Uhhhmmmmm… who writes this Christian curriculum?

Whether he realizes or not, my brother, Cory (a worship pastor with his kids in a private Christian school), just became my guest blogger. I converted his recent email to me into my newest blog entry:

So, I have a 5 year old who is grown up beyond her years, and I know this, so not much truly shocks me.  But, this week I had the surprise of my life.  She was doing her homework and reading it loud and proud.  It was a study on the letters “d” and “f”.  There would be a picture, and she would have to circle either the d or the f depending on which one the picture started with.  And of course, she would read them all out loud because they were funny to hear.  First there was “deather” “feather”, for the picture of the feather.  Then there was the picture of the dog, and of course loud and proud she reads “dog” “fog” again laughing at the funniness that was ensuing.  Nothing however could have prepared me for what happened next.  Still as loud and proud as before, she looked at the picture of the duck, and being that we had laughed with her at the other funny names, with even more zeal she proudly read “duck” “f***”!
Don’t you know the writer of Abeka’s curriculum is laughing his ass off right now!!!

The Wonder Years

Over a year ago I promised a follow-up to my ages 12 and up blog, one that recalled random yet vibrant memories from my childhood. It’s 1 o’clock in the morning and what better way to procrastinate and ward off such valuable sleep than to blog? Here are the random memories from middle school, a period in all of our lives…full of pimples, puberty, and pure pain.

6th grade: word spreading around my new school that I was a boy because I could dribble the basketball between my legs; playing POGS at recess and winning someone’s spider slammer; running for student council and trying to bribe my classmates with lollipops

7th grade: wearing my hair down in public–for a school photo–for the first time in…I can’t remember; getting a turtle off the side of the road in TX and bringing him home to CO as a pet; getting de-pants’d by the guy I had a crush on and wishing I never owned those granny panties

8th grade: almost choking to death on a wad of gum too big to chew just so I could look cool like the big league sports players; having never played volleyball before, joining the team just because I could jump high and block at the net; running the Indian Fartlek intervals with my fellow track team and cracking up because it sounded like “Indian fart lick”

Your turn…your vivid middle school memories. Go.

to all who would understand

Been around Dora the Explorer lately?? My aunt-hood and nannyship require that I watch shows like these. And show after show, their theme songs, their coined phrases, their character names, their speech patterns…all stuck in my head. I shake my fist at you cartoon producers. I shake my fist.

(shake fist here)

Thanks to SNL we all can get a good laugh out of the misery we are subjected to. Take a few minutes, watch, and laugh.

oh happy day

Today I found a long-lost prized possession. I haven’t seen it for years, probably 5-6 years in fact. It represents many childhood memories, many emotional tear-filled moments, many friendships, many hours spent in front of the tube with the VCR while it cranked out my favorite movie of my younger years. What, you ask, is so special to my heart?! My “Beaches” soundtrack!!! I’m typing this blog with Bette serenading me in the background. Pure delight!

I know of at least one other person that shared this childhood passion (even to the point of cops being called out to her house because she was belting out Bette tunes too loudly. Ask her.) Yes, I thrived off of “Wind Beneath My Wings,” and maybe even “Baby Mine” or “The Glory of Love.” And more so, I always felt like I could relate to Bette’s character, CC Bloom. Oh the movie. Oh the memories. Any more Beaches fans out there?!?!

So what was your favorite movie as a child?

three cheers…

…to my athletic trainer and his Aspercreme treatments on sore legs

…to my horse, Trusty, and his pony rides around the house

…to my personal shopper and his great bargains

…to my biggest fan, loudest cheerer, and most frequent complimenter

…to my chef and his pancakes on ski days (minus the crap-nut jelly cakes)

…to my quarterback and catcher (but not my caddy)

…to KittyCow, Doody, and Diddy

…to my masseuse and chiropractor

…to my hiking buddy and shooting range partner

…to my punching bag, wrestling & jiu jitsu dummy, and airsoft gun target

…to the owner of Daddy Garts, for all your sporting equipment needs

…to Mr. Fix-It (fishing lines/lures, guitar strings, wiper fluid, etc., etc., etc.)

