The Little Things – a recap of a whirlwind tour of Europe

“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.” ― Terry Pratchett

Anyone who knows me even a little bit knows that I am all about stories.  It’s how I teach my students, how I entertain at parties, and even how I connect with my own family (although my girls and the wifie frequently tell me I am a bag of wind).  The sharing of stories is the reason I started this blog, and “Capture the Story” is the speech I give during the last class of each school year.  Life is so much more fulfilling if the story is worth living.

The last 9 days spent in Europe were, without a doubt, one of the best chapters of my story to date.

I wasn’t sure it would be.  After all, 9 days to see London, Paris, Florence, and Rome (with Assisi as a bonus) seemed like an overwhelming amount of ground to cover.  I figured it would be an exhausting trip (it was), and that I might miss some things I really wanted to see (I did), and that travelling overseas with a bunch of high school students might not be the wisest choice I’ve ever made (I was wrong).  When we met at the airport, I was still full of misgivings.

Then, the plane took off, and the stories began…

As a teacher of history, I cannot express the excitement I felt to see some of the places I have taught about.

To stand in the Tower of London and look out over the Thames.

To look up at St. Paul’s cathedral and imagine the dome still standing amidst the  wreckage of World War II.

Looking out over lovely Paris  from the Eiffel Tower while your students wonder if you are about to die because you are sweating like a pig from climbing the 704 stairs.

Standing awestruck in the Cathedrale Notre Dame de Paris, having never imagined how insignificant a person can feel in the House of God.

Looking down upon the stunning city of Florence, and down upon the Italian countryside from majestic Assisi.

    

Oh, and Rome too – no big deal…

Much as I enjoyed every single one of those places, they aren’t the story.  They are simply the setting – it’s the people that made this story so amazing.  I could spend hours writing up each individual tale, and perhaps in time I will.  But here are a few highlights of why the last 9 days were so memorable…

• Clarence, the Texas school teacher/scientist/moonshiner that basically took over the trip several times with stories, riddles, and his questions to our tour guide, Tessa.  “Tessa, Tessa,” he said in his best Texas drawl as we made our way from Florence to Assisi, “do you know how to churn butter?”  Official Winner: Most Random Question of the week.
• My first ride on the Tube.  Stranger danger.  Everyone who was there knows what I mean…
• Getting lost in London for almost 4 hours, and blissfully roaming the cityscape.
• The boat tour of the Seine in Paris was perhaps the high point of the trip for me.  Indescribably beautiful, yes, but the stories… from the rat hanging out on the banks of the river to the girls who angered the Brits by cutting in front of their picture, excitement was in the air before things had even started.  Clarence was in high style, wearing his “gen-YOO-ine” beret purchased earlier in the day.  The old Asian couple that stood in everyone’s way followed by the younger Asian man that kept staring at me whilst wielding his selfie stick.  And of course, there was dancing along the banks of the Seine – by several young gentlemen who put on a show that could best be described as an eyeful.
• The night train to Florence.  What can I say?  6 people crammed into each cabin.  Filthy bathrooms visited by a barefoot bonehead (luckily not from our group) who proceeded to slice one of his toes open in the grime.  Stories of roving gypsies that will steal anything and everything.  Locked windows and broken air conditioners.  No showers for 36 hours or more.  In a word: glorious!
• Carrying one of my former students up to the top of the hill in Assisi after she had injured her knee… only to realize there was another hill to climb to get to the top of Assisi.
• Finding no room at the adult table for dinner one night (not unusual for me) and spending a week getting to know an amazing group of students at our dinner table.  We supped together on some delightful food, and some terrible food, and even some onion-coated food (UGH), but we spent the last 7 days together and the stories are amongst the best of the trip.  Some of these students I already knew from my own classroom, and others I had never met – but getting to know all of them better was something I will always treasure.
• Rooming with a fellow teacher that I had only talked to once before the trip, and coming home feeling like I had made a true friend.
• Feeling thankful for the teacher who organized this whole trip, dealing with the logistics so the rest of us could enjoy as much as possible.
• The joy on one student’s face when a surprise birthday cake was brought out for her.  Her radiant smile was even visible through her ever-present mask.
• Breaking my bed in Hotel Sketch-fest in Rome.
• No water in Hotel Sketch-fest in Rome, leading to this conversation between the Hotel Host and a lady from another tour group.

