I'm about to do something interesting. I'm going to describe a few people, and I want you to try and visualize them. Try and gain a deep perspective of what these people have in common. I'll eliminate the first wrong guess about this, the right answer isn't "They're all female"
The first friend is someone who has the creative bug like few other people I know. She makes bags that she sells.If I had pictures I'd post them (so stay tuned for updates!) She loves taking pictures and actually had pictures of our group of friends taken when I graduated, and gave them to us in a nice picture frame. She's also generous with her creativity. She gave me coupons for blankets to use when I got married as wedding gift, and she took a bunch of my shirts from concerts, school, and other life events and is in process of making me a t-shirt quilt. She always thinks of creative things to make, and she does really great things.
The second friend is someone who sort of boggles my mind. It's a good thing other things hold our friendship together, because our fundamental beliefs seem vastly different. I could pick almost any topic to discuss, and I feel like she could find a way to completely disagree. This friend sometimes says things that I can hardly believe someone can say at all, and does so in a way that sometimes feels like a personal attack. Other times she just feels like Comrade Yoschenko from "Silk Stockings". Yikes.
The third friend is someone who makes me laugh a lot. We were in the grocery store the other day joking about the time I made her cry in Junior High. When we get together we always are laughing. She was one of my first and best friends when I came back from my LDS mission, and she'd drive me to church. We always joke a little about our other friends. She is one of my funniest friends. For example, when we were in high school, she (against my will) played "Odds or Evens" with my Leg Hairs. When I finally guessed correctly I made her pay me back in a most amusing way that we still laugh about.
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My fourth friend is a ginger. I could stop there, but she's one of my friends that I gained a deeper understanding for as we grew older. I didn't realize that she didn't have such great self image, and she sometimes didn't have the support of those who she ought to have had. Me included. Some times we feel awkward telling people the nice truth about them. It doesn't matter if we're really close, or simply acquaintances Society seems to not be able to get past the notion that you can remind people that they are good looking, or witty, or kind. This friend, even if she's not told frequently enough, or even believes it herself.
The interesting thing about all of this as surely you've guessed (since I'm not a very complex person.) is that these are all the same person. I've thought about writing about this friend over and over for some time. She's like a fine wine, and like most other people. She is complex. My friendship with her is precious to me, because it is not simple. I'd say she has depth of soul, but I already mentioned she's a ginger. She truly is a lady who is passionate about life, even when she tries to be tough. She has tear ducts, yet she is strong. She is intelligent, but also completely goofy.
Sometimes people have much more depth than we imagine.
Also, Merry Christmas. :)
Monday, December 24, 2012
Saturday, October 20, 2012
The Music Man
I write a great deal about my friends that are female, because in terms of quantity, I have many many more of them. Today I'm writing about one of the best men I've ever had the privilege of being mandatory best friends with. I hope I can do him Justice on this one.
If you're LDS, you can probably skip this next paragraph, but if you're not, or if you don't even know what LDS means, this bit of explanation may be insightful for you. LDS missionaries go in pairs to teach people about the Gospel of Jesus Christ. They're given a specific geographic area to find and teach people, and they go in pairs teaching people, and serving them, and the communities they live in. Missionaries don't pick where they go, they don't pick who they're with, but because they desire to have the Spirit of God with them, and peace as they teach people about how to find peace, the missionary you serve with kind of becomes your mandatory best friend. Traditionally, men couldn't serve until they were 19 (but were culturally obligated to do so as soon as they turned 19) and could go all the way to age 26, and women were able to serve at age 21 if they so desired (but the cultural obligations were not as strong) but can go at any age after that. (The age thing recently changed, but it's important to understand in context of this story.)
So this Mandatory best friend of mine received a letter at age 19 stating that he was going to be laboring for the souls of men for two years in the great state of Ohio, the northern part including Cleveland, Akron and Kirtland. He prepared, bought clothes, said good byes, and the Sunday before his departure came and he got up to give a talk in church. He did so, and at the end said something to the effect of, "I know you're all expecting me to talk about how excited I am to be going on a mission. I have decided however that I'm not going to serve a mission." For contextual purposes, this would be like a Top High School Football recruit saying at his press conference on signing day, "I know you're all expecting me to be very proud to attend school on scholarship at THE Ohio State University, but I have decided that I'd rather sell hotdogs on a corner in Columbus." It was shocking, because it never happens. It's also such a great privilege, and also a bit of a cultural norm that having someone say something like that is kind of asking to be shunned in the LDS community.
To the everlasting credit of his church congregation, they embraced him and were proud of him for not going when his heart wasn't in it. So this young man, being a man of great musical ability, spent the next few years doing what he did. He got into some trouble with his friends. He played Slap Bass, Guitar, Harmonica, and any one of (literally) a dozen other instruments in bars through Southern California and Nevada. His faith was pretty shaken, though it hadn't ever been rock solid before, and he just went on living.
Over the next three years or so, as he did this, he would attend other churches, muslim mosques, and spent some time with his mom at a Jewish Synagogue where she studied Hebrew. Many times, he would come back and say, "Mom, I can't be a Mormon. I was at this place and I heard ______. I believe that." His mom would look at him and say, "Son, WE believe that." She'd then show him in her scriptures where her evidence of those things was.
My mandatory best friend reached a turning point when a friend of his who was a girl (but not a girlfriend) went on a hike with him. They sat on top of a mountain and talked, and she told him as she was preparing to go be a missionary that he needed to as well. He took that to heart, and decided to get his life in order and do just that.
Now, the reason I'm writing about this friend of mine today is two-fold.
One was the wonderful friend he was to me in our short 6 weeks as mandatory best friends. He would play the harmonica as we sat at bus stops and people would just come over to talk, which doesn't happen every day to missionaries. He was amiable and could talk to anyone, which is high praise from me, considering I have much of the same gift. He said funny things to me like "You're kind of a strange person Elder Savage (true) but you dated some hot girls (also true)." He was called a second time to Ohio, This time Columbus, but we'd always joke about how he was chasing someone he would have found earlier in Cleveland, and that's why he was in Columbus this time. He would play the mandolin as I did the dishes. He would cook Tofu, and vegetarian Chorizo, and lots of other things that I'd never have tried otherwise. Truly, this friend broadened my horizons.
The other reason is that this friend showed remarkable, incomparable strength of character long after I was gone home. As was mentioned, he was a few years older than your average 19 year old missionary. He also was the son of parents who were older than the average parents of a 22 year old. When one is a missionary, they are called full time. They do not leave. They do not call home. They do not interact with the world outside of their proselyting other than weekly e-mails to their families, and letters from those friends thoughtful enough to send them. Missionaries miss weddings of best friends, and siblings. They miss the birth of nephews and nieces. Super Bowls come and go. Bands Break up. Iconic places from youth burn to the ground. Facebook changes it's format. Technoligies like iPads and tablets are created, and Girlfriends who had promised to wait and be their wife write them off. So much happens that is irrelevant, or to which they are aloof entirely. I heard it once said by a returned missionary that if someone says "Have you heard this song?" or "Seen this movie?" and you've never heard of it, it's probably during those two years you were a missionary.
One thing, and only one, from the outside world can stop that. If an immediate family member dies, you receive a phone call. It's the phone call every elder dreads, and no one wants to have to receive. My friend got it. He flew home for a few days (which is weird at any time) and attended the funeral of his father, and then, knowing he still had people who depended on him in Ohio, he went back. I cannot express my deep admiration for someone being so devoted and so selfless that in the midst of such pain, they would go back. No one would have blamed him if he'd ended there. He was close to done. He was a fantastic missionary. He had already overcome sufficiently to receive a second call (which is a huge aberration of the norm).
It was said recently by a man who had lost his son, "Sometimes people will ask, 'How long did it take you to get over it?' The truth is, you will never completely get over it until you are together once again with your departed loved ones. I will never have a fullness of joy until we are reunited in the morning of the First Ressurection." (Elder Shayne M. Bowen, October 2012 General Conference)
I hope my best friend always remembers how impressive he is to me, and surely to others.
If you're LDS, you can probably skip this next paragraph, but if you're not, or if you don't even know what LDS means, this bit of explanation may be insightful for you. LDS missionaries go in pairs to teach people about the Gospel of Jesus Christ. They're given a specific geographic area to find and teach people, and they go in pairs teaching people, and serving them, and the communities they live in. Missionaries don't pick where they go, they don't pick who they're with, but because they desire to have the Spirit of God with them, and peace as they teach people about how to find peace, the missionary you serve with kind of becomes your mandatory best friend. Traditionally, men couldn't serve until they were 19 (but were culturally obligated to do so as soon as they turned 19) and could go all the way to age 26, and women were able to serve at age 21 if they so desired (but the cultural obligations were not as strong) but can go at any age after that. (The age thing recently changed, but it's important to understand in context of this story.)
So this Mandatory best friend of mine received a letter at age 19 stating that he was going to be laboring for the souls of men for two years in the great state of Ohio, the northern part including Cleveland, Akron and Kirtland. He prepared, bought clothes, said good byes, and the Sunday before his departure came and he got up to give a talk in church. He did so, and at the end said something to the effect of, "I know you're all expecting me to talk about how excited I am to be going on a mission. I have decided however that I'm not going to serve a mission." For contextual purposes, this would be like a Top High School Football recruit saying at his press conference on signing day, "I know you're all expecting me to be very proud to attend school on scholarship at THE Ohio State University, but I have decided that I'd rather sell hotdogs on a corner in Columbus." It was shocking, because it never happens. It's also such a great privilege, and also a bit of a cultural norm that having someone say something like that is kind of asking to be shunned in the LDS community.
To the everlasting credit of his church congregation, they embraced him and were proud of him for not going when his heart wasn't in it. So this young man, being a man of great musical ability, spent the next few years doing what he did. He got into some trouble with his friends. He played Slap Bass, Guitar, Harmonica, and any one of (literally) a dozen other instruments in bars through Southern California and Nevada. His faith was pretty shaken, though it hadn't ever been rock solid before, and he just went on living.
Over the next three years or so, as he did this, he would attend other churches, muslim mosques, and spent some time with his mom at a Jewish Synagogue where she studied Hebrew. Many times, he would come back and say, "Mom, I can't be a Mormon. I was at this place and I heard ______. I believe that." His mom would look at him and say, "Son, WE believe that." She'd then show him in her scriptures where her evidence of those things was.
My mandatory best friend reached a turning point when a friend of his who was a girl (but not a girlfriend) went on a hike with him. They sat on top of a mountain and talked, and she told him as she was preparing to go be a missionary that he needed to as well. He took that to heart, and decided to get his life in order and do just that.
