Part XLII

Riding a bus from Ft. Leonard Wood to St. Louis was strange for me this time, because, for one thing, I was wide awake the whole time. For another thing, I felt like a different person. I was not a different person, but I felt like one. I was excited to show this new face to people and for some reason expected people would be awed by the new Private Walters. In St. Louis, I boarded a plane for San Jose and settled into a flight which was a little longer than the bus ride. My friend, Mark, picked me up and we went to his house where his mother had graciously invited me to stay during my leave. My mom and her new husband Ted had moved back up near Bear Valley in the Sierra Nevada.

That night, we attended our old High School's Christmas Choir concert. This was sort of a Christmas homecoming tradition and when it came time for Handel's Messiah, Mr. Stretch would call all the alumni up to sing with them. It was a lot of fun, but it was the last year I ever went. Afterwards, we all went out to Lyon's Restaurant and sat around for hours talking. One of the younger girls, who I guess would have been a junior now, invited me to her Christmas party the next night and having nothing else to do, I accepted. Claudia's party was an odd mix of choir people and the nerdy kids I used to mock. I don't remember very much from the party, except for leaving early. To my surprise, Claudia called the next day to ask if I noticed and had any interest in her neighbor, Missy. Missy had been a JV cheerleader my Senior year, so I sort of knew who she was, I lied and said of course I noticed her (I didn't even know she was there) and of course I was interested (I hoped she looked like what I remembered). Over the next couple of days, Missy and I talked on the phone for nine or so hours. It was that kind of young romance that you just can't get enough of. It was all nerves, being on your best behavior, trying to impress the other. We saw each other once before Christmas, but mostly it was a phone romance.

I spent Christmas day with Mark's family, beginning a tradition of spending Christmas with my friends' families. The day after Christmas, Mark and my friend, pat, drove me up to see my mom. It did not hurt that Mom was living next to one of the better ski resorts in California and that Mark's girlfriend was there with her family on vacation, but still they took me to see my Mom. We went skiing the next day and I remembered how to ski just short of when we went home, the rest of the day I spent in a frustrated mix of falling down and fearfully lacking control as I careened down the hills. In the afternoon, we drove home to Mark's house, about a four and a half hour drive.

Back in the bay area, I got back to work on my phone romance (I have to come up with a phrase for that, I am thinking phonmance) with Missy. One of my old team mates from football and drinking buddies, Ed, was having a party for new Years that everyone was going to. His dad was stationed at Moffett Naval Air Station and we enjoyed the party there. I went with Missy and her friend, Anna in a cab and they were hammered before I even picked them up. I remember very little about the actual party, except that Missy and I became more of an item after that night. Late at night, I drove Ed's car to get the girls home. Times were different then and when I was stopped by Shore Patrol at a drunk driving road block, they let me rest on the side of the road until I passed the test. The other passengers in the car were passed out, so it was either take me to jail and find someone to get the others home, or let me sober up a little. One may think that I had little luck when I was growing up from reading my story, but there are many times it could have been much worse and this was one of those times.

On January 2nd of 1986, I boarded a plane at the San Jose airport and flew to San Antonio TX, passing through Dallas-Ft. Worth airport on the way. I had this picture of Missy in her cheerleading outfit which I kept like it was an idol and a ribbon tied to my dog tags which had some sort of sentimental attachment, though I can't tell you what it was. It was that kind of Puppy love crap that I know I will have to help my kids deal with in a couple of years. My attachment to Missy was probably the worst entanglement I have ever gotten myself into, in my entire life, and that is saying something. We had a couple of days getting used to our new surroundings before our next round of training began. On January 6th, 1986, I began in 6th platoon, Charlie company, 2nd battalion of the US Army Academy of Health Sciences at Ft. Sam Houston TX.

Part XLI

It was just before 5am the next morning (or 0500, as I would learn to call it), that I was awakened by loud clanging and banging and shouting from the drill sergeants. Since I was expecting this, even in my subconscious, I leaped to my feet to start the day. What I did not recall is that I had chosen the top bunk, so I fell flat on my face and smacked my hand on a nearby locker, resulting in a large swelling blood-blister on my finger. From that point it was a blur of in-processing. This included getting all your hair cut off, getting standard matching uniforms (including brown underwear) and taking yet another physical. Also, that day, 5 of us were called in to take the Defense Language Aptitude Battery (DLAB). I found that test really fun. Basically they make up a language, tell you the rules and then ask you to translate it. It is supposed to show your ability to learn languages. I scored a correct answer on 154 of 156 questions, which the tester said was the highest he had ever even heard of. Basic Training held a lot of affirmations for me, I seemed to do most things well and it was recognized.

That Monday, the 21st of October, we went to our units. Mine was 4th platoon, E-1-3, the fighting eagles. Our platoon leader was a guy who was rejoining the Army after more than a decade out of the uniform. He had served in Viet Nam, as had a number of other soldiers I met in the coming months. Unfortunately, he wasn't much of a leader. When squad leaders were assigned, I was given 4th squad. I think they gave it to me for two reasons. One was that the squads were formed in alphabetical order and almost everyone in our unit was a buck private E-1. The second was that I was almost the youngest person in the platoon, and drill sergeants are always trying to test your understanding and grasp of authority.

On the second day, I was called into the CO's office, Captain Williams. The Williams name was pretty common in our basic training. We had my friend, Pvt. Robert Williams; one of our drill sergeants, Staff Sgt. Williams; our CO, Captain Williams; and the Brigade chaplain, Major Williams. There was a clear line of Williams succession, but no relation among them. The Captain wanted to ask me if I ever thought about West Point. A little stunned, I said no, and I thought it took a congressional letter to get an appointment (I knew someone who tried to get one). He told me that about 40% of all USMA (the United States Military Academy at West Point) appointees came from within the services and 56% of those were appointed out of Ft. Leonard Wood. He asked me if I was interested, and I said sure. he asked me what Field I would like to serve in and I said "Infantry, Medical or Intelligence." He then told me that I chose poorly, because I had chosen Combat, Combat Support and Support. He could have just as easily said blah blah blah, because I had no idea what he was talking about. So he signed me up to try out for USMAPS (the United States Military Academy Prep School) which, if completed, would get me enrolled at West Point. They set up for me to take the SAT in mid-November, they would not accept my former score.

The running and the physical training were hard, but I was gratified to feel like I was a part of something bigger, something important. I was still both social and anti-social at the same time, got in two fist fights and lied about everything I could think of. I tried to talk the game of having a normal life, but since I had no frame of reference, even the 'normal' in my eyes was a little grand. I made friends with guys like Williams and Wilson and Sherrill and Ouzounian. I volunteered every week for all three services of chapel, which kept me away from having to clean the barracks and occasionally got me to make a Burger King run. The time seemed to go by both quickly and have been a long period. Some of it is a blur and I can not put it in order.

Some of our activities were huge. We did a 24 mile march which caused more than 30 to report for sick call. We spent 3 nights outside in sub-zero temperatures when all of the other platoons went back in. We did night maneuvers and tested our abilities with weapons. I scored a 29 of 30 with my M16 on targets ranging from 25 up to 300 yds away (of course, I missed one of the 25 yards, and hit all 3 at 300, go figure). I scored perfectly with the grenade which allowed me to be the first in the company to get to throw a live grenade. It is not like it is in the movies, it is an awesome amount of power. We were gassed with CS gas (a tearing agent) to get us to understand the need for our chemical and biological gear. During our bivouac (think camping, but with people yelling at you all the time), I came down with an illness and was sent to the clinic to get it taken care of. They sent me to the PX to buy some protective stuff and while there, I loaded every available pocket with candy. Upon my return to the field, I sold all that candy at a hefty profit. This caused one Sgt, when he found out, to say I would do well in the army. Another Sgt told me he would be proud to go into battle with me. It was the most affirmation I had ever had in my life. I loved Basic Training.

I took the SAT in Mid-November but my results were not in until I got to the next assignment in January. I volunteered every time they asked, which people said to never do. My experience was the opposite of everyone else's, every time I volunteered, something good happened. Even KP and cleaning the Battalion Commander's barracks were okay. I don't know why I never caught on that it was my attitude that made the difference. I wanted to volunteer, so I enjoyed what I did, it was that simple. Late in my time there, we did our final Physical Training Test. I was given a certificate and a letter in my record which was called the Super Jock Award. Only 7 of us out of 200 got the award. Anyone who thinks affirmation has no impact on young men's lives, I heartily disagree. The affirmation I received took me from a total screw-up to an achiever. Sure, I was still saddled with some cultural and personality problems, but the belief in me from those in authority made a huge difference.

On December 18th, 1985, I graduated from Basic Training. Although I had a great fondness for my drill sergeants, I looked forward to my Advanced Training, assuming it would be similar. It was not.

thought of the day

My thought of the day was that the roman numeral for 40 is XL and since that was my size at 40, that seems to be a strange concidence. Hopefully by 50, I will just have L.

Tomorrow is the anniversay of my Aunt Carole dying, which brings up some tough emotions about family. Her son, Greg, reacted poorly to my comments and decided to not have contact with me anymore. Any of you who have read the blog knew this, so sorry for the repeat. I spent some time with one of my uncles on Thanksgiving who I didn't really know. He cut contact with the family mostly in 1959 when he joined the Army and completely in 1969. So, I really didn't know him. He seems to be a pretty neat guy. It was a joy having he and his wife over for Thanksgiving and I am sincerely hopeful that we can build a relationship that lasts. He does not seem to have the family's penchant for illogical behavior and criminal or deceptive actions. We had a little discussion about the family's M.O. in dealing with any perceived slight. The generally performed action is to take a half-truth which is only assumption anyway, build it up through a series of nastier assumptions about someone else's motives and then demonize them for the 'obvious truth' of your conclusion. It seems almost comical, and at the very least fictional, but it is the way they operate. There aren't many left in the family I grew up with. While there are many cousins, I had little dealings with most of them except for Greg. With my Aunt Carole and Uncle Raymie both dying in 2007, and my Grandmother slipping away in her mind, there are really only my Mom, my brother, Greg and my Uncle Chuck (who now goes by Dallas). I would like to say I have grace and room in my heart for Greg and Chuck. But, the truth is that I don't know. Greg is showing himself to be either like Chuck or wanting to be like Chuck, and that is not something I am interested in having around. Not that it is up to me, he has told me that I am dead to him due to what I wrote. I still don't know what he found so objectionable.

