Sunday, January 29, 2006
Duke 82, Virginia 63
J.J. Redick is from Roanoke, Virginia. He should be playing ball for either UVA or Va. Tech, not scoring forty points for Duke against UVA.
I'll be a Redick fan when he's in the NBA. I wish I could be one now.
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I'll be a Redick fan when he's in the NBA. I wish I could be one now.
Friday, January 27, 2006
35
If the span of a man's life is three-score and ten years, I have reached the midpoint.
Thirty-five today.
I woke up this morning thinking that there are more days behind than there are ahead. Who knows? Maybe there are, maybe there aren't. In any case, I spent my morning shower contemplating what I've done in my years on earth, compared to my ambitions when I was younger. Here's what I came up with:
I used to want to be involved in making movies somehow. A director or an actor. Failed.
I wanted to have a novel published by this age. Failed.
I wanted to have provided my parents with a grandchild by this point. Failed. (Given my marital status, this is not a fact entirely to be despised.)
I wanted to own a piece of land, and perhaps build something on it. Failed.
I wanted to be in good physical shape, and able to do the things I've not done since I was a kid. (Play basketball, for example.) Failed.
By the time I got to school, I was thinking ahead to what I was going to do to mark the day, and deriving whatever comfort I could from it. I planned to give the kids a free day and play chess because it's a tradition. At the end of the day, there'd be basketball games -- only the fourth set of middle-school games I've gotten to attend (given the hectic nature of the high-school's schedule, which I've followed with a devotion that has drawn bemused and appreciative comments from parents, players, and other fans), and games that would be attended by the girls from last year's eighth grade team and their families -- it'd be a homecoming and reunion of sorts. And then I planned to go to a local restaurant for a late dinner, a restaurant I've frequented so much lately that the servers mostly know me by name.
I mostly followed the plan. The day was long and entertaining -- I actually got foundered on playing chess, mostly because I spent the day teaching it rather than playing it against opponents who could actually present a credible challenge to me. (I went undefeated today in at least half a dozen games -- not that that's anything like commendable when facing the caliber of adversary I took on.) And the games were... well... not exactly painless. The middle school girls haven't fared as well as I'd hoped given their debut back in November. The seventh-graders haven't had a single victory -- they've only broken into double-digit scores a few times this season. The eighth graders haven't done much better; their bad habits from last year made a comeback, and their play was never as consistently good as their first game. The portents were there, but they augered wrong; the eighth-graders are finishing something like 4-8, with no real hope of advancement in the upcoming NGMSAL tournament. Tonight's matchups followed form; the seventh-graders lost by twenty-something, the eighth-graders by forty-two.
But at least I got to hang out with my kids a while.
And it was, of course, the kids who came to the rescue of my psyche today.
From the moment I let it slip (okay, not entirely accidentally or anything) to Heather this morning that it was my birthday, nary an hour passed in the day when some chorus of adolescents weren't wishing me a happy one. A sign appeared on my door before I even got to my room this morning that said: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MR. T. -- I PITY THE FOOL THAT DOESN'T WISH YOU A HAPPY BIRTHDAY. In lieu of cake, I was supplied by Heather and Sarah with a miniature pecan pie and a cinammon swirl from the Lance machine in the lobby. In fourth period, a squad of basketball players and track-team members arrived in my room to sing "Happy Birthday" to me. And tonight, Tember, the eighth-grade point guard -- whom I spent fourth period teaching chess to, and who has proven a surprisingly quick and agile study -- made sure that all our ninth-grade visitors and their parents knew the personal significance of this date for me, and I was congratulated by a veritable parade of parents, and serenaded by the kids a second time at the gym doors after the game.
And I don't have words for the gratitude I feel toward them all. "Thank you" is a dry and barren response to such outpourings of good will. One wishes he could take a little of the joy other people have given him and put it back in their hearts.
And who put me here? Who crossed my path with that of these people, and all the others I've known who have made my life good in ways they can never understand and I can never express? Who brought me out of the desolation that my life was, just a few years ago, and gave me back everything I thought was lost and gone? Was it fate? Was it luck? Was it me?
Don't be absurd.
Thank You, my Lord. Thank You.