Now, the reason I'm writing about this friend of mine today is two-fold.
One was the wonderful friend he was to me in our short 6 weeks as mandatory best friends. He would play the harmonica as we sat at bus stops and people would just come over to talk, which doesn't happen every day to missionaries. He was amiable and could talk to anyone, which is high praise from me, considering I have much of the same gift. He said funny things to me like "You're kind of a strange person Elder Savage (true) but you dated some hot girls (also true)." He was called a second time to Ohio, This time Columbus, but we'd always joke about how he was chasing someone he would have found earlier in Cleveland, and that's why he was in Columbus this time. He would play the mandolin as I did the dishes. He would cook Tofu, and vegetarian Chorizo, and lots of other things that I'd never have tried otherwise. Truly, this friend broadened my horizons.
The other reason is that this friend showed remarkable, incomparable strength of character long after I was gone home. As was mentioned, he was a few years older than your average 19 year old missionary. He also was the son of parents who were older than the average parents of a 22 year old. When one is a missionary, they are called full time. They do not leave. They do not call home. They do not interact with the world outside of their proselyting other than weekly e-mails to their families, and letters from those friends thoughtful enough to send them. Missionaries miss weddings of best friends, and siblings. They miss the birth of nephews and nieces. Super Bowls come and go. Bands Break up. Iconic places from youth burn to the ground. Facebook changes it's format. Technoligies like iPads and tablets are created, and Girlfriends who had promised to wait and be their wife write them off. So much happens that is irrelevant, or to which they are aloof entirely. I heard it once said by a returned missionary that if someone says "Have you heard this song?" or "Seen this movie?" and you've never heard of it, it's probably during those two years you were a missionary.
One thing, and only one, from the outside world can stop that. If an immediate family member dies, you receive a phone call. It's the phone call every elder dreads, and no one wants to have to receive. My friend got it. He flew home for a few days (which is weird at any time) and attended the funeral of his father, and then, knowing he still had people who depended on him in Ohio, he went back. I cannot express my deep admiration for someone being so devoted and so selfless that in the midst of such pain, they would go back. No one would have blamed him if he'd ended there. He was close to done. He was a fantastic missionary. He had already overcome sufficiently to receive a second call (which is a huge aberration of the norm).
It was said recently by a man who had lost his son, "Sometimes people will ask, 'How long did it take you to get over it?' The truth is, you will never completely get over it until you are together once again with your departed loved ones. I will never have a fullness of joy until we are reunited in the morning of the First Ressurection." (Elder Shayne M. Bowen, October 2012 General Conference)
I hope my best friend always remembers how impressive he is to me, and surely to others.
A Normal Guy.
If you've read much at all of my blog, you know that I've been friends with some of the most incredible people there are. I have friends who have lost family members due to death. I have friend who are highly witty. I have friends who sacrifice major desires and talents for seemingly menial things. I have friends with incredible powers to forgive, and undeniable strength to overcome adversity.
This post isn't much like that at all.
I have a friend whose name I'm actually going to tell you. It's Kirk Johnson. If you search through facebook, there are 465 Kirk Johnsons.If you're not my facebook friend, or his, you probably wouldn't pick him out of a crowd. Kirk was raised as a latter day saint. He's the oldest of several children. His parents met at BYU (very typical for Mormons). He's lived in Utah his whole life. He's white, average height, average build (not stocky, but not slender). He decided to serve a mission when he was 19. He was called to Ohio (which I love, but makes most people go "Meh!" Except every four years during November when political junkies are very invested in Ohio) and wasn't a leader for most of his mission. He has brownish-red hair (though he tries to claim to be a ginger for some odd reason.) He's going to be a computer programmer, and he fits all the linux-loving, Star Trek following, nerdy geekiness that you would assume of such a guy. I mean his self-descritption on facebook says, "I'm Linux user 437442, Crix, a Star Wars Fan, An open source advocate, an overall nerd, and most important, I'm a Mormon." He's going to BYU with his LDS wife, and they will certainly repeat much of what has already been said.
So who cares, right? I mean what's the big deal. You name one thing about this guy, particularly if you're LDS and familiar with the culture, that stands out about him.
What matters about Kirk is that he IS normal.
I have the utmost respect in the world for this guy. First of all, I love the fact that he's a computer geek. The very laptop upon which I am blogging was found and chosen due to his influence. Whenever this laptop has issues, he's the first person I call.
Second, he has ambitions to do good things, but he doesn't let those ambitions make him do stupid things. He's content with who he is. Of all the people I've blogged about, and even more so of the people I know in this world, very few are consistently day-to-day happy with who they are. That is Kirk to a T. Kirk is happy with just being Good. He doesn't need to b world class. He doesn't crave the spotlight, and probably even feels a little weird about the fact that I'm writing about him. He's not perfect, but he's exactly what you'd want. Kirk Johnson is normal. Our world functions because there are people like Kirk. If you don't believe me, you should probably stop using your iPhone, or your car, or taking out your trash. I'm sure that there are others who I could have written this about, but forever, I will be grateful for my very normal friend Kirk Johnson.
"If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as a Michaelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, 'Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.”
― Martin Luther King Jr."
This post isn't much like that at all.
I have a friend whose name I'm actually going to tell you. It's Kirk Johnson. If you search through facebook, there are 465 Kirk Johnsons.If you're not my facebook friend, or his, you probably wouldn't pick him out of a crowd. Kirk was raised as a latter day saint. He's the oldest of several children. His parents met at BYU (very typical for Mormons). He's lived in Utah his whole life. He's white, average height, average build (not stocky, but not slender). He decided to serve a mission when he was 19. He was called to Ohio (which I love, but makes most people go "Meh!" Except every four years during November when political junkies are very invested in Ohio) and wasn't a leader for most of his mission. He has brownish-red hair (though he tries to claim to be a ginger for some odd reason.) He's going to be a computer programmer, and he fits all the linux-loving, Star Trek following, nerdy geekiness that you would assume of such a guy. I mean his self-descritption on facebook says, "I'm Linux user 437442, Crix, a Star Wars Fan, An open source advocate, an overall nerd, and most important, I'm a Mormon." He's going to BYU with his LDS wife, and they will certainly repeat much of what has already been said.
So who cares, right? I mean what's the big deal. You name one thing about this guy, particularly if you're LDS and familiar with the culture, that stands out about him.
What matters about Kirk is that he IS normal.
I have the utmost respect in the world for this guy. First of all, I love the fact that he's a computer geek. The very laptop upon which I am blogging was found and chosen due to his influence. Whenever this laptop has issues, he's the first person I call.
Second, he has ambitions to do good things, but he doesn't let those ambitions make him do stupid things. He's content with who he is. Of all the people I've blogged about, and even more so of the people I know in this world, very few are consistently day-to-day happy with who they are. That is Kirk to a T. Kirk is happy with just being Good. He doesn't need to b world class. He doesn't crave the spotlight, and probably even feels a little weird about the fact that I'm writing about him. He's not perfect, but he's exactly what you'd want. Kirk Johnson is normal. Our world functions because there are people like Kirk. If you don't believe me, you should probably stop using your iPhone, or your car, or taking out your trash. I'm sure that there are others who I could have written this about, but forever, I will be grateful for my very normal friend Kirk Johnson.
"If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as a Michaelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, 'Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.”
― Martin Luther King Jr."
Done it with a smile.
I have a friend who is probably among the most chipper people I've ever met in my life. I'm not talking about the kind of person who is optimistic. I'm an optimist. I'm not talking about the kind of person who is easily entertained, for that, too, applies to me. I mean in truth and soberness I have never seen this person ever EVER not smiling. Even telling stories about getting traffic tickets and crying about it, or being tickled until she peed by her younger brother, this girl is HAPPY. As a freshman in high school a friend of my hypothesized that you could literally smack this girl in the face and she'd still be laughing.
This girl is one of a very small handful of girls who have ever asked me on a date. It was a Sadie Hawkins dance, and it was casual and fun. The group of girls had planned dinner, and games and we spent all evening leading up to the dance at a park. The girls bought T-Shirts that we designed together. Because of this there is a red shirt somewhere in the world that says, "I guess I'm just not as cool as Scott Savage."
Anyway, the main event of this blog took place during a game of kickball. The girls brought one of those huge 36" in diameter kickballs that was huge and really difficult to throw, or really kick for any good distance. Their strategy was to have any of the girls that weren't kicking the ball or running bases to come out and interfere with us. It was fun and cute because, hey, who doesn't like a bunch of girls running at you trying to touch you, right?
I was the pitcher in our little game for reasons that I hope weren't that I'm hopelessly unathletic. After a couple of innings, there were runners on first and third, with one out. I pitched the ball and a girl that wasn't my date gave a decent kick right down the third base line. It slow hopped, but stayed fair. I ran as fast as I could, which, admittedly is not very fast, towards the ball. Just as it was within my grasp, I felt something smash hard against the side of my head.
Then it went black.
The next thing I remember everyone had gathered around me and was checking to make sure I was ok. I asked what had happened as a couple people helped me get slowly to my feed. Someone said that my date had run face first into the side of my head, and that she was bleeding pretty bad. I went over to see how she was, and it didn't look good. From her nose, clear down her chin and in her mouth was a pretty decent amount of blood. Not only was I convinced I had broken her nose, I thought it was probable that there was at least one missing tooth.
But guess what she was doing.
Laughing.
No, my friend DIDN'T have missing teeth. The blood was in her mouth because she was laughing so hard, and smiling so much.We finished out the date, even though I may have been mildly concussed, and she certainly had had better days. It was a good thing our shirts were red.
It's amazing to me that pretty much nothing gets this person down. She chooses how to respond. She is the master of her emotions, and she's controlled them in an EXCELLENT fashion.
It can also be said that this is the same girl who got hit by a truck when she was a pedestrian (hit so hard that there was a Chipper Chica shaped impression in the side of the truck), and got up and was laughing about it. It might also be healthy to mention that the EMTs thought she had suffered a head injury on that occasion, but she hadn't. She just laughed it off.
The Lesson, as always: Laughter is the VERY best medicine. Oh, and my friend? He was right. She laughs even when smacked in the face.
This girl is one of a very small handful of girls who have ever asked me on a date. It was a Sadie Hawkins dance, and it was casual and fun. The group of girls had planned dinner, and games and we spent all evening leading up to the dance at a park. The girls bought T-Shirts that we designed together. Because of this there is a red shirt somewhere in the world that says, "I guess I'm just not as cool as Scott Savage."