Wow, that was more than I intended to write about that.

Part XL

October 16th, 1985 was a Wednesday night, but it did not stop my friends Mark, Pat and Marc from coming to my house to celebrate my entry into the Army. I don't remember a lot about that night except that it was the kind of man night filled with bragging, statements of strength and extreme silliness. We got into a wedgie contest and literally ripped each other's underwear to shreds pulling up on it as hard as we could, no joke, and I still remember it as a very fun night. My three friends came to send me off as friends do, and I am forever grateful for that memory because it does not allow me the self-pity to believe that no one cared.

Early on the morning of Thursday, October 17th, the recruiter arrived to take me to the processing station in Oakland again. It was 4am, or 0400 as I would soon call it, and I was ready to go. Arriving at the station, I was given another physical and if you have never been given a group physical, I am jealous. There is nothing quite like lining up with 5 other guys and being told to strip naked and bend over so the doctor can check your goods. I think this is only used in the military and prison. The similarity was not lost on me. We then swore in, signed in and shipped off to San Francisco International Airport. There is a USO there, so my delay was sent playing pool and reading. It was a pretty easy time. While at the USO, we were given a pamphlet called "Dept. of Defense Guidelines for air travel" which asked various things of us like not yelling "hi" to your friend, Jack. It was the first indicator that we would be treated like abject morons my the military.

A few hours later, the jet landed in St. Louis and was a little behind schedule, so I had to run to get to the bus for Ft. Leonard Wood MO. It may have not been this long, but I remember the bus taking about 3 hours to get to Ft. Leonard Wood. It is in the middle of Missouri, the middle of the Ozarks, the middle of nowhere. My expectation for basic training was taken from the movies, "The Boys from Company C" and "Stripes." So, when we were ushered off the bus, I expected the worse and was prepared for the worse. We were rushed into a room where we were directed to make out a postcard to our "mommy", letting her know that we were Army property now. Well, that is what he said, but I still have the postcard (which my Mom gave me a few years later) and it just says that I am fine and how to reach me by mail. I was told that I was assigned to 4th platoon, Echo Company, 1st Battalion, 3rd Basic Training Brigade, or as we would come to know it, E-One-Three. Then we were all sent to the processing company to do everything we needed to do to be prepared for basic training. That night we sat around and gave each other nicknames. Few of them stuck, Robert Easley was "Stick" but the first day in our platoon, the drill sergeant called him "Easy" and it stuck. I took a top bunk and went to sleep, excited and concerned about the coming ten weeks or so.

When one is inconsistent

You see, if I write daily few people read it. If I write weekly, it si about the same number. If I miss a few...everyone stops reading. So, according to my blog analysis program, many have stopped reading. As far as I can tell, the handful of people who are still reading this are quite loyal even when I have felt a dry spell in regards to my story. The busy and hectic schedule seems to be slowing down for the time being, so hopefully you get the pleasure of my observations and rants more frequently. For those who have stuck around, thanks! It makes me feel good that there are folks out there who give a rip about my little dog-and-pony show. To be honest, I often do not give a rip about it.

I hope you all had a fantastic Thanksgiving and a wonderful break!

Part XXXIX

The first night I moved back into my Mom's was the 29th of August, 1985. It was Thursday and Mom was going out of town for the Labor Day weekend with her boyfriend, Ted. She left on Friday afternoon and late on Friday Night, I was walking by her room when I saw on her dresser the key to her estranged husband's 380z. As I have mentioned before, Bud was living in the same apartment complex, so I picked up the key, walked out to where his car was parked and drove away. Now, did I steal the car? I say no, I brought it back, Bud says I stole it and I guess technically I did. Anyway, I picked up my friend Pete and drove to the beach in Santa Cruz. I returned the car at about four int he morning with no one the wiser. It was brilliant, so I did the same the next night.

With Mom still not home and the key still in my possession, Sunday night seemed prime for a third trip out. Except this time when I went to the car, it would not start. Bud, always the engineer had disabled something in the car and was walking up when I got out of the car. He was really pissed. He said he was going to call the police and I told him to go ahead. My bluff was that I was his step-son and I had the key and would hold the position that I was allowed to drive it. Whether he bought this, or had compassion or just didn't realize that I had never received a driver's license, I don't know. What I do know is that I went home and I think I gave him the key.

The next morning, I went to work and when I got home, I was locked out. The apartment manager had received a call from Mom, who had received a call from Bud and they had changed the lock. Since I knew that they could not lock me out that way (I knew all the scammers favorite laws), I simply broke in and fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up, my Mom was sitting there and told me I had to get out. She didn't say it in an angry way, it was sort of with sadness. I think she figured she had lost her son to the family's way of life and now she had to let me go. I loaded up two duffle bags of things I really didn't need and walked out. My plan was to walk the 30 or so miles over a mountain range to get to the beach and live homeless there...that would teach her. I got a few blocks before I got really tired and ended up hanging with friends. I had burned many a bridge for such a young guy and there was no one to let me stay with them, so that night, I slept under a park picnic table.

In the early hours of Tuesday September 3rd, 1985, just as the sun was rising and that grayness was settling into an early morning in the Bay Area, I walked into an Army recruiter's office. Why the Army, you ask? Because they were next to the park and I did not want to spend another night there. Unfortunately a new law had been passed call Delayed Entry and you didn't walk in and get on a bus and head off to the Army. You had to wait thirty days. So after taking the ASVAB and signing about 75 papers, I went back to my Mom's with proof that I was going into the Army and she let me crash there until I went off to basic. Two days later, the recruiter took me to the Processing station in Oakland and I chose my Military Occupational Specialty (MOS). He suggested a large bonus, a higher rank and an education if I chose to be a weapons tech on Apache Helicopters. Instead, I chose to be a Medic, the second largest populated MOS in the army, next to infantry. I wanted to be Rah-Rah, but not infantry Rah-Rah. I got no bonus, no rank and no education. I still direct myself to the challenge, I really need to work on that.

Part XXXVIII

Julie was only in town for a weekend which really worked out for me, since I was not looking for a new girlfriend. That weekend was the beginning of a fun summer, the last in which I had the luxury of having no cares. Some would say that I no longer had that luxury, but I was blissfully unaware of any care I may have had. That Monday I began working at a Pizza place with some friends. Troy was a guy who had gone to a local private school but knew some other friends from Karate. He was a charismatic guy who had the same effect on girls even though neither of us were attractive or had much to offer. We chased skirts together the entire summer, everybody liked Troy and Troy, for some reason, liked me. Troy later went into the US Army as an officer and now is a special agent for the FBI. no joke. Our other compatriot during that summer was a guy I had played football with, Lee. Lee was a large guy and neither of us had been starters, but we got along well and he was funny.

Troy, Lee and I spent a great deal of time together that summer and it was fun. At the end of June, one of our times together, I met a girl named Kim who I took a fancy to (what a weird phrase, but I will leave it). A bunch of us had gone to the movies together to see St. Elmo's Fire and since seven of us had gone, we each identified with different characters. Troy was Judd Nelson's character and I was Rob Lowe's, if you know the movie, you will see this was not a compliment really for either of us. The next week, Troy, Lee and I went to Troy's family reunion in central California. While we were gone, I had a dream that Kim cheated on me and called her to tell her that I was mad at her. This may seem odd behavior, but it was par for the course and she was less than happy with it. A few days after we got back, I decided to hang out with some of my other friends. During the time with Troy and Lee, I did not party because they did not party. Hanging out with my old friends was a mistake and I got hammered, got in a fight, peed through an open window into a guy's car I didn't like and fell asleep in a hot tub. Someone jumped in a pulled me out to keep me from drowning. He took me to a lounge chair, where I laid down and my friends proceeded to wrap me in toilet paper and pour beer on me. This is what we did to friends.

I ended that party with a three day hangover, which I believe is called alcohol poisoning and when two days later I went to Denny's with my non-partying friends, I was informed that Kim was still mad about my response to a dream. I called her up and dumped her for not being understanding. The summer was quickly heading toward its end and many of my friends were headed off to college. Most people knew I had received a 1310 on my SAT, and I had told everyone I was accepted to USC. Since I had not applied to anything, who knows if I would have been accepted. The bloom fell off my rose with the family I was staying with when I stayed out all night without calling once and by the end of the summer, I had begged Mom to let me move back in with her and she complied. It didn't last long.

busy bee

I am sorry to say I have been interrupted every time I have tried to write my story for the week. Not a complaint, just a reality. It does take time to think about it and put it down in the journal here, so I need a small block of time to work on it. I am hoping to get to this week's part by the weekend. Here's hoping.

On another note, I have decided, after telling my Mom that she did not want to read my blog for months, to invite her to read away. I love her dearly and realize that some of the things I have related could be embarassing for her, or she may not agree with their accuracy. However, I want her to have the opportunity and freedom to respond to what I think about my life without any fear of my judging her. I sincerely hope that none of it hurts her feelings. One of the things that has stunned me about writing out my story has been that I have realized that the past has no hold on me once I get it out. Again, I want to state that these are my memories and no one has perfect memories, but it is the way I remember it. I have also realized that as the story goes on, I am less and less sure of what a horrible childhood I had...it was not all bad and whether I admitted it or not, God was there the whole time taking care of me. I struggle with seeing value in what I am doing in this, after that realization. But, somewhere deep inside there are two things: I said I would finish my story & It has made me feel better about myself to get these things out. Some of my feelings about my past, after I write them out, are clearly not an accurate perception. They are often very self-protective, self-effacing or self-promoting. I leave them the way I first wrote them (how I felt about it) because I am not ashamed to say that is what I thought at the time. My prayer is that God will continue to change me to see the world with clarity and see people as He sees them, with love instead of judgement.