Host: “Ciao”

Lady: “Y’all gonna get water back up in here soon?”

Host:  Looks confused.

Lady: “I SAID ARE Y’ALL GONNA GET WATER UP IN HERE SOON?”

Host: Shrugs shoulders

Lady:  “If y’all don’t get water up in here soon, it’s about to get STANKY AS HELL!!!” (pronunciation: Hale)

I don’t know if I was alone in this yesterday, but as the plane came to a halt at the terminal, I had mixed emotions.  I was happy to hold my family in my arms once more, to clutch my daughters and infant son in a hug and get busy sweeping my wife off her feet again (I’ll let you know how that works out after leaving her for over a week with the kids – luckily I’m a real charmer :).  But I already missed those 9 days in Europe.  I missed the sights, the sounds, and especially the people.  I feel, as the quote above says, that I have come back a different person – a better one, one that understands the world just a little bit more.  I’ve seen the world through British eyes, French eyes, Indian eyes, Filipino eyes, and eyes with glasses.  I’m someone new, and I don’t want that sensation to fade.

I’m doing my best to capture this story.

The Really Big News…

First I have to disappoint all of you that are waiting for my mother-in-law to meet the Hillbilly Blog Challenge.  She has yet to indicate that she will take part in it.  In fact, she has yet to speak with me at all since My Hillbilly Vacation was posted last week.  I am hoping it is simply a function of not seeing each other – I haven’t been over to the Hillbilly Home since we got back from the trip, and it’s not like we frequently call each other just to shoot the breeze.  However, I know a lot of you have contacted me asking when she will be meeting the challenge and I just don’t know the answer.  Maybe soon, and maybe never.  I’ll keep you posted.

*****

In the meantime, I should probably update everyone as to the other big news – just in case you missed it.  I’ll share it with you as my wife shared it with me.

Many of you know I started grad school last January.  It was a spur of the moment decision and really should have been thought through a little better, but that’s not how I roll.  So I dove in head first, and found myself swamped as I tried to keep my head above the water. Several other really big (and negative) things happened at that time, and I will share at least one of them here in the weeks to come.  It genuinely was one of the worst periods of my life, though it somehow managed to bring our little family closer.  

When May finally arrived, my first semester of grad school came to an end.  Good riddance.  As I typed the last few lines for my reflective blog, I felt a sense of peace come over me.  It crept out of some unknown corner inside me and just overwhelmed me and lifted my spirit.  I’m not a positive guy by nature, so this was a strange and welcome sensation.

I clicked submit on the blog, and I soared out of my chair.  Done!  Heart full of hope, I sought out my wife, who was sitting on the bed organizing her purse.  Even seeing the contents of her purse (the stuff of nightmares) dumped on our bed couldn’t bring me down.  

“Babe, guess what?  I just hit submit on my last paper of my first semester of grad school.  I’m done!”

“Oh, that’s so awesome!  I am so proud of you!”  Even the wifie was feeling my positive vibes.

“I can’t even tell you how happy I am.  My whole spirit is… lifted.  I just feel so full of hope right now.  I feel like no matter what happens, everything is going to be OK!”

Pause…

“Do you really feel that way?  Just from hitting submit?”

“Well, yeah.”  Couldn’t she feel the positivity crackling in the air?  “Right now, I feel like EVERYTHING is gonna work out for us!”

Pause…

“Well,” wifie said, somewhat cautiously, “since you are feeling so positive, I should probably give you this now.”  She handed me a card.  “I was going to wait, but since you are so… hopeful… you should probably read this.”

Hmm… this was a bit strange.  I opened the card, and found this on the outside:

OK… maybe she was wishing me luck for the end of the school year or the upcoming semester of grad school…

Then I opened the card:

…

…

Did I say EVERYTHING is gonna be OK?  

Another kid?  A decade after the last one was born?  I mean, our hands are already full trying to keep the two girls from starting a red light district in our town. And now we’re gonna be parents again?  And this time, we’ll be old parents too! Of all the things I expected to find in that card… To borrow the famous words of my hillbilly father-in-law, “Oh my…”

More to come…

 

The Hillbilly Blog Challenge

So my last blog about my recent Hillbilly Vacation seemed well received by most people.  I tried not to be mean spirited or hurtful, and just tell some stories people of all backgrounds would enjoy.  