Anyway, the main event of this blog took place during a game of kickball. The girls brought one of those huge 36" in diameter kickballs that was huge and really difficult to throw, or really kick for any good distance. Their strategy was to have any of the girls that weren't kicking the ball or running bases to come out and interfere with us. It was fun and cute because, hey, who doesn't like a bunch of girls running at you trying to touch you, right?
I was the pitcher in our little game for reasons that I hope weren't that I'm hopelessly unathletic. After a couple of innings, there were runners on first and third, with one out. I pitched the ball and a girl that wasn't my date gave a decent kick right down the third base line. It slow hopped, but stayed fair. I ran as fast as I could, which, admittedly is not very fast, towards the ball. Just as it was within my grasp, I felt something smash hard against the side of my head.
Then it went black.
The next thing I remember everyone had gathered around me and was checking to make sure I was ok. I asked what had happened as a couple people helped me get slowly to my feed. Someone said that my date had run face first into the side of my head, and that she was bleeding pretty bad. I went over to see how she was, and it didn't look good. From her nose, clear down her chin and in her mouth was a pretty decent amount of blood. Not only was I convinced I had broken her nose, I thought it was probable that there was at least one missing tooth.
But guess what she was doing.
Laughing.
No, my friend DIDN'T have missing teeth. The blood was in her mouth because she was laughing so hard, and smiling so much.We finished out the date, even though I may have been mildly concussed, and she certainly had had better days. It was a good thing our shirts were red.
It's amazing to me that pretty much nothing gets this person down. She chooses how to respond. She is the master of her emotions, and she's controlled them in an EXCELLENT fashion.
It can also be said that this is the same girl who got hit by a truck when she was a pedestrian (hit so hard that there was a Chipper Chica shaped impression in the side of the truck), and got up and was laughing about it. It might also be healthy to mention that the EMTs thought she had suffered a head injury on that occasion, but she hadn't. She just laughed it off.
The Lesson, as always: Laughter is the VERY best medicine. Oh, and my friend? He was right. She laughs even when smacked in the face.
Saturday, September 1, 2012
A Place Off Ocean Avenue
I don't understand a lot of things. I've said many times in this blog that I've been blessed with the best friends ever. Sometimes those friendships deteriorate, and sometimes loose ends aren't always tied up. Mark Twain once said, "It's no wonder that truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense." Real life doesn't always. Sometimes it just happens.
I wrote a blog post a while ago called, "Oh yeah, I forgot!" The friend that inspired that blog post was also the friend that inspired this journal entry from early 2010:
"Today I had another one of those realizations that people talk about, but that never rung true; it was a sad one. I discovered that, in all reality, I will never talk to some of the people who had once been my dear friends again. Let's be real. Most of my best friends are girls, and someday they'll get married and have families. I will get to keep one girl. For most of these people, I am done in their lives. I'd love to be able to hang out, and be super chummy with all their families and live in a big society of doing fun things forever. It just doesn't work that way. I think the greatest tragedy is that some of these people will fade from my memory. How will I remember the casual friends, if I rarely hear from the best friends? It's a grief that I almost cannot suppress. I wish I had kept better Journals. In my many dates, plethora of jokes, stories, fights and just every day happenstance, I could have kept the great legacy of some truly great people alive in my own life. I suppose that as life goes on, I'll find that these people still push along just fine without me. I wish I didn't have to lose them."
It's this feeling that my friends walk away from me, or stop caring that has gotten to me lately and made me want to blog about one of the few people in my life I've ever considered my best friend.
I'm not sure that I should bore you, dear, beloved reader with the time that I met this friend. After all, there's nothing truly special about asking the girl next to you for a piece of paper in your science class. Though I must admit, this is one of the few starts to friendship that I do remember.
I think I'd be embarrassed sick if anyone other than me knew the extent of weirdness my crush on this girl had. For the better part of, what, six years? I did all kinds of weird things in regard to this girl, all with the hope that at some point she might tell me she was interested in me. I mean, if we hadn't been such good friends, I'd definitely have been bordering on stalking sometimes. Which, you know, maybe I was anyway.
I think that there were points in my life where this friend and I talked for hours every day. We'd stay up super late during the summer, and probably a fair amount during the school year talking on MSN messenger, and playing Minesweeper Flags, or Solitaire Showdown. And we'd talk about everything. I don't think there's one thing this friend couldn't get out of me, or really me of her.
There are too many times to count where we'd pass notes in class, either through calculators, or rolling notes on the floor, or choosing to sit next to one another and just doing it in a notebook the old fashioned way. Few of our teachers ever caught us.
There are dozens of awkward moments that made me laugh, like time time that she had a slip of the tongue making it sound like the boy she had the hotts for had gotten her pregnant. The time she loudly cat-called that same boy from the back of the gym when he was in a play. The time that lots of jealous boys were convinced that I was going to kiss her on the last day of school because I was transferring schools so they made a big deal of not letting me be around her when she signed my yearbook. The numerous times I said things that were uncomfortable, because despite being my best friend, I had a crush on her.
We also were there for each other a lot more than I ever realized. I watched her competed in drill competitions, attended her Miss (our home town) pageants, and cheered loudly for her tap number in said competition. She came and saw me compete in my high school's spoof Mr. Universe contest. She was the first friend I called when I got my first kiss, and she promptly called me a VERY rude name that sounds suspiciously like "Man-Chore". When she dated a pretty crappy guy, (or two) in high school, we talked about it, and she knew that I'd be happy to get beat up trying to fight one of those guys for hurting her (because some of them were wrestlers, or football players, and I'm trying to be a Drama teacher, so I mean, I could pantomime them, but that's about it.) She and her awesome sister were even there for me when none of my other friends were at a really dark point in my life. They came and visited me when I couldn't leave the house, they did things with me, and they talked to me. She'd come visit me at work, and did all the things you'd ever want in a best friend.
We did all the things best friends should do. She picked the best cologne for me (which is no longer made, but which I still have some of), I encouraged her to splurge on clothes when she wanted to. We cheated on a test, or perhaps several in 9th grade biology. Went to lunch together, and she was nice enough to let me pay. We went on a couple actual dates. We talked about where the best places to kiss someone would be. We both were, and are, people who have Disney pumping through our veins. When we were in tables of three in that same biology class we kicked the other kid off our table to do projects (or cheat on tests) together. We knew one another's families, and her littlest sister is, to this day, the cutest little girl I know.
But something happened. It's taken me years to really figure it out. Truly, I didn't understand why what felt like such a powerful friendship in 8th and 9th grade turned into a friendship that, really, I almost resented.
Many of the things I talked about happened after ninth grade. But we were at different schools, leading different lives, not really involved with one another. My life was good. Hers was good. I should have been happy for the things going on with her, but I wasn't. I realized a long long long time later, that really, I just resented the fact that my friendship didn't become what I wanted it to become as a high school boy. I wanted to date her. I didn't care at the time about the fact that she hung out with me, or that she put up with a LOT of things that I said and did that weren't kind. I didn't care that she treated my like a friend, when I was convinced she MUST view me as an inferior, because if she viewed me as an equal she'd be mad about me. I felt like, because I treasured nearly every second that I'd ever spend with this friend as a bit of gold that was too good to let go of, some how her contributions to our friendship were lesser, or not as important. In essence, I allowed my own toxin, my own dirty windows as it were, to not be able to look clearly at the best best friend I had, for many years.
So, really, all I have to say to this friend, is that I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't act normally around you. Sorry that my standards were different for you than anyone else. I'm sorry that I felt the need to be appreciated in any little thing I did to or for you; Sorry that every time you had something else going on, or I was unable to spend time with you in the way I wanted to, I took it really personally. I'm sorry that I let the cloud of a crush detract from your being an absolutely excellent person, and someone who has accomplished great things. It took me realizing that you were going to marry someone else to begin to let go of things, and to realize that's not what either of us would have liked out of this friendship anyway. I'm super grateful that you were a mature enough friend to never take advantage of the fact that I liked you, and that you have been able to forgive (and presumably forget) some of my more foolish moments in life.
I think this is my longest blog post to this point, and even it feels inadequate to describe the barrels of laughs we've shared, and some of the angst as well. While not being my best friend ever (That would be my darling wife), you have always been one of the best.
Thank you. Thank you SO much.
I wrote a blog post a while ago called, "Oh yeah, I forgot!" The friend that inspired that blog post was also the friend that inspired this journal entry from early 2010:
"Today I had another one of those realizations that people talk about, but that never rung true; it was a sad one. I discovered that, in all reality, I will never talk to some of the people who had once been my dear friends again. Let's be real. Most of my best friends are girls, and someday they'll get married and have families. I will get to keep one girl. For most of these people, I am done in their lives. I'd love to be able to hang out, and be super chummy with all their families and live in a big society of doing fun things forever. It just doesn't work that way. I think the greatest tragedy is that some of these people will fade from my memory. How will I remember the casual friends, if I rarely hear from the best friends? It's a grief that I almost cannot suppress. I wish I had kept better Journals. In my many dates, plethora of jokes, stories, fights and just every day happenstance, I could have kept the great legacy of some truly great people alive in my own life. I suppose that as life goes on, I'll find that these people still push along just fine without me. I wish I didn't have to lose them."
It's this feeling that my friends walk away from me, or stop caring that has gotten to me lately and made me want to blog about one of the few people in my life I've ever considered my best friend.
I'm not sure that I should bore you, dear, beloved reader with the time that I met this friend. After all, there's nothing truly special about asking the girl next to you for a piece of paper in your science class. Though I must admit, this is one of the few starts to friendship that I do remember.
I think I'd be embarrassed sick if anyone other than me knew the extent of weirdness my crush on this girl had. For the better part of, what, six years? I did all kinds of weird things in regard to this girl, all with the hope that at some point she might tell me she was interested in me. I mean, if we hadn't been such good friends, I'd definitely have been bordering on stalking sometimes. Which, you know, maybe I was anyway.
I think that there were points in my life where this friend and I talked for hours every day. We'd stay up super late during the summer, and probably a fair amount during the school year talking on MSN messenger, and playing Minesweeper Flags, or Solitaire Showdown. And we'd talk about everything. I don't think there's one thing this friend couldn't get out of me, or really me of her.
There are too many times to count where we'd pass notes in class, either through calculators, or rolling notes on the floor, or choosing to sit next to one another and just doing it in a notebook the old fashioned way. Few of our teachers ever caught us.