Part XXXVI

The week started out rough as it was. Mom had to go down and pay a couple of hundred dollars to the school just so I could graduate. I had kept my football jersey; had done a candy drive, and spent the money; as well as a couple of other things I did not hold up my end of. On Tuesday she told me I had to be out of her house by Saturday, two days after graduation. I mentioned this at school and people asked what I was going to do and I said, "I don't know." I wasn't really thinking too clearly, but as far as Naomi was concerned, it was unimportant because I was moving to Honolulu with her. On Wednesday night they held our Baccalaureate service at Stanford University Chapel. My brother and his girlfriend came into town that day and we all drove to Stanford together. For those of you who don't know Palo Alto in the 80's, it was an interesting ride. You see, if you turn one way off the freeway, you are in the Palo Alto people think they know...multi-million dollar homes, high end shops and the like. But, if you turn the wrong way, the other way, you end up in East Palo Alto. During the 1980's many people thought South Central Los Angeles, or South Side Chicage or some other area had the highest murder and crime rate. Well, they were wrong, it was the tiny third-world region in the midst of great wealth known as East Palo Alto. We went the wrong way and had an adventure, but I will save that story for another time. Eventually, we made it to Stanford.

After the service, two sisters I knew from Choir and their mother walked up to me and offered to let me move into their house for the summer. I responded by telling them I would get back to them. Naomi was right next to me, but it did not occur to me that this would be a problem. Well, it was. When we got home, she started the conversation with, "I don't want to make you mad, but F%#$ You!" There were so many problems with this statement that it mad my head spin. First of all, "I don't want to make you mad"? Tell that to the next phrase you utter. Also, save the F You for later in the argument when it can punctuate your point. I just didn't know what to do with the curse that early in the conversation. I wasn't even prepared with a F you too. Instead, I grabbed my brother and told him I needed a drive to calm me down and he and I drove around for an hour or so and then headed back so I could deal with whatever her problem was. When we arrived, Naomi was gone. She had called my friend Mark and he had picked her up. I did not know until the next day that she was not coming back, so I waited up the night before my graduation to have our talk. I was less than pleased in the morning.

When I got to school, Mark came up to let me know it was not his idea that she did not come back and I told him it was a bad idea to get in between our spat. That was it, no more problem with Mark. Guys are so shallow that we can forgive some pretty big things, so long as there is a guy explanation. He had taken her to his girlfriend's house and she stayed there. I did not see her again until she came over for my graduation. Since I did not want to discuss it during my celebration, we really didn't talk much. I have pictures of the two of us together at graduation but I don't remember saying a word to her. We had dinner and presents afterward, and then I went to my grad night, all-night celebration. I got home about 4am and slept on the couch, while she was asleep in my bedroom. I guess my brother went to play golf and sometime around 11am I heard my Mom and Darin's girlfriend leaving and telling Naomi to let me sleep. About one minute later, she said, "are you awake?" Of course I was so I said yes. She asked to talk about what happened and I said I had nothing to say. She said she didn't want to end that way and I told her she should have thought of that the other night. I didn't see Naomi again for over a year.

That evening, I threw all my stuff into a friend's car and moved into the house of the family that had invited me. They had a celebratory end of school pool party and I found an interest in a girl named Julie, who I hooked up with at the party. I was quite the guy for a rebound, and though Julie did not know me yet, all my friends saw this as my pattern of skipping from one romance to the next without a care for the one I left behind. I would say they were accurate at that time of my life.

so sorry

As I just posted part 35, I realized that I had only posted 3 times in October which is 1/3 to 1/5 of my norm. I have been really busy, but for those of you reading the story, I am truly sorry. At this rate, I should be done around April of 2014! Yay!!!

Part XXXV

In February of 1985, a dance troupe from University High School in Honolulu came to our school. We hosted them, with many of them staying at people's houses who were in choir. We actually did this fairly often for visiting performing troupes. The whole school had an assembly and we got to see Island dance first hand. During the hula routine, I leaned over to the friend who was sitting next to me and said, "the one on the end is mine." It turned out, that the girl on the end, Naomi, was staying with his girlfriend's family and we ended up spending a lot of time together. She was a very pretty girl and nicer than many folks I knew, also island people from all over the world seem to be a little more laid back about everything and I really enjoyed that. So after we had been cuddling for two or three days, I said to her, "I think I might be falling in love with you." To which her reply was, "Ahh, I love you too." And so, I began my first and last long-distance relationship. Later in the week, they continued their tour and eventually went back to Hawaii. I began racking up phone bills ranging from $150 to $380 per month.

Shortly thereafter we went on the second (for me) Chapman College trip for the singing competition. Upon our return, I was cast in the spring play, "Voices from the High School" again getting various roles about teen issues and angst. This was less than a month after the release of "the Breakfast Club" and I modeled all of my characters on Judd Nelson's character in that film, even doing a lip-synch to "Don't You Forget About Me." During the rehearsals, I ended up sort of dating a Pastor's Kid named Becca. She was sweet, nice to me and liked me a lot. She asked me in early May if I was going to ever ask her to the Senior Ball and I said "no, I am going with my girlfriend in Hawaii, I thought you knew." She did not know and she was not happy. Naomi graduated earlier than me, so she was able to visit for the last few weeks of my HS experience. She arrived the day the play opened and was surprised to see me get high right before the show. I tried to explain to her about method acting, but it carried little weight.

Naomi had really come out to help me move to Honolulu with her. I guess I told her I would, but don't really remember saying so. I was terrified of being stranded on a 40 mile wide island if things didn't work out and I would have no way to get home. A week later was my Senior Ball, which I had agreed to double with my friend Peter before I found out he had asked Becca. Apparently, he had forgotten to tell her also, because the day of Prom, she came down with a sudden sickness and was unable to go. We called my friend Laurie, who had graduated a year early the year before and was happy to attend Senior Ball with all of her former classmates. Naomi had made her own dress and my cummerbund, Laurie was a big fan of Madonna and wore a white lace thing that was poofy and really cute for the time (very dated though, it was definitely 1985). We drove up to the Sheraton Palace in San Francisco and half way through the dance, we left and took the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) under the bay to Berkeley for ice cream. After the dance, we drove down to Half Moon Bay on the coast and Peter and Naomi wanted to walk around. The Pacific ocean up around San Francisco is cold and damp at night, heavy-laden with fog and generally un-fun in a tux. I said as much and Naomi told me I could just sit in the car, Laurie agreed with me and stayed. A few minutes later, they returned and we got home around 3am. It was a good night, a good memory, o good way to finish out high school. The next week, the week of graduation was not so much good.

Part XXXIV

Christmas in 1984 was an interesting time. As a small ensemble (which I had auditioned for and rejoined at the beginning of my Senior year), we again sold Christmas Carols and participated in various Christmas themed contests, sang at malls and church gatherings. I was involved in a fun version of Charles Dickens' "a Christmas Carol" in which we played various roles and had a pretty good turn-out. I dated one co-star in the production, but dated another after the cast party. I also stole a number of my step-father's credit cards and ran up about $800 buying various Christmas presents for myself and friends. On Christmas eve, my Mom and I loaded up into the car and drove to my Aunt Carole's house. This was the only time I had seen the entire family together. Even my Uncle Reb joined us after not seeing his family for thirty years or more. My cousin Greg was about to turn eleven and we had a lot of fun playing football and just hanging out. For Christmas day, we had 10 adults and 9 kids with me as the oldest and my brother stopping by later in the night. My uncle Charlie, shocked by getting gifts, went to his trunk and picked up things which he then gave out to the kids. I got a screwdriver.

A couple of days later, we drove home. I never even asked why Bud didn't come with us. I was just happy he didn't. The first day back to school, the girl I had hooked up with at the cast party, Michelle, came and asked me to the Winter Formal Ball. I told her that I would go, as long as she paid for everything and she agreed. Michelle was very pretty but she was not really what I was interested in at the time. She was pretty, smart, dressed well, was in small ensemble and a co-lead in many plays with me and had a geeky quality that did not show at first glance. She was a nice girl and I treated her as poorly as about anyone I had up to that point. And that is really saying something. The week before the dance, a mildly more popular girl named Dawna asked me to go to the dance. The conversation went a little something like this:

Dawna: Hey do you want to go to the dance with me?
Me: I am already going with Michele.
Dawna: Couldn't you get out of that?
Me: Yeah, I could. Okay.

Michelle found out not from me, but from the grapevine. She was less than happy. She called me and put me on the spot, which I did not like, so I told her that I was going with Dawna. It was really not a fun dance and Dawna and I double dated with some toher folks who I knew but were not the party type. The dance was in San Francisco and was the night before the 49ers beat the Dolphins at Stanford Stadium for Super Bowl XIX. People were drunk and crazy and yelling out things like "niners!" all night long.

The following Thursday, we got report cards. I had always done as well as I wanted to in school and all I cared about my senior year was passing, so I often skipped classes and bent the rules to my pleasure. After all, I had enough credits that all I needed to graduate was one class for one semester. That class was American Government and I knew from the way the teacher graded that I would receive a B- from the work I had turned in and the tests I had taken. So, the day of report cards, my teacher handed them out personally. He smiled as he handed me a piece of paper upon which was written the district policy for attendance. It said, any student could be given an incomplete who missed 21 or more days of a semester, regardless of reason or the work completed. Thinking he was joking due to the smile on his face, I reached out for my grade. The paper said Goverment: Inc. Absences: 23. I was devastated and figured I could talk my way out of it, so I refused to sign up for another government class. Pre-season track was on and I began high jump, pole vault and long jump. On February 1st, Mom and I moved away from Bud for the last time and back to an apartment in Sunnyvale...Bud moved to an apartment in the same complex.