Whatever a failed life is... this isn't it.
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Thirty-five today.
I woke up this morning thinking that there are more days behind than there are ahead. Who knows? Maybe there are, maybe there aren't. In any case, I spent my morning shower contemplating what I've done in my years on earth, compared to my ambitions when I was younger. Here's what I came up with:
I used to want to be involved in making movies somehow. A director or an actor. Failed.
I wanted to have a novel published by this age. Failed.
I wanted to have provided my parents with a grandchild by this point. Failed. (Given my marital status, this is not a fact entirely to be despised.)
I wanted to own a piece of land, and perhaps build something on it. Failed.
I wanted to be in good physical shape, and able to do the things I've not done since I was a kid. (Play basketball, for example.) Failed.
By the time I got to school, I was thinking ahead to what I was going to do to mark the day, and deriving whatever comfort I could from it. I planned to give the kids a free day and play chess because it's a tradition. At the end of the day, there'd be basketball games -- only the fourth set of middle-school games I've gotten to attend (given the hectic nature of the high-school's schedule, which I've followed with a devotion that has drawn bemused and appreciative comments from parents, players, and other fans), and games that would be attended by the girls from last year's eighth grade team and their families -- it'd be a homecoming and reunion of sorts. And then I planned to go to a local restaurant for a late dinner, a restaurant I've frequented so much lately that the servers mostly know me by name.
I mostly followed the plan. The day was long and entertaining -- I actually got foundered on playing chess, mostly because I spent the day teaching it rather than playing it against opponents who could actually present a credible challenge to me. (I went undefeated today in at least half a dozen games -- not that that's anything like commendable when facing the caliber of adversary I took on.) And the games were... well... not exactly painless. The middle school girls haven't fared as well as I'd hoped given their debut back in November. The seventh-graders haven't had a single victory -- they've only broken into double-digit scores a few times this season. The eighth graders haven't done much better; their bad habits from last year made a comeback, and their play was never as consistently good as their first game. The portents were there, but they augered wrong; the eighth-graders are finishing something like 4-8, with no real hope of advancement in the upcoming NGMSAL tournament. Tonight's matchups followed form; the seventh-graders lost by twenty-something, the eighth-graders by forty-two.
But at least I got to hang out with my kids a while.
And it was, of course, the kids who came to the rescue of my psyche today.
From the moment I let it slip (okay, not entirely accidentally or anything) to Heather this morning that it was my birthday, nary an hour passed in the day when some chorus of adolescents weren't wishing me a happy one. A sign appeared on my door before I even got to my room this morning that said: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MR. T. -- I PITY THE FOOL THAT DOESN'T WISH YOU A HAPPY BIRTHDAY. In lieu of cake, I was supplied by Heather and Sarah with a miniature pecan pie and a cinammon swirl from the Lance machine in the lobby. In fourth period, a squad of basketball players and track-team members arrived in my room to sing "Happy Birthday" to me. And tonight, Tember, the eighth-grade point guard -- whom I spent fourth period teaching chess to, and who has proven a surprisingly quick and agile study -- made sure that all our ninth-grade visitors and their parents knew the personal significance of this date for me, and I was congratulated by a veritable parade of parents, and serenaded by the kids a second time at the gym doors after the game.
And I don't have words for the gratitude I feel toward them all. "Thank you" is a dry and barren response to such outpourings of good will. One wishes he could take a little of the joy other people have given him and put it back in their hearts.
And who put me here? Who crossed my path with that of these people, and all the others I've known who have made my life good in ways they can never understand and I can never express? Who brought me out of the desolation that my life was, just a few years ago, and gave me back everything I thought was lost and gone? Was it fate? Was it luck? Was it me?
Don't be absurd.
Thank You, my Lord. Thank You.
Whatever a failed life is... this isn't it.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
I pledge allegiances
How I identify myself, in order of priority: highest to lowest.
1. Christian
2. Member of my family
3. Friend of my friends
4. Teacher of my students (see also above)
5. American
I reserve the right to revise and extend.
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1. Christian
2. Member of my family
3. Friend of my friends
4. Teacher of my students (see also above)
5. American
I reserve the right to revise and extend.
