, offered my congratulations and said how happy I was to see her.
I woke up this morning at 3:30 A.M., after having some bizarre dream about an invasion of beluga whales or something equally disturbing that luckily I can't fully remember anymore. As soon as I realized I was awake, I remembered that I had just seen my nephew graduate from high school last night, and that today was going to be the first day of his adult life. Then I remembered seeing this girl, and knew I'd have to sit down and write about it if I was going to have any chance of falling back to sleep.
And thankfully I still have four more days this week I get to teach.
When I went to my nephew's graduation ceremony last night, I had the privilege of seeing two former students graduate. One I knew would be there. She had told me at the end of 5th grade she was moving and attending the same middle school as my nephew, and wrote in my yearbook she was going to look for him when she got there. I saw her collect her diploma and pass by, tall, poised, beautiful, big smile and perfect hair, like so many of the other girls graduation ceremonies seem to be created for.
During the ceremony I was scanning the program to find how many names I recognized as my nephew's friends from over the years, and I recognized the name of another student. I wasn't sure at first: It looked familiar, but I had to cross check the name with the memories of who I thought she was before I could say it was her.
Like the first girl, this one was a memorable student but for other reasons. First off, she looked different from a lot of the other kids in her class, and while that is hardly extraordinary in my school now it certainly was back then, and she felt noticeably insecure about it. She was also a head taller than most of the others, and having this thick tuft of curly hair up on top that was always just on the verge of getting out of control didn't help that. She often walked around with a slight hunch trying to make herself smaller. Her family was new at our school that year, and they came to us with what I will graciously describe as some challenges in their lives. Things weren't easy for her even beyond that since she had some academic and emotional difficulties, and if that wasn't enough, she was hit by a car while crossing the street one spring evening only blocks away from our school.
Even though she functioned well enough inside a small group of girls she spent time with, she only ever seemed to have one real friend. This other sweetheart of a girl noticed they lived nearby each other soon after the school year began and asked her to play after school one day, seeing that she was new to the school, didn't have any friends yet and probably needed one. I don't t think there's anything more heroic one kid can do for another than that. It was this one real friend of hers who kept us updated on her progress while she was away from school and healing from her accident.
Her emotional troubles led to occasional outbursts, which were off-putting and intimidating for the other students. I clearly remember her fall conference that year. Her mother talked about how happy she was with the transition to a new school, but had been concerned and upset one week in October when she had to struggle to get her daughter on the bus and even come to school. It had been so out of character she figured something had to be wrong, and when they talked to another teacher she worked with to find out what was happening, she learned her daughter didn't want to come to school because I wasn't there. This was the week of school I missed right after my sister died.
All of the kids knew that was a big event in my life, and they each dealt with it in different ways. Some broke down crying at the news and had to talk to the social worker. Many of them made sympathy cards. Some came with their parents to the visitation. This girl bought me a gift. Years before my sisters had given me this huge stuffed three-foot shark as a gag Christmas gift, and I kept it on display in my classroom because I couldn't think of anything else to do with it. The kids loved it and it became a centerpiece every year. While out looking through garage sales with her family, this girl spotted a much smaller but identical version of that same stuffed shark, and absolutely demanded that her mother buy it so she could give it to me. I still have it to this day.
I wasn't completely sure it was going to be this same girl graduating until I saw her face appear on the big screen in Mariucci Arena and heard her name read. But there she was. She was so much more mature and slightly ill at ease amidst the ceremony, but it was absolutely recognizably her. I tracked her across the stage, watched her proudly cross the floor in front of me, whispered a congratulations she couldn't possibly have heard, and just smiled. When my nephew's best friend got his diploma, I had a huge grin. When my nephew got his, I choked up. When the girl I knew I would see got hers, I just basked in the confidence she exuded. When this last girl picked up hers, my eyes immediately filled with tears.
So of course as my family was leaving, I saw this girl standing with her family at the bottom of the same escalator I was riding down, and knew I had to say something. I reached the bottom, walked over and called her name. She looked at me, stunned for a moment, not able to place my face as someone she would have expected to be seeing in that context. "Do you remember me?" I asked. "From fifth grade?" After a moment her face broke into this shy but guileless smile. I looked over and said a quick hello to her mother, then turned back and explained why I was there, offered my congratulations and said how happy I was to see her.
I woke up this morning at 3:30 A.M., after having some bizarre dream about an invasion of beluga whales or something equally disturbing that luckily I can't fully remember anymore. As soon as I realized I was awake, I remembered that I had just seen my nephew graduate from high school last night, and that today was going to be the first day of his adult life. Then I remembered seeing this girl, and knew I'd have to sit down and write about it if I was going to have any chance of falling back to sleep.