Part XXXIII

Early in my senior year, I had made a bet with a friend that I would go to every couple's dance that year, that I would not ask anyone and would not pay for any of them. Yeah, I was a catch, what can I say? There was a power play in most girls I dated back then. I was proving my bravado by dating whomever I wanted, regardless of having no qualities which a girl would find attractive and dating them on my own terms. Since it never hurt me in that area to act like a jerk, I made it a science. My lack of concern for the feelings and hurts of these girls still gives me a shiver. Anyway, the first dance that year was homecoming and I was asked by a friend from choir. I simply told her that I could not afford anything and she bought everything, tickets and all. On top of that, I did not have a license, so we doubled with my friend Mark and his date (also just a friend) Debbie. It was a pretty quiet evening, I was not used to going out with just a friend and did not really know how to act. I remember it as being uneventful but pretty fun to just hang out. You would have to ask her if it was the same for her, I never asked.

That Friday night, we had played our homecoming game against Cupertino HS and lost 19-0. I didn't even get to play, and didn't really care as I was just proving to myself that I could finish the season on the team. We finished the season 3-7 with four of our losses by less than 7 points. That is pretty good for a team which was the joke of the league the year before, finishing 1-9. The three other losses were complete blowouts. My mom finally came to one of my games, the last one. We lost 7-6 and I didn't even get to play, but mom was in the stands wearing my away jersey. It was "mother's night" and they honored the mothers in the middle of the field at half-time, which I found odd because Mom had never given me even a ride to practice, much less gone to a game before that. But, I finished the season, and follow-through was not my strong point. Of that, I was proud and could move on.

The first day back to school, a sophomore girl I had dated in the summer once or twice, asked me to the Sadie Hawkins dance in response to me telling her that her skirt looked like upholstery (what a peach huh?). I agreed because I was on the spot and because it was a quick way to make sure I was on track to win my bet. Lisa had a huge crush on me and it showed. She was a pretty girl, but was going through the awkward zits and braces stage of teen hell. I was definitely not the guy to make her feel better about it. Sadie Hawkins was in November, just after our season ended and a bunch of us went to some house and drank blackberry schnapps. I don't know if Lisa was much of a drinker, but she got toasted and we headed to the dance. I sort of lost her at the dance at one point and I saw a friend (female) and began talking to her when Wham's "Careless Whisper" began to play so we began to dance because we could slow dance and talk at the same time. Mid-way through the dance, Susan says to me, "Oh no. Look behind you." So, I turn around and Lisa is standing there crying like seeing me dance with Susan was the worst thing that could possibly happen. Now, I was not one to be particularly sensitive at the time, but I still don't know what the big deal was. We were just dancing, and not even interested in each other. Anyway, Lisa made a fool of herself that night in front of everyone, but I attribute it to the booze. I guess I should have checked up on what her expectations for the night were. I mean, she did pay for everything.

Part XXXII

In late July of 1984, I decided to take one more run at football and joined the pre-season for varsity. Using my theory of lying, when asked I told the coach I was an All-State wingback in Colorado. Unfortunately, I had the wrong position and meant flanker. The position I was put in was actually wing-back which is a sort of utility back position (some receiving; some rushing; lots of blocking) and at 160 lbs., I was a tad light for the job. On defense, I played cornerback. In order to be eligible to play, every player had to carry a 2.0 GPA and have had at least 4 C's in the previous semester. Through my tomfoolery of the previous semester, I had only taken three classes but had all A's and a GPA of roughly 3.8. Nonetheless, I was ineligible for the first 6 games and was sent to third string for both practice and eventually for the whole season. I should note that I was still an excellent receiver, so long as you didn't need me to be fast or agile. I did not drop a pass thrown to me for 7 straight weeks in practice (I only had three passes thrown to me in games and I caught all three, but not for very much yardage).

On August 1st, we moved to Santa Clara as Mom re-united with Bud. This put us out of our district and I ended up having to go to another rival school for one day before they could approve my transfer back to Fremont High...it was weird. I was headed into my senior year and the larger apartment made for larger parties on the weekends when Mom and Bud would head up to the cabin. I began working at a little known (at the time) sandwich shop called Subway. I quickly became a trusted employee and was given my own key to the place which just caused me to use it to grab soda from the machine or ice any time I needed it because the shop was a short walk from our place. As the semester began, I was an aide in the office and pretty quickly stole a roll of stickers which when added to your student ID, allowed you into some dances for free and gave you some discounts also. I passed them out to my football buddies and one of them turned me in, so I lost my class as an office aide. Although I was the life of the party and so somewhat popular, some people really disliked my scamming ways and "Eddie Haskell" charm. Later I would find that even those who hung out with me were not all that fond of me and that I had created few lasting friendships. I guess that is what happens when you use people for your own purposes.

Bud and Mom were drinkers and pot-smokers and had a tendency toward irrational behavior. Bud was always devising money-saving plans around the house and the one that usually got me in the most trouble had to do with the curtains. Bud liked the curtains and windows open at night to let in cool breeze and closed during the day to keep it from getting too hot. For some reason, I just could not remember to follow these rules. It was not disobedience, but lack of care. One day at the end of summer, my friend Martin and I went out to a movie and upon return, were greeted with my Mom in a less than pleasant mood, and drunk. Right in front of Martin, she began screaming at me about not closing the curtains in a way that must have sounded a little like "no more wire hangers" from Mommy Dearest. After the tirade, I walked Martin to the bus stop so he could get home and he almost cried. He said he had never seen anything like that, was so sorry and asked if I wanted to come live at his house. To be honest, I didn't know what the big deal was. That wasn't even that bad, so I told him I would be fine and headed back home.

notes from the front

(and by front I mean life, not any real battle or anything, just to be clear)

I have two for you today. The first comes courtesy of my lovely daughter, who just turned ten and her Mom took her for an overnight trip and had the "talk" with her. It should also be noted that my mother-in-law is grieving the loss of her mother and is going through rather normal emotional swings. But, Saturday after Maggie's soccer game, we went to Mimi's for dinner and Mom was explaining to us how she was about to tear up and didn't know why. At just that moment, My daughter comes up with the answer and yells out, "Puberty!" Now, that is funny, I don't care who you are.

The second is a headline from today. I don't always read the articles, but I am fascinated by headlines. Today's headline was, "US official says 3 pirates may be dead after shootout." Well of course they may be dead, how can you fight against a gun when all you have is a sword and a parrot? And, that eye patch can't help your peripheral vision! Anyway, cheers to all and have a good week.

worship theory update

I want to thank my great friend Paul for taking the time to offer to engage in this conversation with me. As it looks like no one else wants to join in that conversation, I suppose we will just chat on the phone about it. Every so often I have a decent idea, but many of them end up as only neat to me (Paul, do you remember me burning Milli Vanilli tapes at your NYE party? I thought everyone would like that and nope, no one cared). It is such a small number of people who actually comment on anything that it would not have worked out the way I had hoped anyway. My wife has 50-60 people per day who look at her blog (should be thousands) but only about 2-3 comments per week, so I don't feel too bad. By the way, if anyone wants to bring a topic up, make a comment and I will start something up and we can see if anyone wants to comment. Thanks for reading, friends, but seriously you can comment on anything.

Welcome

I wanted to give a welcome to any guys who decided to read my blog after hearing me talk about it this morning. There are very few things I hold back, so I am sorry if this causes some of you to lose some respect for me. However, these are bad things I did, bad choices I made and the consequences which flow from this sort of thing. There is not much nobility in my actions as a young man, but be assured if you stay with me, you will see that God picked me out of the slime of my own plan and has continued to dust me off and refine me for His plan. Please feel free to comment on anything, that is why it is public. You do not have to be succint and I would love to have people post replies which tell some of their stories. I moderate posts due to some unfortunate previous comments, but your comment will go up within a few days. Let me know that you are checking it out by just commenting and I promise that it will not change what I write, even if I think my writing will offend you.

Thanks!

Oh, one other thing....I claim honesty and the closest thing to accuracy I can get. I am not naive enough to believe that I can be totally accurate, but I can be true to my memory and experience. If you know or think something I have said is inaccurate, please post it and we will discuss. I could always be wrong.

Part XXXI

After being booted out of the class from which I most drew my identity at the time, things sort of spiraled out of control for me. Instead of using this situation as a kick in the pants to straighten out my life, I used it as another excuse and got even lower in my stupidity. A friend of mine had spent the year as the only male cheerleader in the district. He told me many stories of being one of only three guys at the annual cheer camp with over 500 hot girls, so I decided I would be the next year's only guy cheerleader. Rather than actually give it a good try, I decided to work the system and just hang out with the girls. My total lack of commitment or care really showed and my lack of respect for how hard and how important this was to all of these girls was pretty evident. My purpose was to be near, and date, as many cheerleaders as possible. I would like to tell you I had some other motive, but seriously, would anyone believe me? Anyway, I did not make the team.

One of the cheerleaders I had dated a little bit was named Christine, she also did not make the team and was devastated. We had planned to go to the Junior Prom together, but she ended up getting a real boyfriend who was actually there for her a week and a half before the prom. Since I could think of nothing less fun than going to prom with another guy's girlfriend, I took a side step and let Christine go with who she really wanted to go with anyway. Some people will hear that as noble or nice, but it was not. I was just thinking of what a drag it would be to go to prom with someone who wanted to be there with someone else, it was all about me. During this time and through most of the summer, I also held small parties in our apartment while Mom would be away for the weekend with some guy or other. I had identified every place within ten miles where my fake ID would work and I became such a regular at these liquor stores that they stopped carding me and new me by name. Now, the name was the fake name on my fake ID (Jeff someone or other), but that was okay with me.