Of course, I was taking a risk.  In nearly two years of blogging, I had never written about the in-laws.  When I told them I was writing a blog, they quickly made it crystal clear that they expected to never make an appearance.  This was especially true of my mother-in-law and my sister-in-law.  For the most part, I have honored that.  Other than my father-in-law delivering the news that Santa didn’t exist while saying good night to the girls on Christmas Eve, I am pretty sure they haven’t appeared here.

Until yesterday.

For the most part, I think it went over OK.  Just like the Facebook posts I made during the trip, my mother-in-law seemed amused, yet irked.  I think she took it a little better than she otherwise would have because I tried to divvy up the stories between her and the father-in-law instead of just picking on her.  She laughed about it in the car, and commented that the blog made her laugh (though I have been met with glacial silence from the sister-in-law).  

However, I have a sneaking suspicion that all is not well in Hillbillyville.  My mother-in-law has been a good sport, but she has repeatedly indicated that “there are two sides to every story,” and that her version of the story is the “authorized” version while mine is the “unauthorized” version, and finally that I am “really good at embellishing the truth.”

I suppose I can understand her position.  After all, I shined the spotlight on them for humor’s sake when they might not have wanted the attention.  I didn’t let them read it before hand (though it was basically fleshing out the Facebook posts from last week.)  And despite the fact that I tried my best to handle the story with care, I suppose it could have still been uncomfortable and embarrassing for “Mama.”

Originally, I had planned a step-by-step rebuttal to her accusations of embellishment.  While certain points might be slightly different than what happened in real life, it’s only because I tried to eliminate parts that I thought would be even more embarrassing for them.  I certainly didn’t add totally made up stuff to make it sound worse.  But if you want to believe that she only called me “Idiot” instead of “Idiot Jerk,” I won’t hold it against you.  Just know that if the story was changed, it was done to cause less embarrassment, not more (at least from my perspective).

However, I guess the real issue is that I broke the unspoken truce: I dragged the hillbillies into my realm.  I caused embarrassment.  I need to rectify the situation.  So here’s the deal.  In her FB posts, she has continually eluded to the fact that she could start telling embarrassing stories about me.  So, in the spirit of fairness, I will give her the chance.  I challenge my mother-in-law, also a blogger and a great storyteller, to tell a story, any story, about me.  I will post it here, on my blog, and I will do so without editing it at all, since she was not allowed a chance to edit mine.  I will share it on Facebook, and she can too.  

The ball is in Mama’s court now.  Is she up for the Hillbilly Blog Challenge?

 

Hillbilly Vacation

It’s been forever since I wrote a blog, as my tens of ardent fans have pointed out. It’s not been due to lack of material. So much has happened since last I traded words with Momof4istired, and eventually I will get around to posting about some of those things. It’s mainly been due to grad school – I feel bad for blogging when I have a ton of homework due by 2 am. Plus there’s the whole inertia thing – once I stopped, it became harder and harder to start again. I needed something momentous to shake me out of it – something huge and noteworthy. Life changing, really.

If you’re thinking this is where I announce the conception of a new child… you’d be wrong (that’s a whole ‘nother blog).

Nope, there’s only one thing that could shake me from my doldrums.

A road trip with my hillbilly in-laws.

Now you’re probably thinking, “wait, I thought the Furry Bard was banned from talking about his in-laws on the blog.” Well, I think that might have been more of a suggestion. You know, like the speed limit. None of us really follow the rule all the time, but it’s there to keep us from getting too crazy. I think it’s time to apply the same attitude towards the hillbillies. I mean, they’re a huge part of my life – how can I keep them off the blog altogether? Besides, my mother-in-law was reading some of my Facebook posts about the trip (#hillbillyvacation2014) and said, “This is hysterical. You really ought to write a book about this.” Later, she tried to retract her statement and claim she didn’t say the “about this” part, but once the green light flashes, you are free to go…

However, I will ease into it. No use stirring the hornet’s nest too much this early. Let’s just look at a few of the top moments of travelling with the hillbilly in-laws:

1.  Leaving The Hillbilly Home: Original target departure time: 10:00 am. Actual departure time: 1:12 pm. Note: this is actually not too bad.

