When I was a kid, honesty reigned supreme. It held the final say in nearly all of life's circumstances. When I was a kid, integrity meant telling the truth even during times of struggle. It meant coming clean when pleading the fifth was more convenient. When I was kid, trust was greater than love. "You have my word" was as good as a stiff handshake and steady eye contact. When I was a kid ...
I remember the day I became a man. The world has a way of teaching that never lets me forget. I was completing a math assignment in Mrs. Burton's class. We had been working on some principles new to me, and I wanted to master them. Then, Mrs. Burton returned our assignments from a few days prior. A friend of mine received a "C" on his graph assignment and came to me for consolation. "I'll never become a doctor with grades like this," he said. I tried to comfort him, but I felt something strange. I kept a stern look on my face, but my belly warmed, my pulse quickened, and my body smiled. "It's OK," I said to my friend as I placed my hand on his shoulder and turned my eyes away from his, "You're gonna be just fine." I glanced at my graph assignment as I continued to speak to him, and the "A+" stared back at me bold and red. I felt happy.
That day in Mrs. Burton's third grade class is the first time I can remember feeling good about another man's disappointment. It was the day I became a man like all the men in our world, selfish and artificial. It was the day I began to fight my natural man.
Today, right now, I am unemployed. I apply to several jobs every day. Many people reply to my applications and promise interviews, emails, phone calls, and follow-ups. Rarely do they hold to their word.
Q: What has happened since the early 90s when I was a kid in the third grade? A: Economics, inflation has caused man to depreciate.
If there were only more children in this world and fewer men.
Apr 26, 2010
Apr 20, 2010
Crash Into You
For as long as I can remember, when I have lived in Idaho Falls and had access to a gym, I have organized a weekly basketball game. In the olden days, in a time before cell phones and instant messaging, I made a list of acceptable players and collected their phone numbers. It was grueling work calling each person and even more difficult to obtain any level of commitment. It was not uncommon to receive a comment like, "I will try to make it," or, "Yeah, I'll probably be there."
Nowadays, I send out a mass text and patiently wait for replies. The text usually reads something like, "Bball @ 9 tonight @ Charlotte. R U coming, yes or no? Doors will be locked at 9:15." Oddly, I receive quite a bit of resistance with this method as well, maybe more. It must be too much to ask, because I frequently receive similar ambiguity. Worse, many people give no response to the text and still have the gall to show up unannounced. Even worse still, some people show up without receiving an invitation at all: Basketball Crashers (BC).
On rare occasions, due to their extreme lack of common sense, a BC (often remarkably similar to
a CB) obtains national notoriety. I can think of two such people: Chip Douglas and Jackie Moon. Laughter can accompany a BC, but eventually it is drowned out by sheer stupidity. So, for the good that they do bring, I can only think of one course of action to repay each Basketball Crasher to whom I am indebted. I will make a surprise visit to their weddings, anniversaries, and birthdays. Lastly, I will hold the hand of the woman who gives them children as she is giving birth to a new, improved generation of crasher. As a Birth Crasher, I will coach her threw it with patience. When the child arrives, I will take it in my arms and whisper, "I out-crashed your father."
It remains a mystery how a Basketball Crasher knows when a game is taking place, but I am almost certain it has something to do with Aurora Borealis.
Nowadays, I send out a mass text and patiently wait for replies. The text usually reads something like, "Bball @ 9 tonight @ Charlotte. R U coming, yes or no? Doors will be locked at 9:15." Oddly, I receive quite a bit of resistance with this method as well, maybe more. It must be too much to ask, because I frequently receive similar ambiguity. Worse, many people give no response to the text and still have the gall to show up unannounced. Even worse still, some people show up without receiving an invitation at all: Basketball Crashers (BC).
On rare occasions, due to their extreme lack of common sense, a BC (often remarkably similar to
a CB) obtains national notoriety. I can think of two such people: Chip Douglas and Jackie Moon. Laughter can accompany a BC, but eventually it is drowned out by sheer stupidity. So, for the good that they do bring, I can only think of one course of action to repay each Basketball Crasher to whom I am indebted. I will make a surprise visit to their weddings, anniversaries, and birthdays. Lastly, I will hold the hand of the woman who gives them children as she is giving birth to a new, improved generation of crasher. As a Birth Crasher, I will coach her threw it with patience. When the child arrives, I will take it in my arms and whisper, "I out-crashed your father."It remains a mystery how a Basketball Crasher knows when a game is taking place, but I am almost certain it has something to do with Aurora Borealis.
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