There are dozens of awkward moments that made me laugh, like time time that she had a slip of the tongue making it sound like the boy she had the hotts for had gotten her pregnant. The time she loudly cat-called that same boy from the back of the gym when he was in a play. The time that lots of jealous boys were convinced that I was going to kiss her on the last day of school because I was transferring schools so they made a big deal of not letting me be around her when she signed my yearbook. The numerous times I said things that were uncomfortable, because despite being my best friend, I had a crush on her.
We also were there for each other a lot more than I ever realized. I watched her competed in drill competitions, attended her Miss (our home town) pageants, and cheered loudly for her tap number in said competition. She came and saw me compete in my high school's spoof Mr. Universe contest. She was the first friend I called when I got my first kiss, and she promptly called me a VERY rude name that sounds suspiciously like "Man-Chore". When she dated a pretty crappy guy, (or two) in high school, we talked about it, and she knew that I'd be happy to get beat up trying to fight one of those guys for hurting her (because some of them were wrestlers, or football players, and I'm trying to be a Drama teacher, so I mean, I could pantomime them, but that's about it.) She and her awesome sister were even there for me when none of my other friends were at a really dark point in my life. They came and visited me when I couldn't leave the house, they did things with me, and they talked to me. She'd come visit me at work, and did all the things you'd ever want in a best friend.
We did all the things best friends should do. She picked the best cologne for me (which is no longer made, but which I still have some of), I encouraged her to splurge on clothes when she wanted to. We cheated on a test, or perhaps several in 9th grade biology. Went to lunch together, and she was nice enough to let me pay. We went on a couple actual dates. We talked about where the best places to kiss someone would be. We both were, and are, people who have Disney pumping through our veins. When we were in tables of three in that same biology class we kicked the other kid off our table to do projects (or cheat on tests) together. We knew one another's families, and her littlest sister is, to this day, the cutest little girl I know.
But something happened. It's taken me years to really figure it out. Truly, I didn't understand why what felt like such a powerful friendship in 8th and 9th grade turned into a friendship that, really, I almost resented.
Many of the things I talked about happened after ninth grade. But we were at different schools, leading different lives, not really involved with one another. My life was good. Hers was good. I should have been happy for the things going on with her, but I wasn't. I realized a long long long time later, that really, I just resented the fact that my friendship didn't become what I wanted it to become as a high school boy. I wanted to date her. I didn't care at the time about the fact that she hung out with me, or that she put up with a LOT of things that I said and did that weren't kind. I didn't care that she treated my like a friend, when I was convinced she MUST view me as an inferior, because if she viewed me as an equal she'd be mad about me. I felt like, because I treasured nearly every second that I'd ever spend with this friend as a bit of gold that was too good to let go of, some how her contributions to our friendship were lesser, or not as important. In essence, I allowed my own toxin, my own dirty windows as it were, to not be able to look clearly at the best best friend I had, for many years.
So, really, all I have to say to this friend, is that I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't act normally around you. Sorry that my standards were different for you than anyone else. I'm sorry that I felt the need to be appreciated in any little thing I did to or for you; Sorry that every time you had something else going on, or I was unable to spend time with you in the way I wanted to, I took it really personally. I'm sorry that I let the cloud of a crush detract from your being an absolutely excellent person, and someone who has accomplished great things. It took me realizing that you were going to marry someone else to begin to let go of things, and to realize that's not what either of us would have liked out of this friendship anyway. I'm super grateful that you were a mature enough friend to never take advantage of the fact that I liked you, and that you have been able to forgive (and presumably forget) some of my more foolish moments in life.
I think this is my longest blog post to this point, and even it feels inadequate to describe the barrels of laughs we've shared, and some of the angst as well. While not being my best friend ever (That would be my darling wife), you have always been one of the best.
Thank you. Thank you SO much.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Girl Power!
No. Really. I swear I'm going to, at some point get to "Too Hot! Part II". But this is something I felt the desire to share. Since it's my blog, I'll do what I want; and this is it.
So imagine two pretty normal people. Good looking. Mid to late 20's. Married. Unfortunately from Michigan, and fans of Michigan state. No one's perfect. They love missionaries (especially ones like me who were really cool) and they are great cooks. They have two kids. Two beautiful, wonderful, special kids. One of those kids is a little girl. She has it pretty rough. I want to take a minute to use my blog as a vehicle (8 passenger apparently) to share a little bit about the challenges this girl, and in turn, her awesome parents, have to face.
I would like to add that I've met this family, and they're not one of those, "Pay attention to me! My life is hard!" parents. They're good people actively involved in good causes, but they keep a low profile and have hearts of Gold. Let them tell you about Brynn Hileman, their daughter.
My husband and I always knew we wanted to be parents when we were married. On November 15, 2006, we were blessed with an angel from above. Brynn Peyton Hileman.
Brynn has brought so much joy to our lives and is the most amazing child. If you are having a down day, she will always make you smile.
Brynn was a little late at doing most things as an infant. She rolled over late, sat up late, and crawled late. We knew something was wrong, but couldn't figure out exactly what. This was when Brynn was 14 months old. Her pediatrician said if she is not walking by the time she is 2, we will refer you to Neurology.
So her 2nd birthday was here and she still was not walking. We then go to the neurologist who refers us to the Developmental Clinic to test for autism. The results are that she does not have autism, but suspect that she may have Rett Syndrome.
We then proceed to see the neurologist on April 27, 2009, where it was confirmed that Brynn does have MECP2 mutation that is consistent with Rett Syndrome.
We now know what is wrong with our sweet little angel from above and are very blessed to know about Rett Syndrome. Brynn teaches us a little about her world and we teach her a little about ours. She may not be able to walk or talk, but we are NEVER going to give up. We joined GP2C for support and to raise awareness about Rett Syndrome. We hold a 5k annually in honor of Brynn to raise awareness and funds for our cure! If you see our sweet little angel with a SMILE on her face, Smile back. It's just Brynn's way of saying "Hello".
http://girls.girlpower2cure.org/brynn
For those of us who don't know what exactly Rhett Syndrom is, please follow this link.
http://www.girlpower2cure.org/who-we-are/rett-syndrome.aspx
I would also note that they have a wonderful son who also has face many challenges. One kid with a lot of needs is one thing. Two? That's your ticket to sainthood.
Again, I wish I could do justice about telling about the Hilemans, but they are world class. They have handled the challenges presented to them with such grace and power. It's truly a miracle.
So imagine two pretty normal people. Good looking. Mid to late 20's. Married. Unfortunately from Michigan, and fans of Michigan state. No one's perfect. They love missionaries (especially ones like me who were really cool) and they are great cooks. They have two kids. Two beautiful, wonderful, special kids. One of those kids is a little girl. She has it pretty rough. I want to take a minute to use my blog as a vehicle (8 passenger apparently) to share a little bit about the challenges this girl, and in turn, her awesome parents, have to face.
I would like to add that I've met this family, and they're not one of those, "Pay attention to me! My life is hard!" parents. They're good people actively involved in good causes, but they keep a low profile and have hearts of Gold. Let them tell you about Brynn Hileman, their daughter.
My husband and I always knew we wanted to be parents when we were married. On November 15, 2006, we were blessed with an angel from above. Brynn Peyton Hileman.
Brynn has brought so much joy to our lives and is the most amazing child. If you are having a down day, she will always make you smile.
Brynn was a little late at doing most things as an infant. She rolled over late, sat up late, and crawled late. We knew something was wrong, but couldn't figure out exactly what. This was when Brynn was 14 months old. Her pediatrician said if she is not walking by the time she is 2, we will refer you to Neurology.
So her 2nd birthday was here and she still was not walking. We then go to the neurologist who refers us to the Developmental Clinic to test for autism. The results are that she does not have autism, but suspect that she may have Rett Syndrome.
We then proceed to see the neurologist on April 27, 2009, where it was confirmed that Brynn does have MECP2 mutation that is consistent with Rett Syndrome.
We now know what is wrong with our sweet little angel from above and are very blessed to know about Rett Syndrome. Brynn teaches us a little about her world and we teach her a little about ours. She may not be able to walk or talk, but we are NEVER going to give up. We joined GP2C for support and to raise awareness about Rett Syndrome. We hold a 5k annually in honor of Brynn to raise awareness and funds for our cure! If you see our sweet little angel with a SMILE on her face, Smile back. It's just Brynn's way of saying "Hello".
http://girls.girlpower2cure.org/brynn
For those of us who don't know what exactly Rhett Syndrom is, please follow this link.
http://www.girlpower2cure.org/who-we-are/rett-syndrome.aspx
I would also note that they have a wonderful son who also has face many challenges. One kid with a lot of needs is one thing. Two? That's your ticket to sainthood.
Again, I wish I could do justice about telling about the Hilemans, but they are world class. They have handled the challenges presented to them with such grace and power. It's truly a miracle.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Grandma's Legacy
I have never wanted to write a blog post less in my life. I'd give all the cookies in the cookie jar to not feel like I needed to get this out, but, sadly, I cannot.
My dad's side of the family is pretty intense. We're loud, but not rowdy, or rambunctious, we are just loud. We talk loud. We laugh loud. We have differing political views. We're all incredibly good looking. We love good food, and company. We come across a little too strong some times, but we're super loving. We debate, but never hate. We're together all the time. We make jokes about everything. We tell all the stories to everyone. Not in a gossipy way. Just because we're pretty damn funny. It's just what we do. Some people don't have the luxury of having close relationships on a personal level with ALL their aunts, uncles and cousins. I do. I could walk in the front door of any of their houses and start drinking the milk out of their fridge and it wouldn't seem out of the ordinary. I love my family. If you think I have good friends, you wouldn't BELIEVE how great my family is. Quirky. Easy to please. Smart people. Loving. Savage. That's us.
So I hate having to write this blog post, because I am not sure I can ever do my family justice. Not on the whole. Not individually.
I have to try though, at least in my own way. I have a lot to say, and it's going to be kind of word vomited, so just push on.
Tonight I lost my Grandma. Vicki Martin Savage. She was just a couple months short of 73. I'm going to be honest; that's not really old. On Thurdsay night about midnight, I got a call from my dad saying that my Grandma was in Washington (she lives in Utah) and might not make it through the night as her heart condition finally took it's toll. My super awesome supportive wife packed our bags the next day (though she was recovering from surgery) and steadied me as we drove down to Utah to be with Family. My dad and Grandpa were going to drive her back to Utah if they could.
She took the time to call everyone and I got to tell her about getting straight A's for the first time in my life, and she told me a funny story. She was upbeat. I thought for sure she'd be ok. 11 years ago she was told she had less than a year to live from a dissected aorta. She's been keeping on ever since. Occasionally things would happen, but she never seemed like she was ill. That's my Grandma. Optimism. Jokes. Playing Rook, or Phase 10, or Skip Bo with us, and playing to win. Always with love. Always laughing, but she did not like to lose.