2.  Upon leaving, Big Daddy (the father-in-law): “I think it would be nice to stop for gas and a meal in Monroe.” Monroe is 25 minutes away from the Hillbilly Home. Stoppage time: 45 minutes. This is gonna be a long trip.

3.  Several versions of this exchange occurred between the father-in-law and mother-in-law (Mama):

“Big Daddy, are you awake?”
“I’m fine, Mama.”
“Big Daddy, your eyes are closed.”
“No, just resting them a bit – they’re not closed.”
“YOU’RE OFF THE ROAD AGAIN!!!”
“I’ll stop soon.”
“STOP NOW. ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD.”
“Now mama, stopping on the side of the road would be dangerous.”
“SO IS DRIVING WHILE YOU ARE ASLEEP! PLEASE STOP NOW!!!”
“Now mama, everything is gonna be ok. Just calm down.”
30 seconds pass…
“BIG DADDY, YOU ARE DRIVING ON THE RUMBLE STRIPS!!! STOP THE VAN!!!”
“I think we had better switch drivers”

4.  We are supposed to meet my buddy Dave for dinner. I tell him we should arrive in Lexington in about an hour. Immediately upon hanging up the phone, the mother-in-law says, “I need a bathroom break and a snack.” I remind her we are eating dinner and that I just told my buddy we would be there in an hour. No matter. Everyone piles out of the car (except me, sitting and watching the clock). They take exactly 22 minutes in the gas station. We are almost half an hour late to meet my friend.

5.  Big Daddy wants to sit down for a “good Mack-Donald’s breakfast” before we hit the road the next day. We have 7 hours of driving time ahead of us according to Google Maps. We get in the van at exactly 9:50 am (again, I am keeping track of these things). Mack-Donald’s breakfast takes us to 11:05 am.

Then my father-in-law wants to visit a local church, “just to drive around and take some pictures.” He drives through the church lot at 2 mph, waiting for someone to notice us.  Finally someone comes out and spots him. He jumps out and the guy says he’ll give him a tour. Not to be outdone, Mama says, “well I can’t let him get a tour – people will wonder why I didn’t get the tour.” Note that she visited the same church with us a decade ago. Anyway, after about 20 minutes, they come out to the van and say, “he’s gonna give us a tour of the baptist college five minutes down the road!” Or fifteen minutes down the road, but who’s counting time (besides me)? After the college tour, we finally hit the road. It’s 12:15, and we are not a single mile closer to our destination that happens to be seven hours away.

Later in the day, I point out that we left my buddy’s house at 9:50 when determining how long we have been traveling. Big Daddy corrects me. “Well, you can’t count breakfast and the church and college tour.” Umm… yes, you can. And I do count it when determining our actual travel time for the day (see below).

6.  When Mama took the wheel, the van got a workout. 65 mph… 80 mph… 65 mph… all in the course of 60 seconds. It was like she was giving it interval training.  Luckily, she was driving on the actual road, unlike Big Daddy, and her hands never left 10 and 2. But at one point, in the mountains and with trucks surrounding us, she looked at her hubby and said, “Buckle up, Big Daddy!” in a very stern voice. I made sure I was buckled too. Gulp.

7.  My mother-in-law kept a close eye on my Facebook updates during the trip. She doesn’t like it when I quote what she actually says instead of what she wishes she said. But for the most part, we got along fabulously (so long as the sis-in-law didn’t try to get her mad at me). At one point, she started reading my posts for the day. First a chuckle, and then “Ooh, you dirty devil!” Then the comment about writing a book I mentioned earlier. Then she got to the posts on her driving. “YOU IDIOT JERK!!!” She later tried to claim she didn’t say JERK. She did. Believe me. She often let’s things slip out of her mouth without thinking and then tries to claim she didn’t. I won’t tell you what most of them are. But this is definitely one of them.

8.  The hillbilly in-laws popped in a tape with a hillbilly comedian/singer. We asked them to move all the sound to the front of the van, but we could still hear it. The comedian started singing about how his wife won’t listen to him, so he talks to his cow. The in-laws are laughing uproariously. You know the type of laughter – where you start laughing, and then look at the other person and repeat what was just said and laugh some more.  The wifie and I start dying laughing at them. They think it’s because we see the humor in a man talking to his cow. A good time is had by all.