I had, at the time, a stunning amount of false confidence and would entertain my friends by boldly lying or scamming to achieve just about anything I wanted. I showed a fake ID right next to a cop in one liquor store where my friends just freaked out and I gained a sort of legendary status with them. I also gained quite a reputation for making out with just about any girl in the immediate area. One night some friends and I got real drunk on blackberry brandy and went to a school dance, where I proceeded to kiss every girl there. No kidding, every girl ... even girls who were with other guys. Many of the guys didn't even care because it was sort of my reputation to do crazy things like that. I had a weird talent for heading directly into any situation where I could be harmed or damaged, but I did it with confidence and usually came out without a scratch. All of this just built this rep. One of my Christian friends from school once called me conceited and I responded that "conceited means that one is good and knows it, so thank you for recognizing how great I am." Yeah, I know, what a jerk. Hidden behind this false confidence was a rather swelling amount of self-loathing and what I now see as blatant attempts to harm myself. But, I was also playing with the power of words and this would be a defining trait of mine for a long time. I began to realize the strength in spin, and the way people believed what you told them, so long as you said it with confidence. Truth became what I told you, real became what I made up and everything became a way into people's trust and a means to an end. While I was pretty heavily engaged in drug use at the time, it too was just a means to an end. Although I used some fairly powerful narcotics, I attribute their lack of a hold on me to their purpose in my life, to get what I wanted...girls, friends, power, girls and did I mention girls? When summer came around, I quit my job and I laid by the pool all day or watched TV. At night, I partied or looked for places to pick up girls. It was the summer of 1984 and my life was like a teen movie for a bit. I did not know how rapidly things would change.

worship theory

Due to many circumstances in my life right now, I am again looking at the topic of worship theory. Worship theory is the idea of how one worships, both individually and in a corporate setting. However, my interest right now is in the corporate setting. A few years ago, I wrote a paper (for myself) on this topic, but now I can't find it. Also, since I am fascinated by the blogging medium, I thought it might be interesting to get as much feedback as possible. Since it is not about me or my musings, I am thinking of creating a new blog to delve into this subject. My question is this, would you be willing to engage in an honest, non-judgemental conversation about what worship in the corporate setting should look like? I am specifically interested in ideas from those in my church, but would love to hear from those outside. I will wait to create the blog until I hear from folks who would be committed to getting a little deeper on the subject. If you have an interest, please let me know. Thanks!

Part XXX

Fremont High had a policy that simply was ripe for abuse. There was a day on which one could no longer pick up new classes, it was just too late to get the education one would need to get anything but an incomplete. The day to drop classes was three days after the date one could no longer pick up new classes. The minimum number of classes for a HS student was 5, so I signed up for 5 and the day after the "no new classes" date, I dropped one. I thought I was so clever. I had way too many credits as it was and still could have graduated after my Junior year if I had taken one semester of American Government, but my goal was not to graduate early, it was to milk the time and abuse the system. There was a loophole, and I was hell-bent on using it even though it did me no good at all. So in late January of 1984, I had the fewest classes of any student at FHS.

On February 1st, my Mom and I moved away from Bud to an apartment right across the street from the school. This made it easy for me to run home and watch TV when I did not have a class. In my self-absorbed perspective, I did not realize the difficulty that having only my Mom and I in an apartment would place on her pocketbook. She told me I had to start paying her rent of $200 per month. Since I did not bring home that much, Mom made me call my Dad since he had kept all of the money in my bank account (around $1200) when I left Colorado. Dad responded in writing with a letter that I kept up until a couple of years ago, it was not nice. He was keeping my money, told me that no one knew my agreement with him and that he was basically counting it as rent I had paid him. It was not a good day. I told my Mom I would pay the rent, but I don't think I ever paid her a cent. Mom would go away on the weekends still with guys she was dating and I would have parties at the apartment with 5-20 people. As an adult, I still can not imagine the amount of money and frustration I cost my Mom. At the time, it never occurred to me to care.

In late February, I was blessed to make the first trip to Chapman College in Anaheim for an annual singing competition which our small ensemble always won. This was no different. We also got to sing at Disneyland and enjoy a day there. The group was the most fun I had been in since I left Colorado and I bonded with many of them the way I bonded with my fellow actors before. Unfortunately, I did not rightly judge my instructor's care for me. One day in early March, one of my female friends gave me some crap and I flipped her off behind another friend's back. Mr. Stretch asked her if I had just indicated my IQ and promptly told me to get out. Within two days, he had kicked me out of the group. He had put together an elite group and one day while he was out sick, the school had added this new kid (me) without the benefit of an audition for Mr. Stretch. I simply gave him an excuse to put me out and he did. The effect of this, due to my maneuvering, was that I was down to 3 classes. When Spring break came around 10 days later or so, Mom took me up to the cabin and I got a perm. Yeah, that is right, a perm ... it was 1984, what can I say?

Part XXIX

Touching down at San Jose International Airport on October 18th, 1983, my heart felt lighter. I thought things would be better because my Mom pretty much left me alone and her husband made pretty good money. We went to a motel in Santa Clara as Mom and Bud informed me that we needed to look for an apartment because Bud had taken a job as a VP in the missile division at Lockheed in Sunnyvale. We checked out and rented a 2BD apartment in Sunnyvale and then headed back up to what would now be referred to as "the cabin" a 5 level, 3BD, 5 BA huge house in Camp Connell which Mom and Bud had built and I had stayed in the year before. When I boarded the plane, I thought i was moving to Camp Connell, another small mountain town, but I was actually moving to the metropolis of the Bay Area.

On October 31st, we moved down to Sunnyvale to the apartment. I am not sure how I convinced Mom to go along with this, after I had been out of school for 2 weeks, but it was Halloween, it was a Monday and I got to take the day off to ready myself to begin at a new school. So, on November 1st, I began at Fremont High School in Sunnyvale. In CO, my creative writing class had been an advanced class where only Juniors and Seniors were allowed. At Fremont, they took it as a remedial writing class and began what was to be a series of diappointments in my education there. It was bad enough that I already thought I was too smart for school (I had believed this since the 5th grade), but being forced to take classes that did not even reach a low standard was too much...I checked out mentally for almost the entire rest of my high school time. My classes that first semester were US History, office aide, choir, writing (ugh), small vocal ensemble (called SmEns) and biology. This small ensemble and my teacher there, Bill Stretch, were among the best in the nation. While I had been a good singer for Woodland Park, I was now in the midst of a rather elite group of vocalists and I knew it withing minutes of getting to class. I did not belong there, but I made my best friends in that class and learned more about music than I have in any other period of my life. While in Woodland Park, I had been identified by my acting; in Sunnyvale, I was identified by my flirting and occasionally my singing. I was still involved in theater but chasing skirts was my main pastime.

The first weekend we were there, Bud made me get a job. I walked across the street and was hired at Wendy's. I was late for the first training class and did not attend. Still to this day I think being late says so much about a lack of care and commitment, but at the time it was a mortal failure in character and I got to the door and turned away because I was three minutes late. I still struggle with this view of tardiness, if you are 2 minutes late, I have been waiting for you for 32 minutes. Anyway, later in the month, a friend from Smens got me a job working with him at Cole National Key Company. It was the little kiosk in Sears that made keys and engraved things. It was a fun job because I worked in Sears but not for Sears. We spent many weekends and most holidays at the cabin that fall and winter. I spent as little time in the apartment as possible as I was making new friends and had given myself a new personality and background. I was not popular, but no one treated me like the dork I really felt I was inside. I was invited to most parties, because I could be counted on to do something that was worth talking about later. Getting too drunk, throwing up, making out with the pretty girl, making out with the ugly girl, getting in a fight, jumping off the roof, toilet papering passed out people or just generally being the story of any given party gave me a certain reputation.

In December, some of the girls I sang with invited me to their church with my friend Pat. We were heavy partiers and they cared a lot about Pat, I may have invited myself. They went to Valley Church in Cupertino, a fairly conservative evangelical church with a pretty large High School group. When we went, I was stunned at the number of attractive girls there. In early January, I decided to pray to ask Jesus into my life. It was not the first time and it did not take. This time, it was the weeds, the cares of the world and its entanglements, that took me down. Well that and a really bad motive, I thought the girls might date me if they knew I was a Christian. A few weeks later I went to a party with a senior cheerleader named Charlene. Char was Japanese, fun and beautiful and for some reason she liked me, even after I nearly threw up on her shoes that night. A few weeks later, I showed up on a balmy California Sunday morning to church in a turtleneck which did not quite hide all of the hickies. A few of my church friends gave me serious crap about it and I just stopped going. My life was about the party and I made a choice of the world over Jesus. Shortly thereafter, Char and I went to a party where her boyfriend, that's right boyfriend, was also there. He had gone off to college and told her he wanted an open relationship. He dated no one, she dated me. I was the kind of guy he hated and I realized that night I was a pawn. It didn't really bother me either, because we did not pretend to be exclusive. It was, however, a little uncomfortable to sit on a couch with the guy and make small talk.

headline: redundancy

So occasionally there are a few headlines by which one may tell the year, simply by the headline:

"War ends; V-J Day celebrated in the streets of New York"
"the Eagle has landed!"
"Reagan wins in Landslide"

And then there are other, like today, when it could be any number of years:

"The Yankees win the World Series"
"Hurricane hits the Gulf Coast"
"Motor home park destroyed by tornado"
"Jury selection begins in OJ Simpson trial"

That last one was the first thing I read online this morning. Is this deja vu? Will some jury finally convict this guy? I saw him play once at the end of his career when he went to play for the 49ers. It was at Candlestick Park, late 70's and my Dad had taken us to the game. For some reason I remember that game well and the day well. When I started playing football in 1976, I wore #32, in honor of OJ. Most kids wanted the number and my Mom was dating my coach, so I got it. Later in life we sub-let our apartment in Brentwood to a guy who worked with my wife named Ron Goldman. OJ killed him about a year later when he went to return some glasses to OJ's ex-wife, a regular customer (as was OJ). I fully believe OJ killed him, because celebrities are so used to getting away with things, getting their way and generally having whatever they want, that it would never occur to him that he had done anything wrong. Everytime I see those headlines, I say a little prayer for Ron's family. I didn't really know Ron, Cathy knew him from work, but he was a person and that makes him valuable. Pray for his family as I am sure it hurts them every time they see the headlines.

crazy busy

Sorry for the blank space the last week and a half. Life has given us a whirlwind of activity and we are doing our best to wrap our arms around it. As you might guess, wrapping your arms around a whirlwind is both painful and fruitless, but we strive to do it anyway. I promise to get the next segment of my story up this week if nothing else.