So Saturday afternoon, I went to go be with my brothers and mom waiting for my dad to return and let us know we could go visit Grandma. When he was less than an hour away, he called and said we'd be able to come by that night as long as she wasn't too tired. They'd been playing word games and telling jokes. They got to the exit just before their home, and with two short breaths, she was gone.
For personal reasons, I won't get into how people reacted, but suffice it to say, many tears were shed, and, in true Savage form, many jokes were told.
So I want to talk really about two important things.
First, what defines my Grandma. She was always nice to everyone. Not in a "I don't say the bad things I think" kind of way. Simply in a "Let's be friends!" kind of way. She embraced the role of Grandma with all the power of her soul. She laughed easily. She told stories. She baked and cooked, and would sneak money and candy to her Grandkids when Grandpa said no. She thought she was stealthy, but, for all her good traits, she wasn't sneaky. She hugged everyone. She loved herself, and her family. She called us on our Birthdays, and would apologize for her singing (which was lovely for anyone, but especially an elderly woman.) She believed in everyone. She knew that if we tried things, we'd find we could do most things. She emphasized kindness. She just loved and loved and loved and loved and loved. She'd talk to strangers all the time about anything that made her laugh. That loving is a legacy that extends to my whole family. We're not perfect. But I've yet to meet someone who doesn't spend some time around us and feel smothered by love. And teased, but we tease out of love, too. That's the way she was, and that has extended through three further generations.
Second, she had great faith, and I'm glad she did. It is through her line that my family for many generations has been taught the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. By her living her life well, and doing the little things, and teaching us by example that Church attendance, serving others and trying to be like Jesus is important and rewarding, she has left a posterity of children and grandchildren, and in the future many many great grand children who will love and serve their God. I know that there is a literal reuniting of our spirit with our some day perfect bodies of Flesh. Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, my Grandma, and all of us, will live again.
"If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable. But now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the firstfruits of them that slept. For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive." -1 Corinthians 15:19-22
"I am the Resurrection and the Life; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And he that liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?" - Jesus Christ (John 11:25-26)
My dad's side of the family is pretty intense. We're loud, but not rowdy, or rambunctious, we are just loud. We talk loud. We laugh loud. We have differing political views. We're all incredibly good looking. We love good food, and company. We come across a little too strong some times, but we're super loving. We debate, but never hate. We're together all the time. We make jokes about everything. We tell all the stories to everyone. Not in a gossipy way. Just because we're pretty damn funny. It's just what we do. Some people don't have the luxury of having close relationships on a personal level with ALL their aunts, uncles and cousins. I do. I could walk in the front door of any of their houses and start drinking the milk out of their fridge and it wouldn't seem out of the ordinary. I love my family. If you think I have good friends, you wouldn't BELIEVE how great my family is. Quirky. Easy to please. Smart people. Loving. Savage. That's us.
So I hate having to write this blog post, because I am not sure I can ever do my family justice. Not on the whole. Not individually.
I have to try though, at least in my own way. I have a lot to say, and it's going to be kind of word vomited, so just push on.
Tonight I lost my Grandma. Vicki Martin Savage. She was just a couple months short of 73. I'm going to be honest; that's not really old. On Thurdsay night about midnight, I got a call from my dad saying that my Grandma was in Washington (she lives in Utah) and might not make it through the night as her heart condition finally took it's toll. My super awesome supportive wife packed our bags the next day (though she was recovering from surgery) and steadied me as we drove down to Utah to be with Family. My dad and Grandpa were going to drive her back to Utah if they could.
She took the time to call everyone and I got to tell her about getting straight A's for the first time in my life, and she told me a funny story. She was upbeat. I thought for sure she'd be ok. 11 years ago she was told she had less than a year to live from a dissected aorta. She's been keeping on ever since. Occasionally things would happen, but she never seemed like she was ill. That's my Grandma. Optimism. Jokes. Playing Rook, or Phase 10, or Skip Bo with us, and playing to win. Always with love. Always laughing, but she did not like to lose.
So Saturday afternoon, I went to go be with my brothers and mom waiting for my dad to return and let us know we could go visit Grandma. When he was less than an hour away, he called and said we'd be able to come by that night as long as she wasn't too tired. They'd been playing word games and telling jokes. They got to the exit just before their home, and with two short breaths, she was gone.
For personal reasons, I won't get into how people reacted, but suffice it to say, many tears were shed, and, in true Savage form, many jokes were told.
So I want to talk really about two important things.
First, what defines my Grandma. She was always nice to everyone. Not in a "I don't say the bad things I think" kind of way. Simply in a "Let's be friends!" kind of way. She embraced the role of Grandma with all the power of her soul. She laughed easily. She told stories. She baked and cooked, and would sneak money and candy to her Grandkids when Grandpa said no. She thought she was stealthy, but, for all her good traits, she wasn't sneaky. She hugged everyone. She loved herself, and her family. She called us on our Birthdays, and would apologize for her singing (which was lovely for anyone, but especially an elderly woman.) She believed in everyone. She knew that if we tried things, we'd find we could do most things. She emphasized kindness. She just loved and loved and loved and loved and loved. She'd talk to strangers all the time about anything that made her laugh. That loving is a legacy that extends to my whole family. We're not perfect. But I've yet to meet someone who doesn't spend some time around us and feel smothered by love. And teased, but we tease out of love, too. That's the way she was, and that has extended through three further generations.
Second, she had great faith, and I'm glad she did. It is through her line that my family for many generations has been taught the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. By her living her life well, and doing the little things, and teaching us by example that Church attendance, serving others and trying to be like Jesus is important and rewarding, she has left a posterity of children and grandchildren, and in the future many many great grand children who will love and serve their God. I know that there is a literal reuniting of our spirit with our some day perfect bodies of Flesh. Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, my Grandma, and all of us, will live again.
"If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable. But now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the firstfruits of them that slept. For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive." -1 Corinthians 15:19-22
"I am the Resurrection and the Life; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And he that liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?" - Jesus Christ (John 11:25-26)
I hope that for those of you who have stumbled across my blog by chance, you recognize that there is SO much good in this world. One person has left a huge legacy of good, and each of us can do that. If you don't want kids or a family, it's probably because you're worried that you can't do what this woman did. You can.
And for those of you who know me, my hope is someday to have people read this and go, "You know, Scott sounds a lot like his Grandma." I can do no greater good than loving, serving, and having faith like this great woman, who, someday, I'll see again.
Love you Grandma!. :)
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Eye Contact
So there weren't many of them, but I actually have a couple friends that I made before I was in high school. I was kind of an awkward and picked on kid for much my Elementary years. I was LITERALLY the kid who got picked last (if at all) in basketball. I got pushed around. I was pretty dorky looking. I was smart, but had next to no ability to really communicate how I felt and would find myself talking about things that other people didn't care about. So kind of like today, only with the reassurance that at worst, I'll always have my one vote for man of the year, from my adorable wife. She's great.
This post isn't about her though. She and I didn't meet until I was a senior in High School. Nope. This goes back before my wife was even born (Ok, maybe not, but at least before my Big Little Brother was born). This goes back to 4th grade. I met this girl in 3rd grade, and had a huge crush on her. I thought she was the absolute sunshine of the world. Pretty. Smart. Occasionally really nice to me, but definitely too cool for me. I knew it. Her friends knew it. She knew it. But I still liked her.
We'd been in the same third grade class with the best teacher EVER, Miss Ochinario. In 4th grade we had a couple crusty old women for our teachers, Mrs. Howerton and Mrs. Ross (who, to this day scares me.) We had big open class rooms with walls that were probably made out of the highest quality cardboard. There were doors leading to the glorious outside where I would play football or basketball every recess, but no doors in the back of our classes. During this year, at least most of it, I sat in the very back of my class, and this darling of my 4th grade heart sat in the very back of HER class. Each day, I looked forward to the moments when the following incident would occur.
My teacher would turn around and start writing on the board, or telling stories about something I didn't care about. Casually I'd lean really far back in my chair. As I did. I would glance over my shoulder to see if this pretty girl was looking at me. When she wouldn't. I could find myself staring for a decent amount of time. She was really cute after all, and my 4th grade had no greater aspirations than to make eye contact with this girl.
Later I would twist pretending to pop my back or neck or something. To stretch. As I would glance back, it would happen.
This pretty girl would look at me. Right in the eyes. Right through my big bug-eye glasses. She'd be smiling. So I'd do the only natural thing.
I'd turn right back around as fast as I could. Mustering courage, I'd do it again. And again. And again. And the process would repeat. We'd both pretend we weren't looking back. But we both knew.
It's that kind of fourth grade affection that was my cherished memory to share today.
This post isn't about her though. She and I didn't meet until I was a senior in High School. Nope. This goes back before my wife was even born (Ok, maybe not, but at least before my Big Little Brother was born). This goes back to 4th grade. I met this girl in 3rd grade, and had a huge crush on her. I thought she was the absolute sunshine of the world. Pretty. Smart. Occasionally really nice to me, but definitely too cool for me. I knew it. Her friends knew it. She knew it. But I still liked her.
We'd been in the same third grade class with the best teacher EVER, Miss Ochinario. In 4th grade we had a couple crusty old women for our teachers, Mrs. Howerton and Mrs. Ross (who, to this day scares me.) We had big open class rooms with walls that were probably made out of the highest quality cardboard. There were doors leading to the glorious outside where I would play football or basketball every recess, but no doors in the back of our classes. During this year, at least most of it, I sat in the very back of my class, and this darling of my 4th grade heart sat in the very back of HER class. Each day, I looked forward to the moments when the following incident would occur.
My teacher would turn around and start writing on the board, or telling stories about something I didn't care about. Casually I'd lean really far back in my chair. As I did. I would glance over my shoulder to see if this pretty girl was looking at me. When she wouldn't. I could find myself staring for a decent amount of time. She was really cute after all, and my 4th grade had no greater aspirations than to make eye contact with this girl.
Later I would twist pretending to pop my back or neck or something. To stretch. As I would glance back, it would happen.
This pretty girl would look at me. Right in the eyes. Right through my big bug-eye glasses. She'd be smiling. So I'd do the only natural thing.
I'd turn right back around as fast as I could. Mustering courage, I'd do it again. And again. And again. And the process would repeat. We'd both pretend we weren't looking back. But we both knew.
It's that kind of fourth grade affection that was my cherished memory to share today.