9.  At around 12:15 am, we pull into the driveway for our cabin. That’s right, it took us 14 hours and 25 minutes to get there. More than double the time called for. We had 2 Walmart breaks, 8 bathroom breaks, 2 emergency “Big Daddy is sleeping again” breaks, one church and college break, and three meal breaks. Well, only two meal breaks and no church and college breaks if you don’t count anything Big Daddy says shouldn’t count.

And that, my friends, doesn’t even include the actual time in GA/AL or the journey home!

Be prepared for Mama to tell you this is a fabrication of her “dirty devil, idiot jerk” son-in-law.  Just nod your head and flash her a knowing smile.  You know the truth… you know what it’s like to go on a true hillbilly vacation.

Meet the Spouses…

Blogging week continues…  if you missed any of the earlier posts, you can click on them here:

The Infamous Mr. Dicks and why I blog… – Derek

Losing everything and why I blog… – Nicole

Interview with a Blogstress

Banter with the Furry Bard

Derek Says:

While blogging can be an exhilarating experience in self-expression, there are certain danger zones. Much of blogging deals with everyday life, and thus the people in our everyday lives are apt to make appearances in what we write. But what if those people don’t want to make an appearance? Or they simply do not want certain information shared? Or worse, were unaware that they have made an appearance, and then someone else tells them about it?

So every blogger has to be careful about what they write. To me, life should be an open book… but that’s only my life. I can’t speak for others on that, and it has led to problems in the past. The most glaring example found people accosting my 10 year-old daughter and discussing the tooth fairy after reading about her attempt to catch us in a lie. What the what? Really, you’re going to talk to my child about something I wrote? She was very hurt that I would write about her without telling her, and assumed I was making fun of her. I had to smooth it over and now she actually asks me, “ are you gonna write a blog about that, daddy?” But for a few moments, I thought I had gone too far.

No where is this more evident that when writing about a spouse. I know both Nicole and I have extensively written about our spouses. As exciting as it can be for us to tell our tales to the world, it can be extremely uncomfortable for them. We think we paint them in a light that will flatter who they are, because we know what we mean in our hearts when we write about them. However, they sometimes feel embarrassed or worried that others might not perceive them that way.

I remember thinking it beautiful when Nicole told us about her trip to New Orleans with her gentleman caller named Mike. She painted her trip on a canvas for us all to enjoy. But I also remember when Nicole wrote her piece on “Coming out of the closet” about her love for Mike. Her words caught us up in that moment, but a lot of us that follow her held our collective breath – should she be putting this out there in a blog? What if it backfires? I mean, suddenly the whole world knows she’s in love – what happens next? Wonderful things, as it turns out, and we were all along for the ride…

I typically try to only involve the wifie in funny stories on my blog, but even that can create moments of discomfort. As simple a story as it was, the first blog I wrote about her made her very worried – she was concerned people would perceive her as mean-spirited. I just hit submit and assured her there was no problem – but in her eyes, I could see she still had doubts.

So Nicole and I thought it would be instructive to ask our spouses: what is it like to be married to a blogger? I interviewed Mike, and she interviewed the wifie – here are their own thoughts, shared with us all on their own terms:

An Interview with Mike, Nicole’s Husband

Tell us a little about your relationship with Nicole:

Almost instantly I could not get enough of her… she immediately made me laugh and feel at ease and she is so damn smart. I know we are going to have a lifetime of fun and interesting conversations and experiences together.

1)What were your initial thoughts when Nicole told you she was launching a blog?

I was excited for Nicole. I knew she had the capacity to speak to a lot of people through her writing. I am not surprised at all with the amount of successes she had with the blog so far…and I see limitless opportunity for her to explore her writing through blogging and other writing forums.

2) What is the best part about being married to a blogger?

There is never a quiet moment. She is always searching for the next thing to write about or experience. Seeing the world through Nicole’s eyes is an amazing thing as she is never one to judge and truly appreciates the uniqueness in all people. She loves watching human interaction in the purest and most simplest ways.

3) What is the worst part about being married to a blogger?

It is sometimes uncomfortable to see the personal parts of our relationship discussed but I think it shows the realness about what truly goes on in a marriage…both the highs and the lows

4) When was the first time you thought…”are you really going to write that”? What did you do?