And thankfully I still have four more days this week I get to teach.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Graduation Day
Back in the fall I mentioned how this school year felt more significant than most since it marked my twentieth year of teaching. I didn’t fully appreciate it at the time, but it’s also a pretty big year for other reasons as well: Not only is this year the last one any of my nephews will be down at the elementary level with me as Nephew #3 moves on to middle school, but it’s also the year that Nephew #1 graduates from high school.
One one hand, it’s an exciting time. Graduation is a pretty big milestone. He’s eighteen now. His senior year is over. He’s decided where he’s going to school, and only has to get through another summer of frying up McNuggets before that part of his life begins.
But it’s hard for me to not also see how this marks a definitive ending in his life as well, which is kind of astonishing when I think of everything I’ve done with him over the years: Buying him his first CD; taking him to countless movies, including his first R-rated one; taking turns with him on the drums when my cousins got together to play through a four-hour jam session (at least until he started playing guitar and bass); having a friend of mine write arrangements of some popular rock songs for the bells to try and trick him into practicing more for middle school band; having some deep talks on long drives; seeing several concerts with him; sitting in the corner and watching over him while he had his last conversation with my younger sister, his aunt, hours before she died; waiting in THREE midnight Harry Potter lines at Border’s, one of which he was too young and tired for and hated; driving him to Tae Kwon Do every Wednesday evening for a year and a half and then having dinner at Subway afterward, where he ordered the same sandwich every time -- I do not exaggerate. I vividly remember his crackling, pubescent voice saying “Turkey and bacon sub on Italian with lettuce, mayonnaise, and American cheese.” Obviously I could go on and on here.
I know that in almost every instance the title of Godfather is an honorary one at best, but I took it to heart, particularly after he lost a godmother who had been very involved in his life and loved him and his brothers more than anything else on Earth. And it’s never been lost on me (particularly after the number of times his mother has pointed this out) just how many ways the two of us are alike. You know that saying about “If I only knew back then what I know now?” There have been more than a few times I’ve wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him when I see him making the same mistakes I’ve made. But I know it wouldn’t do any good, just like it wouldn’t have for my high school self. Because back then I also would have been positive that I knew what I was doing better than anyone else, and I wouldn’t have listened much either. And I’ve made it this far, so there’s probably hope for him as well.
Not long ago we were all at a visitation, and while he sat talking about college plans and economics with his step-brother’s college graduate girlfriend, I had a moment of seeing him going beyond the person he’s always been and instead saw a flash of the person he’s about to become. It’s a perfectly natural transition for where he is in life, and it’s one that he’s more than ready to meet.
But back at my sister’s house, things are different. Now there are more cars in the garage than bikes. The swing set has disappeared from the back yard. There used to be an entire room taken over by Legos, and I don’t even know where they’re stored anymore. The boys are growing up. And the only thing left between Nephew #1 and UW-LaCrosse is a summer of Xbox, guitar, frying up McNuggets and getting in a couple of post-senior victory lap months with his friends before they all move on to all that's yet to come.
Whenever I drive past Andover High School now, it has never looked smaller.
One one hand, it’s an exciting time. Graduation is a pretty big milestone. He’s eighteen now. His senior year is over. He’s decided where he’s going to school, and only has to get through another summer of frying up McNuggets before that part of his life begins.
But it’s hard for me to not also see how this marks a definitive ending in his life as well, which is kind of astonishing when I think of everything I’ve done with him over the years: Buying him his first CD; taking him to countless movies, including his first R-rated one; taking turns with him on the drums when my cousins got together to play through a four-hour jam session (at least until he started playing guitar and bass); having a friend of mine write arrangements of some popular rock songs for the bells to try and trick him into practicing more for middle school band; having some deep talks on long drives; seeing several concerts with him; sitting in the corner and watching over him while he had his last conversation with my younger sister, his aunt, hours before she died; waiting in THREE midnight Harry Potter lines at Border’s, one of which he was too young and tired for and hated; driving him to Tae Kwon Do every Wednesday evening for a year and a half and then having dinner at Subway afterward, where he ordered the same sandwich every time -- I do not exaggerate. I vividly remember his crackling, pubescent voice saying “Turkey and bacon sub on Italian with lettuce, mayonnaise, and American cheese.” Obviously I could go on and on here.
I know that in almost every instance the title of Godfather is an honorary one at best, but I took it to heart, particularly after he lost a godmother who had been very involved in his life and loved him and his brothers more than anything else on Earth. And it’s never been lost on me (particularly after the number of times his mother has pointed this out) just how many ways the two of us are alike. You know that saying about “If I only knew back then what I know now?” There have been more than a few times I’ve wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him when I see him making the same mistakes I’ve made. But I know it wouldn’t do any good, just like it wouldn’t have for my high school self. Because back then I also would have been positive that I knew what I was doing better than anyone else, and I wouldn’t have listened much either. And I’ve made it this far, so there’s probably hope for him as well.