Is it Thursday yet?
So, I'm a bit behind schedule on some of these posts, and I still haven't gotten to "Too Hot!" part II, so my apologies, but this post has been sitting in my mind for a long time.
I think everyone, particularly those of us who don't completely trust our own judgement, needs one of those friends that you can always bounce things off of, and who you know is going to give you the response you need. You know like the friend who laughs at you for your faults instead of encouraging you to be better, or egging you on to be worse. You know, like the friend who listens to every story and gives feedback like she was right there. Like she knows all the people you're talking about, when, you know, she doesn't. Like the friend who occasionally pays for you even though you asked them to hang out with you. Like the friend who isn't afraid to yell at you when you race them on the road, and it's THEIR car that kills. Like the friend who listens to your dreams without laughing. That friend. That friend whose mom loves you dearly, and secretly hopes you'll marry one of her two daughters near your age. That friend who will tell you the right thing, even when they know you won't listen. That's the friend we all need.
I have one. And I call her my twin sister. We both have lazy eyes, and most weeks, we would celebrate our togetherness with half-priced milkshakes at cold stone.
I don't remember how the tradition started, but I know High School wouldn't have been the same without it. Cold Stone Creamery (where I worked for three months, and LOVED) has a deal where every Thursday, you get milkshakes for half the cost between certain hours. It got to the point that the girl behind the counter knew what we were there for each week and would get out a couple blenders as soon as we walked in.
I kissed more girls in High School than I care to talk about to most people. At the time, I thought this was really cool. Now I think that it was cool for the time, but I realize I hurt a lot feelings that way. But, the one constant was that each time I got tangled again, my twin sister would be right there listening to my stories. For a couple years we did this. I knew about her first kiss, and the crappy guy he turned out to be. I knew about her second kiss and the crappy guy HE turned out to be. I knew about her third kiss, and the fact that he was the one. Each time was another milkshake. Sometimes we got adventurous and got fruit smoothies. We'd always tip and try to convince the Cold Stone workers to sing the Banana Song. (If your local cold stone doesn't sing for tips, boycott them until they do. You don't know what you're missing.) But those days were always the best.
Now she's married, and going to school, and working, just like I am, and her spouse, and my spouse. We live in different states. It wouldn't be right to go out just the two of us, and we haven't really seen eachother much since I left on my mission and came home. But those days were some of the best. We all need a sound board. We all need someone to street race in our crappy cars (my MPV and her truck, or her car Mrs. Baretta). We all need someone to laugh and say, "OH my gosh, don't even tell me." when we start dumb stories. We all need someone who gets offended but not in an angry way when we're teasing them. And we all need someone who shows us that our weird physical quirks (lazy eyes?) aren't unique to just us. My twin sister was that, and, even though I never get to talk to her, I'll bet she still is.
I think everyone, particularly those of us who don't completely trust our own judgement, needs one of those friends that you can always bounce things off of, and who you know is going to give you the response you need. You know like the friend who laughs at you for your faults instead of encouraging you to be better, or egging you on to be worse. You know, like the friend who listens to every story and gives feedback like she was right there. Like she knows all the people you're talking about, when, you know, she doesn't. Like the friend who occasionally pays for you even though you asked them to hang out with you. Like the friend who isn't afraid to yell at you when you race them on the road, and it's THEIR car that kills. Like the friend who listens to your dreams without laughing. That friend. That friend whose mom loves you dearly, and secretly hopes you'll marry one of her two daughters near your age. That friend who will tell you the right thing, even when they know you won't listen. That's the friend we all need.
I have one. And I call her my twin sister. We both have lazy eyes, and most weeks, we would celebrate our togetherness with half-priced milkshakes at cold stone.
I don't remember how the tradition started, but I know High School wouldn't have been the same without it. Cold Stone Creamery (where I worked for three months, and LOVED) has a deal where every Thursday, you get milkshakes for half the cost between certain hours. It got to the point that the girl behind the counter knew what we were there for each week and would get out a couple blenders as soon as we walked in.
I kissed more girls in High School than I care to talk about to most people. At the time, I thought this was really cool. Now I think that it was cool for the time, but I realize I hurt a lot feelings that way. But, the one constant was that each time I got tangled again, my twin sister would be right there listening to my stories. For a couple years we did this. I knew about her first kiss, and the crappy guy he turned out to be. I knew about her second kiss and the crappy guy HE turned out to be. I knew about her third kiss, and the fact that he was the one. Each time was another milkshake. Sometimes we got adventurous and got fruit smoothies. We'd always tip and try to convince the Cold Stone workers to sing the Banana Song. (If your local cold stone doesn't sing for tips, boycott them until they do. You don't know what you're missing.) But those days were always the best.
Now she's married, and going to school, and working, just like I am, and her spouse, and my spouse. We live in different states. It wouldn't be right to go out just the two of us, and we haven't really seen eachother much since I left on my mission and came home. But those days were some of the best. We all need a sound board. We all need someone to street race in our crappy cars (my MPV and her truck, or her car Mrs. Baretta). We all need someone to laugh and say, "OH my gosh, don't even tell me." when we start dumb stories. We all need someone who gets offended but not in an angry way when we're teasing them. And we all need someone who shows us that our weird physical quirks (lazy eyes?) aren't unique to just us. My twin sister was that, and, even though I never get to talk to her, I'll bet she still is.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Cheating and Mormonism!
Hi Again! So, I know you're probably expecting part II of "Too Hot, Too Hot!". That's just not happening tonight. Or at least not yet. I might go on a tear so I don't fall asleep on the clock. Instead I'm going to make my faithful follower happy by cheating! Yay Cheating!
I'm LDS. A Latter-Day Saint. A Mormon. A Latter-Day Christian. A Believer of the Restored Gospel of Jesus Christ. An Elder, Priest, Teacher and Deacon of my faith. And guess what! I have a handful of friends that are, too. My church has a cool website directed towards those who don't know much about our faith. It's www.mormon.org. On this website, there are plenty of people who share their stories of their faith with others. Why they're LDS, or what they like about it, or things of that nature. They answer questions that people commonly have about our faith. Whether you're Mormon or not, it's cool.
So you're a smart person. Put two and two together. I'm cheating by posting without writing anything. Here are links to their pages. Mine first.
Me! -- http://mormon.org/me/2B1W/
Heidi -- http://mormon.org/me/95P4/
Scotty-- http://mormon.org/me/4NWM/
Katie -- http://mormon.org/me/1yqs/
Joshua -- http://mormon.org/me/43RF/#
Julie -- http://mormon.org/me/18RV/JulieAnnLee/
AJ -- http://mormon.org/me/7MBZ/AJ/
Ginelle -- http://mormon.org/me/4ZPZ/Ginelle/
Kirk -- http://mormon.org/me/4623/Kirk/
Beau -- http://mormon.org/me/7RYY/Beau/
Brittany -- http://mormon.org/me/33SP/Brittany/
Paul -- http://mormon.org/me/33SP/Brittany/
Cara-- http://mormon.org/me/39BP/Cara/
Liz -- http://mormon.org/me/3JHR/
Cassy -- http://www.mormon.org/me/bnsr
This will continue to grow. If you have one, please let me know. :)
I'm LDS. A Latter-Day Saint. A Mormon. A Latter-Day Christian. A Believer of the Restored Gospel of Jesus Christ. An Elder, Priest, Teacher and Deacon of my faith. And guess what! I have a handful of friends that are, too. My church has a cool website directed towards those who don't know much about our faith. It's www.mormon.org. On this website, there are plenty of people who share their stories of their faith with others. Why they're LDS, or what they like about it, or things of that nature. They answer questions that people commonly have about our faith. Whether you're Mormon or not, it's cool.
So you're a smart person. Put two and two together. I'm cheating by posting without writing anything. Here are links to their pages. Mine first.
Me! -- http://mormon.org/me/2B1W/
Heidi -- http://mormon.org/me/95P4/
Scotty-- http://mormon.org/me/4NWM/
Katie -- http://mormon.org/me/1yqs/
Joshua -- http://mormon.org/me/43RF/#
Julie -- http://mormon.org/me/18RV/JulieAnnLee/
AJ -- http://mormon.org/me/7MBZ/AJ/
Ginelle -- http://mormon.org/me/4ZPZ/Ginelle/
Kirk -- http://mormon.org/me/4623/Kirk/
Beau -- http://mormon.org/me/7RYY/Beau/
Brittany -- http://mormon.org/me/33SP/Brittany/
Paul -- http://mormon.org/me/33SP/Brittany/
Cara-- http://mormon.org/me/39BP/Cara/
Liz -- http://mormon.org/me/3JHR/
Cassy -- http://www.mormon.org/me/bnsr
This will continue to grow. If you have one, please let me know. :)
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Too Hot! Too Hot! (Part 1)
I'm getting better at this, with the most loving of persistent nudges from a friend of mine. This is within a month of my last post, but two weeks later after my initial promised date. Ah well. It's been an interesting time of life for me. I have been working nights, and just had my shift change. I am going to school full time (and doing pretty well if I do say so myself) which includes learning Chinese. Cool stuff.
But we all know that's not why you're here. Today you get a feast.
I have a deep love for a man that I never met in mortality, because he was stone cold six feet under (or, rather, in the wall of a church) hundreds of years before I was born. We call him William Shakespeare. I've been able to be exposed to and perform a lot of his work. Most recently (hard to believe, but it was really just 4 or five months ago) I was able to put serious work into directing a play with an absolutely phenomenal woman. We'll get to her a little bit later. Together we (and I say we very loosely, I was not involved in every aspect) produced The Winter's Tale. It's kind of an obscure Shakespeare play about a jealous King who imagines that his wife is having an affair with his best friend, and starts tragically with several deaths, but ends merrily with many reunions. I got to see first hand just what has to go into a play to make it really good. Our production was top notch, if I do say so myself. Which, of course, you know, I do.
Today, I want to write a little thank you and personal, "Go you!" to each of the kids I got to work with. I totally loved them. Sometimes they drove me crazy, but they're in High School, and they kind of just do that. There were rough parts, and I wasn't always the best at managing egos, or helping them see what I saw, but I found wonderful things in every single one of them.
I'm going to do this Bill Simmons style. Bill Simmons is my favorite sports columnist, and he occasionally makes up obscure awards for sports seasons. So! Let's not make Much Ado About Nothing (ba-dum-ch!), and get rolling.
I was wrong. Dead Wrong.