Topics for discussion:
*Sarah Palin
*Kids make you busy
*Yay! Football started!
*My daughter will be ten in a couple of weeks. No more kids in single digits.
*I agree, my wife rocks.

Talk amongst yourselves!
=)

Part XXVIII

That summer is a bit of a blur. I had my first (but not last) experience with a restaurant closing in the first week of June. I showed up to work to find that the owner had skipped town and left the business to some guys who basically told us we were not going to be paid, but they would try to get us some form of job going forward. I agree to work for the contractor and got to demolish some walls and things, but when the real construction started, there was no room for a 16 year old with no notable skills. John had moved on to a place across town, the same place Darin had worked when we ran away two years prior to this, and he got me a job as a diswasher and breakfast cook. The work was okay, but it was across town and my parents had an aversion to driving us anywhere. When the old restaurant re-opened as Winston's (yeah, an English restaurant with no fish and chips...even English people don't like English food), I took a job there as a busboy. This was the first restaurant I worked in where food was art, where they had a true chef and service actually meant something. They must not have known anything about our town, because it didn't last long.

In August, I started my Junior year with high hopes. Although I love my brother dearly, being a younger brother that close in age can sometimes leave you in a shadow. I felt that I had more possibilities. This really wasn't true, because people would always compare me to Darin or to John, and some of those people would find me lacking. Theater was my thing and the first audition was for Heaven Can Wait, John tried out too. Imagine my surprise, he got the lead. Twink really never saw me as a lead, prefering me in support roles where I could ham it up. But, there was no way around the hit to my ego that my brother who had never acted except in the school musical had got the lead over me.

My Junior year was also different in that I did not go out for football. Since I did not go out for the team, I could not quit a few weeks later. See? My junior year was different!

October 14th and 15th, WPHS produced Heaven Can Wait in which I played the sneaky, conniving and sniveling weasel, Tony Abbot (played by Charles Grodin in the movie). After our second performance, we had the customary cast party at Colleen's house. John and I wanted to stay out past curfew, so we made a pact and lied to our parents, telling them that we were spending the night at our friend Spencer's house. I ended up making the moves on some Freshman girl before she had to go home. Colleen's Mom was one of those Mom's who thought it was fine for the kids to party as long as it was supervised, so we drank all night and got silly at Colleen's. I never noticed until the morning that John had left. In the morning, I woke up to Colleen's Mom making pancakes for the three of us who were left, her daughter Colleen, myself and a girl I had always had a crush on, Michelle. As we sat at the kitchen table, Michelle reached under the table and held my hand. She looked at me with a sort of affection. As we talked through the morning, I realized that she thought we had spent the night together. I don't know just how drunk she was, or who actually spent the night with her, but it wasn't me. However, she was pretty. If she thought we had some kind of romantic encounter and she liked it, I was fine with her thinking it was me.

I realized shortly thereafter that John and I had told my Dad we would be home at noon and I wanted a little more time to figure out the thing with Michele, so I called home. Dad told me to get home now. Apparently, John had not had any encounters at the party, got bored, forgot all about our plan and went home. Dad had asked him why he was not at Spencer's and off-the-cuff he said, "Spencer's parents ended up not being home and I came home since we were not supervised." I had a few words for him when I got home, but never got the chance to share them. Dad called me out to the balcony and told me that he knew that I lied, he knew where I was and I was grounded for a year...no more job, no more friends, no more plays. It was the last one that put me over the edge. The most fun, the most acceptance, the most joy I had found up to this point in my life I had found on stage. it was like taking my heart away.

That night, when it was late enough that my folks would be in bed, I snuck out with some clothes and the first trophy I had ever won for Duet Acting. I don't know why it was important to me to bring that, but it was. I snuck down the hill and across Highway 24 to the supermarket, where I used a payphone to call Colleen's house. Her Mom agreed to let me stay the night.

In the morning, October 17th, I went to school and as I headed towards Michele's locker, the Freshman girl (Kristi) passed in front of me and told me to come see her later. I told her okay, but my thoughts were only on Michele. When I talked to her she asked me not to tell her brother about the other night. It was not a hard request to fulfill, since I had no idea what she was talking about. She also asked if I was coming to some youth thing her church was doing, it was that night and it seemed like everyone in the High School was going. Wanting to be anywhere Michele was going to be, I said yes. I saw the musical producer/director, Lucinda Reed, in the hall and she told me that she heard I ran away and asked me why. I told her that Dad said I couldn't be in plays and that I would die without them, which she told me was the stupidest thing she had ever heard. I went to first period creative writing and within a few minutes the Principal, Mr. Morrison, came in and asked to see me. He told me he heard a rumor and I said yeah I ran away. He told me he would have to call my dad, and I told him that was fine, but if my Dad showed up at the school he would never see me again.

Second period I had Trigonometry and Mr. Morrison showed up there too. He said he called my Dad and he was coming down to the school, but he would not be able to see me, just talk to Mr. Morrison. I told him that was fine, but if I saw him, I was gone. We had a short break between 2nd an 3rd classes and I went to see my friend, Theresa in peer counseling. As we talked, the school counselor, Mr. Jones, popped his head in to ask me if he could help. Shortly thereafter, I heard my Dad's voice outside the door and knew I was trapped. Mr. Morrison came in and said Dad wanted to talk with me, just talk, and that I could leave anytime I wanted. I said okay and they all came in. Dad sat across from me with Mr. Morrison on his left, Mr. Jones on his right and Theresa on my left. Dad sat down and just looked at me.

"You think you have a lot of power here, don't you?" he said. "I could drag you bald-headed out of this room and there is not a god damn thing these people could do to stop me." Shocked by this, I looked to Mr. Morrison, who was looking at the floor. I looked to Mr. Jones, who was looking at the ceiling. I looked to Theresa who was just crying as she looked away and I knew, I had been duped. Dad was right and I was screwed. "Grab your things, we are going home right now."

As we walked out of the couseling office, I told Dad I needed a drink, but was fully expecting to run away again. I looked down the far hall and saw police at the doors. They were there to corral me, not to help me. Dad put his hand lightly, but firmly, on my shoulder and guided me towards the door. I tried to turn in a last ditch effort to get away and Dad grabbed me by the hair and propelled me through the door out the front of the building. I ripped my way away from him and for the first time in my life with Dad, I did not run. I turned and said enough and put up my hands to fight. I was so sure that he was going to kill me if I went home with him, tat I was ready to let him kill me there on the steps. It may seem bizarre but I was deathly afraid of my father even though I towered over him even at the time. But, I was done, we were going to end it here. My stepmother moved between us and seeing the fear and resolve in my eyes, she gently told me that she was there and it would be okay. When we got home, they told me I was flying to California tomorrow to live with my Mom. I never saw anyone from Woodland Park again, except my sister-in-law, Pam and a girl from choir who came into a place I worked in LA in 1995 and tried to sell me ad space.

The next morning, I boarded a plane in Colorado SPrings and flew to San Jose airport. Things were different and I thought for years I was better off in California. I am not so sure of that now.

Part XXVII

Coming back to Colorado was fun, I felt better about myself and that it was possible to be accepted on my own. With this in mind, I decided to give the football team another shot. I went out for the JV team and was doing okay when school started. A couple of days before my sophomore year began, I was surprised to see my Dad and Stepmother show up to my practice. They were not greatly interested in my extra-curricular activities so I was a bit alarmed. With the coaches permission, I ran over to the fence where they were standing. My Dad told me that Darin had called and wanted to come home, but he was not going to let him unless John and I were okay with it. It reminded me of when my Mom asked me if she should go back to her abusive husband when I was 11, what did I know? I was just a kid. I said yes, thinking that my new found confidence would be safe. So, when Darin showed up, I only asked him one thing...don't hit on the new girl, Julie, as I was planning my moves. Needless to say, he was dating her within the week.

Football also did not last long, this time I did not even make it to the first game before quitting the team. I had seen Twink, the Drama teacher, in the hall and he asked if I was auditioning for the fall play. They were doing "Harvey" and I had always loved the movie with Jimmy Stewart, so I just said yes without thinking that I was already committed to something else. Well, as committed as I was to anything, I guess. When I was cast as a major support part and romantic man across from the beautiful girl who would end up being our homecoming queen that year, the decision was made. Bye bye football, hello rehearsal! My character was a psychiatrist named Dr. Lyman Sanderson and Debbie played Nurse Kelly. I changed around my class schedule and enrolled in two drama classes for the fall and I also had Twink as my teacher for English and Speech-Forensics (Debate). He had an impact on my life because from that point on, I identified myself as an actor. He also was the first person to encourage my writing, pushing me to write a novella (which I never finished) and a play (which I never finished). On October 15th, 1982, I went on stage as Dr. Lyman Sanderson. I received a lot of laughs, attaboys (for kissing Debbie in a scene) and applause. It was heaven and I was addicted. I actually used to write poetry of the feeling I had on stage, I absolutely loved the affirmation. To a large degree, I still do. I just feel bad about it now. At the time, I was the youngest actor in our high school to get accolades, articles written for the school paper, and leading or major supporting roles. I hung out with all the seniors and (in that school) the popular kids and the pretty girls all did drama. I found what was to be my home for many years to come, I found the theater. Now, I had been in theater before, but no one had ever encouraged me the way that Twink did. Nor had I ever been regarded as good at it before. Now I had an identity.