Not long ago we were all at a visitation, and while he sat talking about college plans and economics with his step-brother’s college graduate girlfriend, I had a moment of seeing him going beyond the person he’s always been and instead saw a flash of the person he’s about to become. It’s a perfectly natural transition for where he is in life, and it’s one that he’s more than ready to meet.
But back at my sister’s house, things are different. Now there are more cars in the garage than bikes. The swing set has disappeared from the back yard. There used to be an entire room taken over by Legos, and I don’t even know where they’re stored anymore. The boys are growing up. And the only thing left between Nephew #1 and UW-LaCrosse is a summer of Xbox, guitar, frying up McNuggets and getting in a couple of post-senior victory lap months with his friends before they all move on to all that's yet to come.
Whenever I drive past Andover High School now, it has never looked smaller.
Friday, June 1, 2012
The Gray Area
I had another retirement party to attend last night. It was for three people at my school, two of whom were on my first grade team back in the first year of my career. Normally a party like this would send my introverted nature into overdrive and I'd be trying to escape the smothering feeling that so many people would be starting up in me, but this was a room full of people I knew fairly well so happily it was a good time. But it was a big closure moment in a lot of ways too, which is kind of dangerous for me right now.
If I start to feel too much like the school year is ending and there is still a week to go, there's a big temptation to start tuning out: There's not as much homework to bring home anymore, I start waking up WAY too early so my daily routine begins to slowly drift into my more summerlike schedule, and it becomes more difficult to invest the same kind of wholesale effort into everything I do that is usually there during the rest of the year. I'm not saying that I completely give up -- I'm just saying it becomes harder not to.
But some catalyst like this retirement party comes along, followed by Track and Field Day today, and suddenly the finish line is in view and the ideas of summer begin creeping in. My summer this year is pretty open at the moment since I don't have any concrete plans beyond the same daily routine I'll eventually fall into, which isn't so bad. But at the same time, there's that whole inertia thing. When there are parts of your life you aren't as satisfied with, whether they are major or minor, it seems like having the better part of three months away from your job would be a perfect time to work on those things. But to get me to shake off the ease of routine? Not something that happens easily. The start of summer is when I can ambitiously start to think about what I'm going to do to take advantage of all this time. The end of summer will have the onset of another school year to distract me from beating up on myself too much for all of the things I never got around to trying or finishing.
I always want to start strong and hope to finish as strong. But it seems I really need someone kicking my butt about it to make it happen.
But it's not all a dark and dangerous time. The last week is one I always soak in, since it's the last few days I get to spend with this group of students, many of whom (but let's not kid ourselves; certainly not all of whom) have become personally important to me. And this year-end has an added element of poignancy for me since Nephew #1 is graduating from high school this weekend -- another post about that likely to follow in the coming days. Plus I've got some changes coming in my job as a long-term colleague is moving on to another school. I'm very happy with who is coming in to take her place, but it's still going to be a big piece of different waiting in the fall. I'm very confident it's going to be a good different though, and I'm looking forward to it.
But not for a few months yet....
If I start to feel too much like the school year is ending and there is still a week to go, there's a big temptation to start tuning out: There's not as much homework to bring home anymore, I start waking up WAY too early so my daily routine begins to slowly drift into my more summerlike schedule, and it becomes more difficult to invest the same kind of wholesale effort into everything I do that is usually there during the rest of the year. I'm not saying that I completely give up -- I'm just saying it becomes harder not to.
But some catalyst like this retirement party comes along, followed by Track and Field Day today, and suddenly the finish line is in view and the ideas of summer begin creeping in. My summer this year is pretty open at the moment since I don't have any concrete plans beyond the same daily routine I'll eventually fall into, which isn't so bad. But at the same time, there's that whole inertia thing. When there are parts of your life you aren't as satisfied with, whether they are major or minor, it seems like having the better part of three months away from your job would be a perfect time to work on those things. But to get me to shake off the ease of routine? Not something that happens easily. The start of summer is when I can ambitiously start to think about what I'm going to do to take advantage of all this time. The end of summer will have the onset of another school year to distract me from beating up on myself too much for all of the things I never got around to trying or finishing.
I always want to start strong and hope to finish as strong. But it seems I really need someone kicking my butt about it to make it happen.
But it's not all a dark and dangerous time. The last week is one I always soak in, since it's the last few days I get to spend with this group of students, many of whom (but let's not kid ourselves; certainly not all of whom) have become personally important to me. And this year-end has an added element of poignancy for me since Nephew #1 is graduating from high school this weekend -- another post about that likely to follow in the coming days. Plus I've got some changes coming in my job as a long-term colleague is moving on to another school. I'm very happy with who is coming in to take her place, but it's still going to be a big piece of different waiting in the fall. I'm very confident it's going to be a good different though, and I'm looking forward to it.
But not for a few months yet....
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