…to one determined to live through cancer

…to the most tenderhearted and loving man I know…

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!

Love, F.O.

ages 12 and under

whaddya do when you can’t sleep at 4-flippin-a.m.? blog.

here are some of the first memories that come to my mind when i remember these ages in my life:

3 years old: learning to read with my mother’s help on her bed; taking a nap in my pre-pre-kindergarten class on those colorful mats, balled up and shivering as i didn’t have a blanket (you had to bring your own or pay extra for one), and then feeling so taken care of when the teacher covered me with a blanket as i pretended to sleep; wishing my best friend at the time would move back from mexico, seeing it happen shortly thereafter, and thinking along the lines of ‘i thought this into existence’

4 years old: not being able to pronounce my r’s properly and being so frightened to get up in front of the class to recite my colors (i couldn’t say purple); wearing a dark blue peacoat in the winter, having a runny nose, and wiping all my snot up and down the sleeves till they were streaked; sticking q-tips in my ears to play alien, forgetting they were there, and then jumping head-first onto my parents’ bed, busting my eardrum

kindergarten: some kid tattle-tailing on me that i had my eyes open during class prayer (and not realizing that if he saw me with my eyes open during prayer then the punk had his eyes open, too); my mom teaching me how to calculate 10% of numbers in order to tithe; playing the alien ‘we gotcha’ atari game (joysticks!) with my brothers; my mom’s taco salad

1st grade: sighing really loud as my teacher told us we were learning how to multiply (i already knew how to do this and wanted to make sure everyone in the class knew how much smarter i was and how bored i was with the current subject matter. me=punk); my first competitive track meet and wearing my red school shirt and little white shorts

2nd grade: replicating a guitar with my class chair (the kind with a hole in the back) by using rubber bands as guitar ’strings’ and driving my teacher mad as i got the whole class to follow suit; the book-it club; jimmy potter stealing my pink slap-wrist bracelet; getting shivers up and down my body each time the teacher hit our desks with her yardstick; realizing cabbage patch dolls did not grow in nearby cabbage fields

3rd grade: my first basketball team, tiny hands, and the inability to convert on fast break lay-ups; trying to convince a classmate that the easter bunny was not real; guilt-tripping a girl into giving me the other half of her 2-part best friends necklace

4th grade: dunking a nerf football into the monkey bar openings with my friend, nate; the p.e. teacher that looked like he swallowed a basketball; oregon trail

5th grade: watching my brother’s high school basketball games; impressing my teacher with my perfect cursive; really getting into spanish soap operas i couldn’t understand (our live-in maid slept in the same room as me and stayed up late watching these shows); early mornings, pink and purple running shorts with spandex underneath, 5K road races, trophies, and blue ribbons

stay tuned: middle school, high school, and beyond are still to come

now it is your chance to share some of your most vivid childhood memories…

…too afraid

today i realized the shoebox of regretful moments i have in life are centered about one unfortunate characteristic. People-Pleasing. what would people think of me? these missed opportunities unavoidably cloaked me in the uneasy and awkward sensation that intrudes with Embarrassment. and of course they were always unwelcome and always accompanied by Fear. they may seem simple but they are lightly laced with grief as i sample them again today. 

elementary school. annual fall festival outdoor carnival. cake walks, dunking booth, a jail, duck pond, and face painting. i’d spent my very last ticket on the magnetic fishing game retrieving a plastic toy that’d be stored in my closet for next summer’s garage sale. i can make a nickel or two off of that. that october day, in the front of my mind, i knew the family would be leaving promptly as the Texas sun went to sleep. don’t be late. before i successfully located them, a cool and highly influential Tracy Ellis bounded up to me with her face freshly painted. i was wowed. wowed yet ticketless. generously she offered me a few quarters to get my face entirely done camouflage-style. i wanted it so bad. but more so i wanted to keep my parents happy. my (foolish) reasoning led me to believe i’d be grounded for months after a spanking with that splintered wooden paddle. i sulked, refused her offer, and found my mom, filling her in on the recent events and the good-girl response I had returned to Tracy. “why didn’t you do it?!” my mother asked, confused at my decline. well, because i was too afraid.