I began on the speech and debate team after that, doing dramatic interpretation with a piece by Guy du Maupassant which was truly disturbing about a guy who kills his wife and enjoys it. It creeped people out but I was not successful. I also decided to do duet acting with my friend Matt as Lenny and me as George in John Steinbeck's "Of Mice and Men." Matt was a huge guy and was hilarious, he went to state that year in Humorous Interpretation, as did my friend Colleen, but we could never work out a schedule to rehearse and we ended up letting it go. So, I asked Darin to play the part of Lenny but when we went to our coach, Lucinda Reed, she thought it just didn't work and instead told us to do a scene from "the Odd Couple" with Darin as Oscar and me as Felix. It was a fortuitous suggestion. Our first tournament was at Canon City High School and Darin and I scored a perfect score of 50 and won the tournament. I was so excited I was beside myself. We rode that bit into the state finals, but did not win. Throughout the year, we won a number of trophies and medals, but I think everyone had seen us do it by the time we got to state. It was suggested that we change bits, but we decided it had been good to us, so we kept it.

In January of 1983, I got the lead of Charley in a one-act play, "Adam's Rib Hurts." We performed both at the school in conjunction with another one-act, but also in a one-act festival. I abused the situation on stage and kissed (for real) my co-star Kristi. Years later, I would see Kristi on TV...she is a cop now and they followed her around on Fox's Cops. At the time, she and Debbie gave me a hard time about it, but just laughed at me. I was young and silly and they thought it as cute that I actually kissed her in the scene rather than a stage kiss. I made excuses, but yeah, it was on purpose.

Around the same time, I went to the town DMV and got a learner's permit. My Dad only took me out to learn to drive one time. He got frustrated with me in about 2 minutes and ended the lesson. I did not get my license when my birthday rolled around because Dad would not sign off on it until we practiced, but he never wanted to practice. In April that year we did the school musical, "My Fair Lady." Darin recieved a bigger part than I did and honestly, I was pretty bent. In May we went to the ITS (International Thespian Society) convention in Denver. We did not perform, but I had put together enough points from other productions to become a member. Soon after we returned we did a production of the 16th century morality play, "Everyman." I don't know what Twink was thinking, it was awful. I was the stage designer for it. The first night 11 people came, the second night 8 people came, no joke. My friend Colleen actually looked right into the audience at one point and said "F*** this" in the middle of her ridiculously long Elizabethan monologue. You could hear her Mom cracking up backstage.

Darin turned 18 in late may about two weeks before he graduated. Dad made good on his rule that we had to move out on our 18th birthday and Darin got an apartment in the Springs with a friend of his and lived there for a couple of months. This caused me a problem though. When I considered this rule....Darin turned 18 two weeks before he graduated, John turned 18 5 months after he graduated....but my birthday is March 4th. Do the math, that sucks!

when things get going

Well, I just feel a bit busy and sleepy lately. However, I wanted to update you all as to the week as Chris sees it, because it is just sooooo interesting (not). But for the 2 to 4 people per day who read my blog, here is the update:

School started for the kids, Zach is enjoying Middle School, but pretending not to; Maggie, as always, thinks it is the best year ever. However, school starting means us getting up before 6am to get the boy ready for the day and that has made Daddy very sleepy. I will adjust, but right now it is tiring and that makes it hard to write...ergo the lack of posts of late. Sorry about that.

The weekend gave me some good material from the Saddleback Church Civil Forum on the Presidency (long name) with Senators Obama and McCain. I found the excercise fascinating and I give a lot of credit to Rick Warren for putting it together. I disagree greatly with almost all of the pundits takes on the night, but when do I not? I came out of it still liking Obama and still not liking McCain. To me, Obama came across as thoughtful and sincere and McCain came across as impulsive and political and very war-loving. But hey, I very well may be biased.

Sunday was our church picnic, where lightning struck the field before I even got there, so almost everyone was gone before we arrived. The few families who showed up late like us found the sun coming out and a generally good time. Some of the kids found a real guinea pig in a drain pipe, we joked about finding a guinea pig "in the wild."

Monday....I hear my Dad and my brother played golf together after 11 years of not speaking to one another. I can't wait to hear how it went. God seems to be letting me be blessed by seeing people redeem their relationships. While I have had some small part (praying, secondary encouragement), it really has had nothing to do with me, but He has allowed me to be blessed by that reunion just the same. And, He has let me be blessed by seeing quite a few people throw off old grudges and reunite. Thanks, God! You are awesome!!

So, here we are on Tuesday. I am having lunch today with my buddy, Dave. It may just shape up to be a good day and a good week. Isn't God cool?

PS- I won $7 in the powerball. I don't know why I play, I never win. I have played some form of the lottery for over twenty years and I have won...are you ready for this? ... I have won $12. That is right, twelve dollars. And yet, somehow I still feel like a winner. Have a great week and here is to God blessing you richly with unexpected joy!!

Part XXVI

It is an interesting thing how the smallest decisions can formulate who you become. I often wonder which came first, did God make me to be a leader/actor/restaurant guy at birth or was it a set of choices and experiences which He used to form who I would later be? I suppose I will never know, but it is fascinating to look back on some of these decisions and experiences and wonder. In the Spring of 1982, I decided not to play baseball, but John got both of us jobs as little league umpires. We were paid $5 per game and that was like an allowance that year. In late May, my friend Cathy White was coaching a little league girl's softball team and asked me if I wanted to assist her. All of the girls were the pretty girls from my school, so without hesitation, I said yes. I really found it to be a stunningly fulfilling position. I decided to do it so I could be near the pretty girls and found myself becoming more a friend and coach to them and it changed my whole outlook on them. I was not the great ballplayer that John and Darin were, but somehow, I was a pretty decent coach and I really took to it. So, it was a real disappointment when I came home one day in June and Dad told me I was going to visit my Mom in California for a while and I would have to give up coaching.

In late June, I boarded a plane in Colorado Springs and flew up to Denver to change flights. In the airport, I met a very nice couple who asked me all kinds of questions about me. Since no one was around to dispute it, and for no reason at all, I made up a whole story about being a world-class high jumper who had taken the State championships with a high-jump of 6'8"...no kidding....I was 5 foot 4 inches at the time. They responded with appropriate oohs and aaahs so that it cemented in me a real joy of living out someone else's life and receiving the adulation which another might gain in their life, but I had never experienced in mine. My Mom and her husband du jour picked me up in Stockton CA and we drove to the place they were still in the middle of building in Camp Connell CA. This "cabin" was huge. I had 5 levels and was a pretty grand house. Also, my Mom and Bud belonged to the local homeowner association which had a recreation facility which was practically a country club. It was only really active during the summer when many kids' families summered in the area and the locals worked at the facility. I went just about everyday and there I met Marlene. Marlene was a lifeguard and generally popular gal who took a liking to me and we began to date. Our parting happened when I did the stalker boy thing and scared her away a few weeks later.

The summer of 1982 turned out to be great fun. I was always doing things with kids from the area and kids from the rec center, from tubing down the Stanislaus river to playing softball. We had a great time and it has always reminded me of the kind of summers away that one only sees in movies. There was activity, romance, laughing and hanging out with people my own age without the judgement that came from people knowing what a dork I was "in real life." While in CA, I stuck to my new story about being a high jumper, but added being the starting quarterback on the football team to the mix. Mom and Bud were pretty well off at this time and I dressed better than I ever had and fit in more with the pretty and popular kids than I ever thought I would. I was disappointed when I returned to Colorado in August and will always hold the summer of 1982 in fond memory. It was the kind of summer every teen boy should have, where he feels accepted and worthwhile. It was not normal for me.

early

I am up early this morning. We have started our new routine and I get up at 5:45 to get Zach up and help him get ready for his day. I do not remember things starting quite so early when I was a kid, but maybe they did. None the less, I am up earlier than I would like to be and preparing for my day. As I sit here, I am overwhelmed by the sense that life speeds by. Amazed by the pace of our lives, I realize that at any moment, I will wake up to my kids graduating from school, getting married, having their own kids and I will wonder where all the time went. I know this, because I feel it already and the kids are still pretty young. This is not an unusual feeling, everyone seems to feel it. So, I will commit to grasping each day, as it were, for the moments to remember. Moments are not the thrill of a good game, or the amount of money I earn, or the things I need to do on any given day. Moments are the real times, face to face with my kids, enjoying life. Moments are slowing down and catching the vision of beauty that the sky shows at sunrise or the look in my daughter's eye when I tell her how beautiful she is. Moments are laughing with Cathy in abject silliness. I want to live for the moment, because if I don't I will let them all pass by.

Part XXV

I had an experience in the fall of 1981 that sort of formed part of who I am. It may have just revealed who I am, I am not sure. In my 9th grade English class, we were reading Julius Caesar, out loud. I believe I had been reading Shakespeare for a while, but this may just be false memory. Anyway, I went up to my English teacher and told her that we should perform this play with all of th 9th graders taking the parts. She thought it was interesting and sent me to see the High School Drama Teacher, Jeff Courtier or as we all called him, Twink. I have absolutely no idea where the Twink came from, there were numerous stories and they changed all the time. Twink became one of my favorite teachers in all of school and my life would have taken a different turn had I never met him.