Rachel came in and delivered a beautiful monologue that was clear, and crisp. She had good feeling, and wasn't fidgety. She was poised. She slammed it down. Then she finished, broke character and was instantly the girl I thought I was going to see on stage again. Just a shy blonde girl whipping right out. I was struck. Over the course of the year, she continued to blow me away every time she stepped on stage, and she felt more natural off stage. She absolutely proved to me that you don't have to be a certain type of person OFF stage to be fantastic ON stage.
I have a handful more kids to write about, but I decided for your sake (and mine) to make this a two part thing. :) Stay tuned for Part 2.
But we all know that's not why you're here. Today you get a feast.
I have a deep love for a man that I never met in mortality, because he was stone cold six feet under (or, rather, in the wall of a church) hundreds of years before I was born. We call him William Shakespeare. I've been able to be exposed to and perform a lot of his work. Most recently (hard to believe, but it was really just 4 or five months ago) I was able to put serious work into directing a play with an absolutely phenomenal woman. We'll get to her a little bit later. Together we (and I say we very loosely, I was not involved in every aspect) produced The Winter's Tale. It's kind of an obscure Shakespeare play about a jealous King who imagines that his wife is having an affair with his best friend, and starts tragically with several deaths, but ends merrily with many reunions. I got to see first hand just what has to go into a play to make it really good. Our production was top notch, if I do say so myself. Which, of course, you know, I do.
Today, I want to write a little thank you and personal, "Go you!" to each of the kids I got to work with. I totally loved them. Sometimes they drove me crazy, but they're in High School, and they kind of just do that. There were rough parts, and I wasn't always the best at managing egos, or helping them see what I saw, but I found wonderful things in every single one of them.
I'm going to do this Bill Simmons style. Bill Simmons is my favorite sports columnist, and he occasionally makes up obscure awards for sports seasons. So! Let's not make Much Ado About Nothing (ba-dum-ch!), and get rolling.
The "She Just Happened" award for most surprising performance.
One of the coolest parts of this process was getting to sit on the other side for auditions this year. I got to sit in a chair with my lap top and type away furiously as I watched kids act out their brief readings from the play. I didn't know any of them, or at least not well, so I was going into this cold. I got a lot of first impressions. Rachel came into the room and I almost instantly started to get uncomfortable. She just gushed nervous tension. She was really stiff, and was super slender and kind of awkward as a person. I couldn't get past what I saw at first when she walked in. I wholly anticipated that she would miss a word and be very flustered and not be able to go on.I was wrong. Dead Wrong.
Rachel came in and delivered a beautiful monologue that was clear, and crisp. She had good feeling, and wasn't fidgety. She was poised. She slammed it down. Then she finished, broke character and was instantly the girl I thought I was going to see on stage again. Just a shy blonde girl whipping right out. I was struck. Over the course of the year, she continued to blow me away every time she stepped on stage, and she felt more natural off stage. She absolutely proved to me that you don't have to be a certain type of person OFF stage to be fantastic ON stage.
The Robert Horry Dagger award for most clutch performance by a role player at a crucial moment.
Robert Horry is a retired NBA player who was never the superstar on his team. He does, however, have more NBA Championship rings than Kobe Bryant or Michael Jordan. He was on 7 championship teams. He earned the nickname "Big Shot Rob" for having the uncanny ability to ALWAYS hit the big shot. In fact, his Game 6 WCF winning shot was one of the reasons my favorite basketball team never reached the 2002 NBA Finals. Was he an all-star? No. But he came through when it mattered most. Seriously, you should check it out here. (Unless you're a Sacramento Kings fan like me, and then it just hurts.)
At a time when there was a pretty unhealthy amount of discord amongst our occasionally emotional and angst-ridden young cast, there was several malcontents who we usually had trouble with. One of these (who will remain nameless until I get consent from him to use his name in this space) finally stepped up at the end of Rehearsal and gave an inspired speech about unity. He identified the problem, took responsibility like a man and vowed to change. And change he did. He absolutely swung the mood of the next rehearsal, and the next, and really the whole mood of the show. He challenged the cast to follow his lead, and they responded well. At a time when my voice, and all others were exhausted, he stepped up.
The Cindy Lou Who award for finding a small voice that was just enough.
We had another Rachel in the cast. She too was a somewhat shy, slender blonde. Both of these girls, were just darling by the way. Let no one dare mistake them for not being cute. So this younger Rachel was given a lot of the important messenger lines. Every time she walked on stage there was something super critical to the plot coming from her mouth. "Sir your son is dead!" or "You've killed a man of 4 score and 3 years! Undone! Undone!" However, she just would NOT belt these lines out. There was feeling, there was clarity of words there was understanding, and strong character. However constantly the note of "Rachel, speak up!" was given. However, just like everyone else she came through at the right time. When I finally got to sit back an just enjoy the show, she delivered those lines loud and clear. No, that's not because she had a microphone. It's because she rose to the occasion. She is a success story.
The Dynamite award for making something bigger than you are.
Who else could it be? There was only one 8th grade student for most of the show. That was tiny Rhys. Through the whole show he was energetic, excited to be there, and he didn't let his youth, or the fact that he probably isn't big enough to ride some of the Big Kid roller coasters make him small on the stage. He ran around, and was a vital part of the cast.
The Brett Favre award for bringing it all, and leaving it all "on the field".
I thought about using Cal Ripkin Jr. for this one, because nothing rivals the longevity of his 2,632 career games played, and that's part of what I wanted to illustrate. However, I chose Favre because he is a more explosive personality, and that certainly applies to this friend of mine, too. This is a girl who faithfully attended every practice, and was memorized. She did her part on everything I saw. This is a girl who absolutely stands her ground, right or wrong. She fit her character to a T on this one. Emily's part required her to withstand court Lords and Guards trying to oust her from declaring bold statements to a hard-headed King, and even go toe-to-toe with the King. She absolutely had the pipes and the heart to pull down what this role required of her.
She was also like that off stage sometimes. Emily absolutely was fiery towards me and her fellow cast members when she felt justified in doing so. Her passion for expressing her views occasionally stirred up a fuss, but there was no doubting that she cared about what happened with the show. Without her heart in it, I'm not totally convinced that others could have been moved to rise to what they became. There's lots more good I could say about her, but for the sake of this post, I'll simply say she reminds me as a little version of me in some ways; and I like me.
The Death Crawl award for being taxed to the soul, and rising to the top.
In order to understand this next friend of mine, and how our relationship worked this year, you have to watch the clip above. If not you will not really get the magnitude of what I exacted of him. More than anyone else in this cast, and there were many that I worked hard on, I rode Cody to the limits of what he could do. I worked one on one with him from October to March continually riding him and pushing him and telling him that he had more to give. It was the truth. He always did.
Cody and I worked on his monologue scores of times. Over and over I'd stop him and ask why he did things. I would pick at nits, I would tell him one thing, and then another, and then another, all variations on the same part of his piece. The fruit was taking 2nd place in the Shakespeare competition. He worked and worked and worked and worked. Cody was a leader among the cast, and an absolute workhorse. He certainly has some natural gifts. However, if everyone worked as hard as Cody, everyone would have a much more honed skill set. He was kind of my masterpiece that year.
The Bee Movie award for someone who made everyone laugh, but particularly me.
The honest truth of this is that my sister watches a couple movies with me simply to hear me laugh at them. She insists that it's funny, but MORE funny when watching it with me. Megan was that person in the case for me. Every stinking time she was on stage she cracked me up. There was just something about the way she delivered herself, and it always made me smile -- big time. I think she made everyone laugh, but she busted my gut every time.
I have a handful more kids to write about, but I decided for your sake (and mine) to make this a two part thing. :) Stay tuned for Part 2.
Friday, April 27, 2012
An Unquenchable Spirit
I want you to take a moment and think to yourself what you want your children to be like. If you don't have them, all the better. If you do, try not to be harsh on them as I lay out the picture of this one. Because of the nature of my relationship to this friend, I view him almost as a son, and that's how I'm going to describe him today.
I think we all marry people we're attracted to, and part of that is the innate desire to have attractive offspring. It's no wonder that one of the best compliments people pay to newly weds is "You're going to have such cute kids!" This is of course true for me. It's also descriptive of my friend. He's tall. He is kind of wiry, but he's only 19, so he'll grow into himself, I think. He's got thick dark hair. Not like suave hair, but not busy either. He doesn't have a Kendall Barrows Orthodontic smile, but his is captivating. He's got bright eyes and a pretty smooth complexion.
So he's cute.
The picture at the top of the page represents God's plan for us. From our spiritual creation and life with him before birth, to the final judgement and our resting place with him. All of it is in his hands. I have to tell you, that he would have to be my pseudo son, because I have negative artistic ability. The kid is good.
My friend is super passionate about his faith. I'm a devoted and faithful believer. Few things rival the joy I feel from sharing my faith with those around me, and being strengthened by the faith of others. My psuedo-son is flat out nuts though. It's like all he talks about it seems. Some of his closest friends are Mormon missionaries who have passed through the town where he lives for a few months to teach the Gospel of Jesus Christ. He spends most of his days with them, and shares it with his friends.
This boy was recently called as a missionary to Mexico, and he leaves next Wednesday. I wish I could upload an audio clip of the voice message he sent me about this. He's a naturally emotional guy. I mean sometimes he's totally overwhelmed by them, and he is still learning to bridle them. His message was tear jerking though. Even my pregnant sister cried when she heard it; though that may just be because pregnant. But in all seriousness, he's really a sweet spirit and has a deeply sensitive soul.
He's also super caring. He is naturally a good friend. He gives you the kind of unconditional love one could only ask of a Golden Retriever puppy. (Now I wish my Amigo had drawn one of those...). He also is a diligent friend. I get a "Good night! I love you!" text from him three times a week that, sorry to say, mostly goes unresponded to.
So he's great. I think after six paragraphs, four swiped drawings, and a "So he's cute" blurb, I've done a fair assessment.
So why write about him? To brag? To steal his art without permission? To show the world what a handsome devil this friend made me out to be?
Kinda. But no.
I'm writing about him for two reasons. The first is totally selfish. As much as I convince myself that I'm going to write him either as often as he'd like (three times a week) or as often as I'd like (every three transfers which equates to 18 weeks, or a total of 5-6 letters his whole mission) I'm pretty sure both guesses are high. I'm about as crappy a letter writer as I am a blogger, only with letters I have to stamp them, too. So, this is kind of my way of saying, Good Luck Elder! Look forward to hearing from you! I think you're great!
The other part of it is to show that, like some of the other heroes of this blog, he has done fantastic things in the face of adversity. Joseph Smith once said that wealth would try the saints far more than poverty. I think that this is a reflection on the corruption of character and lack of development of true talents. This friend does not have much in the way of worldly wealth, so he invests his time into developing himself.