middle school. 8th grade volleyball season comes to a close. it was my first year ever playing the sport and as it turned out, i was fairly decent. Shannon and Liz excitedly encouraged my continued career: high school team participation. i mentally scanned the future and surveyed the layout. spandex shorts and large crowds of people in those wooden bleachers? and each person had TWO ogling eyes? on me? not a chance in the world. vulnerability? no way. and so i let a newfound enjoyable delight drain in a matter of a moment’s decision. i would never play the sport competitively again. i was simply too afraid.

high school. a developing passion to sing. i stood in the large church and belted out a tune along with the crowd at rock the nations. little did i know Rachel was listening in. she leaned in and said, “you’ve got a nice voice. you should try out for the school choir.” i contemplated the offer, blushing at the compliment. but i contemplated for four years and never stepped foot in the choir room. tryouts? singing in front of someone? out loud? and so i dismissed the idea over and over until i graduated. i sang on stage in public for the first time august 2005. i was 23. 23 silent years and then i let my voice out of its box. but never did i sing in high school because i was too afraid.

college. freshman walk-on to a division one basketball team. scrawny and short. high school highlight videos lost amid the surrounding standout talent. from the first day i stepped foot on the lacquered university floor until the last day of the season i was purely intimidated by my head coach. all talent and ability walked out of the gym at the same time People-Pleasing walked into my head. i had let the paranoia of failure in front of my coach become reality. as it played out in my head so it played out in my game, my shot, my instinct. my former talents and abilities were locked within a cage i fashioned with my own hands. days after the season ended so did my self-imposed restriction. i let loose and played as if no one watched. i played for myself and not my coach. Tasha and Ty stared in disbelief at a teammate seemingly unrecognizable. one piped up, “where have you been all along? why didn’t you play like that during the season?” you guessed it. an entire year choked and buried. i was too afraid.

a lesson learned: don’t miss out. no matter how simple the situation may be, no matter how little the loss may seem at the time, don’t allow your temporary, short term fears become lifelong regrets.

The Life of Jillian

My niece left to go back home to Texas today after being in town for a week. She’s 3–almost four–and she’s definitely a character I could sit and observe for hours on end. Our times together were not just a heaping pile of fun for both parties, but a time where she unknowingly taught me many lessons about life. Here’s to Jillian!

Jilli-Bean, PB&Shelley, and the Ma

1. Any time, anywhere, any place holds the perfect opportunity to sing a song at the top of your voice.

2. It’s much more fun to make up the names of countries on a globe than to try and sound them out.

3. When asked if you want to do something, be blunt and say yes or no. No explanations needed.

4. Bath Time is so much more than just a cleaning ritual. It’s the imagination’s playland.

5. The lifelong drive to be a ‘winner’ and not a ‘loser’ shockingly thrives at the age of three.

6. Gummi Bears taste best at 10:30 at night.

7. If someone promises to give you a piece of candy four hours later, remind them every hour on the hour until the promise is fulfilled. Be persistent.

8. “Girls don’t play basketball. They only cheer.” Said by Jillian when watching the women’s NCAA basketball championship with me on Tuesday.