So, I stopped in to meet with him in his office behind the theater. I said, "Ms. Schaeffer sent me to see you...I think we should put on a show of Julius Caesar..." He barely even looked at me, we were walking the whole time we were talking and we walked back into his office. "I know, she told me, that is pretty ambitious" He said. I began to ramble on and on about how great it would be and how we could do an assembly. The whole time I was talking, he didn't look at me, didn't comment on anything I said, he just kept riflig through an old file cabinet. Finally, he pulled out a folder and out of the folder he pulled out some papers stapled together. He said, looking at me for the first time, "It is too difficult for you to try for your first play, try this." He handed me a one act play with 5 parts about a man on death row. I tried to tell him it was not my first play, but he said it was the first play I had produced. He said he was willing to help me, but that if I wanted to do this 9th grade production, it was my ball and I had to produce it. He did not say this in any way to discourage me, just as a matter of fact. The reality of it all resting on me made me feel small and ill-equipped and I left his office deciding not to do a play. I never told Twink anything, and I honestly believe that he would have been okay with my decision either way. He became important in my story in my sophomore year, but that was the last I saw of him or thought about him for the next year.

The rest of my freshman year went pretty much the way the first part did. It was uneventful for the most part. At some point Darin left town, as I mentioned earlier, but I couldn't tell you now when that was. Just after my 15th birthday, I began a job at the local supermarket. I liked the people I worked with and the job was okay. I did not get paid a lot, $2.90 per hour, and we were not allowed to accept tips for helping people out with their groceries. I made the honor roll or Principal's list both semesters, even though Dad constantly had to check everything I did to make sure I was doing the work. I just wanted to take the tests, which I always got an A on, and skip the homework part...most High School Teachers have no love for that idea.

letter from the front

As many of you know, I love the Thursday morning men's group. This is a phenomenal group of guys and it is a blessing to be among them every week (or almost every week). This morning our talk centered around the idea of contentment and I thought it was pretty revealing. I tend to equate contentment with fulfillment, like I will be contented when I find myself fulfilled, and I am after all a rather hopeless malcontent. But I think my discontent can be directly tied to my lack of trust in the goodness and providence of God, in His plan. When I lack contentment, it is not because God has not fulfilled His purpose for me, but because He has not fulfilled MY purpose for me. The same is true of my anxiety, my fear, my indignation. These are not boiling up at the thought of God's will not being done, but at the thought of MY will not being done. Things do not "go my way" and I throw a tantrum. I mean, sure, I don't want to think of it that way, but there really is no way around it. I didn't get my way and now I am pissed.

It got a little harder when I began to look at the other side of that coin. What about when I get angry at myself? How about when I feel like a failure? Who have I let down? God expects nothing from me but life to the fullest, nothing but love, joy, patience, peace, understanding, self-control ... all things that I can not do on my own, so really He expects it of Himself living through me. He expects nothing of me, He just invites me to live, breathe and move with Him. What expectation did I not live up to? Mine. If God sets the highest expectation and He expects nothing from me, then even my feelings of low self-worth and failure are self-involved attempts to play God with my life. He loves me, He created me for greatness, and I don't need to figure it all out and follow my plan. I just need to run through the fields with the Maker of the Universe. He invites me to walk with Him, to work along side Him. He does not need me, He just likes me there. That is both refreshing and inspiring.

story rule #1

Story rule #1 is: "Don't write your story when you are feeling bad about yourself."

It is funny how my musings are very effected by how I am feeling at the time. As I read back over some of these entries, I am amazed at how obvious my state of mind is. If I am mad at Mom, that comes out from a story at the time. If Dad is being nice to me, I do not see his treatment during my childhood in quite such a harsh light. If I am feeling bad about myself, or worthless as the case was last week, I paint a rather pathetic picture of myself. It is not that the stories are any less true, the are simply colored by my current perspective. I find the best ones to have been written when I was sort of neutral about everything. I guess I would really say, be aware of your emotional state when you are writing your story. Sometimes you can't control it (or perhaps can't ever control it), but you can balance it if you can see what you are doing.

fever

hey, folks. I need a little prayer for myself and my family. If you have a chance, please say a word for me (103 degree fever), Maggie (102), Zach (100) and Cathy (no fever yet, but she will). I really appreciate it, this sucks something fierce. Thanks!

Part XXIV

Darin had moved back in at the beginning of the school year in 1981 and things were pretty much going along as usual, with the fear in the house at normal levels and three teen boys in the throws of dating anyone who would oblige to be seen with us. In fairness, more girls were willing to be seen with Darin and John than with me, but I was still pretty heavy in my geek phase (which I hear will end anytime now). I would like to say I remember why Darin ran away again, but I just do not remember. I remember that Dad had pushed him up against the wall and that Darin ran down our street screaming at him curses and pain. It was early december 1981 and things were not great in the house financially. As an adult, I can understand the stress this puts on parents, especially the "bread winner", but as a kid it just seemed another way that things were not going my way. It never ceases to amaze me just how self-centered I was, how little I noticed the pain in other people's lives and how quick I was to latch on to any perceived slight.

So, Darin ran and John and I joked about splitting up his Christmas presents betwen us. Our grasp of what both my brother and my Dad were going through was so weak and our character so puny, that we made fun of it. In the end, we put all of Darin's presents in a box and delivered them to him at another girlfriend's house. Sometime soon after that, one of Darin's friends convinced him to move out of state and he went to live with my aunt and cousin for a bit. I was not there, but Darin does not recall that time with fondness. His friend ran out on him, he left my aunts house in CA and moved to TX. He was destitute and needy and he called my mom for help and she hung up on him. He was sixteen years old and had no one to help him. I was too stupid to notice and too self-involved to try to help. For me, Darin was off living the grand adventure and my life went on. Without Darin there, John and I became a little closer but my ability to make things up always shocked him and confused him. In March, I turned 15 and got my first real job at the town supermarket. I was paid $2.90 per hour when the minimum wage was $3.10. It was a small town and if you wanted a job, you took what you could get. I remember my Dad thanking me for buying some toiletries for myself and I didn't understand why. I never even got just how poor we were, I bought them because it never occurred to me that my parents might do so. If I had, I would have asked them to without reservation. I often hear of kids who pitch in for their families during tough times. I was not one of those kids. I was all about me.

by our love

The Bible says that they will know we are believers by our love for one another. How well do we do that? As many of you know, I recently have been up for a position with the national office and the process has been difficult, to say the least. Whenever I speak to my friends who work there about this process, they chuckle and say something like, "yeah, we are not good at that part." Which part? The people part? Seriously?

We are not only called to be stewards of the financial blessings which God has bestowed on us, but also the rich blessing of those things which He made in His own image. What a great benefit to have these creations of the Most High, which we can all take care of, which we can all enjoy. Now, I will grant that some of us (me) are not always enjoyable and I think that someone would have to think outside the box to see me in this position, so I am not complaining if I do not get the position. I am doing alright and do not NEED the job, I just wanted to pour myself into something that I care about and at which many people, myself included, think I have a certain skill. My friend Peter said to me the other day, "One of our values is that lost people matter to God. I wonder if we need to be reminded that found people do also." I don't think this is the context in which he was expressing this thought, but it seems to fit the bill, so I will use it.

Here is my challenge, as much to myself as to you, make it known that people matter. Make it known through your words, but more importantly, make it known through your actions. Treat people as if they are important, as if you see them for the beautiful creations they are, the wonderful gift they are. Treat them with kindness, love, care, truth and goodness. One of my mantras is "live every day as if you really believe what you say you believe." Let us do this in all areas, but mostly in treating others as God sees them, as valuable. I will make it my mission, will you?

your story

This morning after men's group, some of us spent some time talking (okay, I didn't leave until 10am). The subject, among many others, was telling your story, analyzing your story, figuring your story out. This is the element most present in engaging people's hearts and I think it is why Jesus used story so effectively and often. My question is this: Do you think people nned help learning how to identify key elements of their story and how to communicate their story? I have considered some opportunities which may arise to help guide some folks through this and wanted to see if any people who read my little dog-and-pony show have an interest in this endeavor. Also, what are your thoughts on story and how does it effect your impact in the world?

Thanks for any input

Part XXIII

This is the part of the story where I show what a kind and wonderful person I am...or not. Brenda and I were pretty close when we started High School. However, my complete obsession with my own personal interests, to the exclusion of all else, would not hide itself for long. Since all I ever thought about was myself, it made it pretty hard to care about anyone else. It all came to a head on homecoming night. Many girls wore prom-style dresses at our school, because homecoming and the senior prom were the only somewhat formal dances our school had. Since I was 14 and my folks were not the kind to lend a hand to the car-less boy, I agreed to meet Brenda at the dance. Did I buy a corsage? No, I did not. I am pretty sure she bought the tickets, which became a theme in my high school years. When she arrived, she was wearing a very pretty flowered dress, which I guess was just not fancy enough for me. I asked her what she was wearing and asked if she remembered that it was somewhat formal. As I look back on this, knowing more about girls than I did at the time, I realize just how hurtful this was. When I think back on how I must have made her feel, I can do little but cringe at what an incredible, thoughtless, self-centered jerk I was. She cried, I rolled my eyes, we broke up, I danced with some other guy's date all night (yeah, I am sure that made his night also). I was a peach and I wish I could say that was the worst of it, but I went into my jerk stage of life with gusto. I can honestly say, no matter what happened in my upbringing to set me up for failure, every bad deed I have ever done has been a choice of mine. No matter how ill-equipped for life I was, I chose to be a jerk, I chose to think only of myself, I chose to lie, to steal, to cheat and to manipulate. No one made me do it. So, if you ever read this, Brenda...it was all me, I was an ass in the truest sense of the word.

To further increase my standing as the most unreliable person on the planet, I made other decisions that fall. One other that I regret is that I just decided one day to quit football because I didn't feel like going to practice. I went to talk to the coach and told him I was too afraid of being hit. This was such a bald-faced lie, but was pathetic enough that I thought he would not tell the whole team. His answer was fascinating. "Everyone is afraid" he said, "it is what you do with the fear that matters." When I think back on the wisdom that was rained on me by teachers as I grew up and how I just discarded it, I again can not blame anyone but myself for my fortunes going forward. For every bad situation, I had a great one right next to it. I chose, as many people do, to look at the bad and use it as an excuse for evil behavior and evil intent. To paraphrase Robert Frost, I chose the path most taken. There is nothing dignified or noble in this.