This friend also came from a home without a father. Not the, "my dad didn't come to my softball games because he was at work all the time" dad. But the "My dad up and left our family; left my mom who struggles with health and a handful of kids to be kicked to the curb and doesn't want anything to do with any of us." kind of no-father home.
Statistics show that most kids who grow up like that end up a little messed up. My friend has his demons. My friend has his scars. My friend truly has felt the pain of being that loving golden retriever puppy who gets kicked in the face repeatedly and wonders why, but still goes back to try and lick the hand of the one who kicked him. However he has risen. He didn't turn into a world hating punk rock band member of Good Charlotte or Simple Plan. He didn't turn to a druggie. He's not someone's baby-daddy. He's not a slouch, an internet addict, or jaded. He has refused, perhaps because he's never even opened the door to the possibilities, to be anything other than good and hard working, much of which, I'm sure, can be attributed to his mom.
"Two mice fell into a bucket of cream. One gave up and quickly drowned. The other kept kicking and churning until he churned that cream to butter."
That second mouse? That's my friend. I look up to him, and have great confidence that he'll do great things. Ordinary outside. Extraordinary inside, and, ultimately, he has an unquenchable spirit.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Destined Friends.
I find myself being surprised by few things. This isn't to say that I'm hardcore, or cynical. I think much more it's that I've come to believe that life is good, and good things happen a lot. Additionally, I lead a fairly simple life, and complex things don't happen all that often.
There is, however, something that some one chose to do that came totally out of left field a couple weeks ago.
Let's start with the back story. Every good blog involves flashbacks. The more you read this, the more you'll believe that. Work with me.
When ALA was not yet open, the powers that were in charge of the school decided that the best plan was to have a school wide picnic and play games. A fair few quirky things happened on the day in question that made me reconsider what glorious boones there may be for me at the school, while simultaneously making me more determined that I was sketchy at best with my prospects of attending this new school. It was a strange feeling. This aside, however, I had determined that with my fresh start, I'd definitely try to be more friendly and out going. Contrary to popular belief, I have not always been the stud muffin that I am today. So when I walked up to a certain cute girl and said, "Best Friend!" I got a gift I treasured.
I'll never forget the unmistakable look of "I'm homeschooled!" that flashed across this girl's face when she responded somewhat dazedly "Best friend?"
That statement proved to be truer that I ever could have imagined. Question mark and all.
School began, and as young 15 year olds we became fast friends. We only had seminary together, but we talked all the time, and we had a lot of good talks about things. She had this insane gift where she could read me better than most people. I had kind of a weird adjustment to my my working out of the home for the first time in my life. Of all my friends and teachers, she was the only one to notice that this kind of got to me, and understood why I felt the way I did. She just had a knack for it. It's like we'd always known each other.
So, because I was so wonderful, and she was so nice (a little weird, but nice), I had a crush on her. I highly doubt the older I get that this was ever particularly subtle, and have learned that subtly is not really my strong suit in anything, much less when I like a girl. My wife reaps the benefit of this. As time drew on, we ended up going on a date, and flirting and holding hands and doing all the wonderful exciting things that 16 year olds do.
And then something happened.
To this day I'm not sure either of us really remembers why or what or how, but we went from best of friends to bitter enemies in a very short amount of time. This was probably the most intense mutual dislike I have with anyone I've ever known. I said a lot of things that I absolutely am ashamed of. I heard slander about me that was terrible to the point that a girl I asked to prom said no to me based on the witness of this girl. In my eyes, this girl was the biggest hypocrite I'd ever met. On the few rare occasions we were civil to one another, the fallout led to even uglier and more intense dislike. It was common knowledge that I handled this mostly with insults, and taking pride in the "fact" that we were never such good friends to begin with, and she probably had mental issues. I'm not sure what she thought about me, but those things were probably similar, except she probably thought I was a huge jerk and that people could get an infectious disease from breathing air in the same space I was in.
This took place over the course of over the course of more than 2,200 days. With time, the sting of losing a friend no longer hurt, and I really didn't remember anything other than the fact that she wouldn't talk to me if I had tried. In my own mind, I'd done my due diligence to repair the friendship a long time before, and I was no longer going to pursue that path ever again.
Now jump to the early part of March. I'm sitting in the Atlanta, GA Airport with my hott wife. We've missed our connecting flight because our airline messed up, so we're both tired after 13 hours in the airport, and a wonderful week long cruise together. I noticed that I had a missed call from my deep voiced best friend, someone I've known and cherished for 10 years. He asked if I'd be willing to give my e-mail address to this living cancer to my life. I laughed and asked why. I mean, it's not like she couldn't send me a facebook message. I knew other people that were her friend thereon, and so I figured she probably just wanted to send me a virus for good measure. That something must have gotten a bee in her bonnet about me again, and she just couldn't stop going for the throat. He asked her for me, and found out she just wanted to send me an apology e-mail.
At this point, I was surprised, amused, and a little humbled. Still skeptical, but if this was going to be genuine, I'd be ok with it. I didn't want some sissy, "I've felt really bad, and just to get this off my chest, I'm sorry for whatever, now don't talk to me again;" apology. If this was going to be worth my time to respond to, I wanted groveling. I wanted admitting full responsibility. I wanted a knowledge that this person was giving me power to hold my grudge and with hold forgiveness as long as I wanted.
Please note, that this is not the way I normally am. I try really hard to forgive quickly, and sometimes I forget before I have to forgive so I don't even feel offended by the time an apology comes. This was different for me.
The response, however, still blew me away. When someone has the personal strength to say something like, "I am sorry that your good opinion of me had to disappear and be replaced by an opinion that was founded in my poor behavior," shows a level of understanding of what it would take to win me over that astounded me. I shouldn't have been, knowing what our friendship was like before. Nonetheless, this girl bowed down at my feet and begged, so to speak. I instantly found myself on the wrong side of the coin. I too felt a need to not only accept this emphatic apology, but to redouble my efforts to her to win her favor.
I am not one to be easily swayed. I have to truly believe someone in order to give them six years of credit in one swoop. She earned it.
She took further steps, too. I pointed out to her that she could have just added me on Facebook. In her response to me, she explained that she'd stopped using it, and then went so far as to restore her Facebook on my account. I threw the bait to see if she was serious about being friends again by suggesting she do dinner with the Mrs. and I. She took me up on it, and did so excitedly. She absolutely put her money where her mouth was.
I think there's one last thing to point out. This was two sided. Firstly, it required a lot for her to go from "I hate even your name" to "I am writing to say sorry." It took courage, and humility, and an understanding that there was a chance, if not probability that I wouldn't respond, or would do so rudely. I however, had to choose to forgive her. Hers required greater courage by far. All mine required was humility.
How lucky, though, am I to have been restored to someone with whom I felt I was destined to be friends with.
That's all for today; but I actually have more to come. :)
P.S. The Savior taught, "My disciples, in days of old, sought occasion against one another and forgave not one another in their hearts; and for this evil they were afflicted and sorely chastened. Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin. I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men. And ye ought to say in your hearts—let God judge between me and thee, and reward thee according to thy deeds." A revelation given to the prophet Joseph Smith recorded in the book of Doctrine and Covenants section 64 verses 8-11
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Oh yeah, I forgot!
I've been told that one of the joys of being old is that you get to do a lot of the same things over and over again and have them feel like new experiences because you don't remember them. I'm not an old person. I may have bad knees. I may like butter pecan ice cream. I may have been caught watching episodes of "Hogan's Heroes" with my future Father-in-Law. All that aside, I'm not an old person. Lately, I've been having one of those aforementioned joys, however.
When I was a junior in High School, I was playing pool at a party against a guy who I think is really kinda weird. Great guy, just odd. As we were playing, a pretty girl was watching us. This guy said that the winner got to take this girl to the next school dance. Apparently, unlike Aladdin's Jasmine, she was a prize to be won. I didn't know her name, so I asked it of her. Later I called her by a name that I THOUGHT was her name, but it wasn't; it was simply a close variation of it. She corrected me, and I said, "Yeah, whatever, same thing." She was not amused.
As time passed, we actually became good friends, this girl and I. I started to call her Molly as an inside joke between us. She previously had a friend call her "Molly Mormon" because she was a good girl. This upset her until I reminded her that it's better to be "Molly Mormon" than "Slutty Suzy." So Molly stuck as the permanent nickname. I honestly forgot this girl had another name, other than "Molly." Over the course of a couple years, I set her up with her first decent boyfriend (Decent is an understatement. This guy is a champ.) She came to my missionary setting apart. I took her to her senior prom (after her decent boyfriend was being a jerk. He readily admits this now) the week before my mission. When I came back from the MTC, she was one of the first people to come over and visit me to cheer me up. We had our ups and downs, but, ultimately, we pulled through like best friends tend to do. She was there for me many many many times, and, in all honesty, never let me down in any wrongful way.
However, I am not blogging about her because Molly was one of my best High School, Pre-mission friends.
This blog is about today. It's about what happened when I left. In the two years between Saturday, April 25, 2009 (The Senior Prom we went to together) and Friday, April 15, 2011 (The day I came home from my mission) our interaction is as follows: She and I each sent one letter to the other. My sister took her wedding photos and I saw them on her blog.
That's it.
If it wasn't clear enough previously, this girl was my BEST FRIEND. Like family. Like a younger sister, who occasionally I had a crush on. We talked about everything. When I did the dumbest thing I've ever done, she was the first to know. When I was dating a girl right before my mission, one of the things that girlfriend and I HAD to do was to bring a Birthday present to Molly. Those may not seem like the biggest things, but truly, she was an absolute jewel in my treasure box of comrades.
The crazy thing is, not talking to her didn't really hurt. Not me. Not her. In that time, she got married, and was about ready to burst with child. I had served a mission, and probably didn't think about her more than to say, "Yeah, she never even sent me a wedding invitation. Some friend." We lead lives, we were productive and happy. We still are. If we don't talk again, I'm sure we still will be.
Lately, we have though. We facebook stalk one another a little. We talk about things, and we ran into each other in the library a few weeks ago. It's much more natural than I'd have thought, given the life changes. The great thing is, it's always been this way. I just forgot. I forgot my friend. I forgot how bright she is. I forgot how we'd laugh super hard. I forgot how she had a couple essential elements that I knew I'd have to find in my future wife (and, oh baby, have I ever. Natalie. I love you!) because they are genuine good things.
I forgot, and now, at least a little, I get to remember. :)
Thanks Molly.
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