9. Strive to look hotter than your mom. And let her know that daily you are making a strong effort.

10. Let everyone you meet know when your birthday is and that a hula girl party is the only way to go for a 4-year old.

and finally…

11. The best way to cool off is to run around in your britches. Who needs jeans anyway?

Sports Heroes and the Heimlich

I came out of the womb with a basketball in hand, track spikes on, and a sweatband ’round my brow. Kicking the placenta aside, I ran to the nearest court for my first game of H-O-R-S-E. For years the heroes in my life were athletes — Jackie Joyner Kersey, Florence Griffith Joyner, Michael Jordan — and then somehow Whitney Houston slipped her way into the top four or five on my list (that was BEFORE all the crack). I remember watching baseball on TV or at my brother’s little league games and admiring the amount of bubblegum one human being could physically fit in his mouth. Wads. I mean…WADS. And so I began my quest to stretch out my cheeks in order to become a REAL athlete…the kind with a grapefruit-sized wad lodged between her teeth. Daily jaw exercises and inserting pens sideways in my mouth couldn’t have prepared me for the intense cramping I’d experience in my mandible. Pain. Worse than any twisted ankle, muscle cramp, broken bone, or 1-point loss to your rival. This was Bubblegum Pain, folks. And the culprit, Big League Chew and his nasty cousin, Double Bubble.

7 years later: Middle School. “Must…make…a…good…impression. Must…be…cool.” And oh how I was that evening. I stepped out of my mom’s blue Ford Taurus, metallic basketball shorts down to my knobby knees. Insert Double Bubble Piece #1. And what rockin’ cool ankle braces I had. Insert Piece #2. Was that a NIKE wristband I was wearing?? NOT generic?? Insert Piece #3. Did I have the athlete strut down or what? Piece #4 and 5.

I WAS IT. The real deal. The athlete I longed to be ever since I was 5. I popped my sixth and final Double Bubble into my mouth and headed towards the gym for practice. The jaw cramps started quicker than I could run the 50-yard dash. The saliva build up was Niagara-esque. The gagging uncontrollable. The choking unbearable. The spitting all too necessary for such a situation.

 

And the humiliation…overwhelming. I ran to the nearest trashcan, removed the baseball from my mouth, bit a fourth of it off for keeps and sheepishly walked into the gym, head down, eyes misty.

 

I failed them all. Not my teammates on my intramural basketball team. No. I failed Jackie, Florence, Michael…even Whitney. I was the idiot, wanna-be-athlete, fool of the century. I couldn’t chew my grapefruit without requesting backup from First Aid. I was a failure.

 

Never again have I attempted to climb Mt. Double Bubble. It conquered me that day. I stand defeated and humbly tip my ball cap to all the REAL athletes out there with a melon in their mouth. Make us proud, athletes. Make us proud.

Recommended Daily Value

I’ve known this woman for over 25 years now and only recently come to appreciate her self-proclaimed expertise on mineral and vitamin intake. Her knowledge has transformed the way she views life: things are no longer referred to the names used by most English-speaking people. You know…common words in our dictionary. No, she refers to them by their nutrition value. A hamburger is instead a Protein. The warm sun is now a Vitamin-E emitter. The toy your child is playing with is a Lead or Aluminum. And so the enjoyment I once had in eating delicious foods, being outdoors, or just living life is gone and in its place a strange newfound relationship between me and the ever-encroaching world.

Dear mom,

I peeled a bright yellow Potassium this morning for breakfast and a navel Vitamin C to help fight my cold. (do you remember my coach feeding me Potassiums when my legs were cramping in games?) With no time for a hardboiled Protein (lightly Sodiumed), I had to grab and go. However, I did have a Whole Wheat Flax Protein sandwich for lunch today with a glass of cold Vitamin D. D for Delicious. I wish you could’ve accompanied me in my walk at the park at lunchtime. The Vitamin E was uninhibited by clouds…gorgeous day! You would’ve loved it. It helped to exercise before as I had a huge plate of Tuscany Carbohydrate at Olive Garden. Don’t worry…I ate a plateful of fresh Roughage beforehand. It is late–11pm–and I’m heading to bed for a good night’s Replenish Refresh Revive. Talk to you tomorrow.

xoxo,

Your Favorite Child