I can’t remember the specific instance but I am sure I reached for a beer.

5) Do you think blogging changed your wife? If yes, how so?

Blogging has been great for Nicole. It has made her so much more confident in herself and her writing.

An Interview with Amy, Derek’s Wife (AKA the Wifie)

1) How did you feel when Derek said he wanted to start blogging?

When Derek said he wanted to start a blog, I was really excited for him. He writes beautifully, and has always had such a way with words. He’s got a good heart and mind, and really thinks things through–I think his words are worth sharing! He’s always wanted to be a writer, and I thought this would be a great way for him to finally start doing what he’s always been good at doing!

2) What is the best part about being married to a blogger?

The best part about him being a blogger, is that it makes him happy. I also like having others notice his wit and way with words! It’s fun to have acquaintances and friends send me a message, or stop me when they would normally pass by, and say how much they enjoyed Derek’s latest blog! I’m happy for him!

3) What is the worst part about being married to a blogger?

The worst part about being married to a blogger, might be the worry that everything that is done or said in the household, might be written about! 🙂 After the ground rules were set that I had to give clearance to things that are written about the personal side of me, I felt much better–And he has stuck to his promise! 🙂

4) When was the first time you thought…”are you really going to write that”? What did you do?

The first time I gave an adamant “No” was when he first let me proofread his blog “Husband’s monthly shopping trip“. I laughed so much when I read it though, that I felt if he made a few minor changes, it wouldn’t be too embarrassing. I obviously ended up agreeing to it! 🙂

5) Has blogging changed your husband?

I think it’s changed Derek in a positive way. He really likes writing and telling stories, so when he’s blogging, he seems to be more hopeful that things are going the way they should.

Nicole says:

When I decided to open my world to the whole world, so many people in my life were affected. I didn’t think I could share my thoughts without sharing my experiences, for me the two went hand in hand. When I read Amy and Mike’s responses to our questions, it really occurred to me how much impact what I write (or what Derek writes) has on my family.

I think we are lucky to have people in our lives that support us in whatever makes us happy–even if that means they reach for a beer when they are a bit uncomfortable or ask if we might change a word or two so they will sleep better at night.

After all, what we are writing about is our lives–our marriages, our children, our jobs, our fears. And through all of that, there is someone standing beside us, their dreams are unfolding just like ours.

And while we are living, we–the bloggers– are remembering the details to be written down at a later date, to be twisted a little into something special– to make people laugh or wince or cry.

And the whole time we are writing and remembering, there’s a husband, or a wife, standing nearby, wringing their hands, just a little. And wondering just what life story we will be writing next.

Interview with a Blogstress – the high school years…

Joint blogging week continues with a throwback (you can find the first post about Mr. Dicks here, and Nicole’s journey to blogging is here).  If you read the post about Mr. Dicks, you know that Nicole and I met in 9th grade Earth Science… and if you are reading this, there is a decent chance you also went to Northville High School back in the 1990’s.  We thought it might be fun to open the book on some of those high school experiences for this blog post.  If you were there, it might bring back some fond memories.  If you weren’t, maybe it will give you a new perspective on us.  You’ll find Nicole’s answers below – mine to follow tomorrow.

 So let’s get this rolling with a softie.  There’s probably a lot to choose from over four years, but what is your favorite memory of high school?  If you can’t narrow it down to just one, feel free to throw a couple memories my way.

My favorite high school memory…I have lots of wonderful memories of lots of wonderful people. Most of my best memories relate to band, I know that makes me a band geek but I don’t care. I remember “band camp” every year to be such a fun time. Working in the back room outfitting everyone in uniforms with the other drum majors, Matt Falkawicz, Beth Patterson, Adrienne Dunkerley, Andrea Crawford. I loved when we would have a substitute teacher and everyone would switch instruments, Jenny Cole might play percussion and one of the percussionists would come to the alto sax section. But most of all, it was the football games. Sitting in the stands, marching over the bridge, going out afterwards to big boys or pizza hut. These are the things I remember. And the memories I hope my daughter makes when she goes to high school next year. Well most of the memories. Some of them…I would ground her for making. 😉

Hmm… while the natural follow up might be to ask about band camp (are the rumors TRUE???), I think I will go a different direction, lest we find out what offenses you now deem “groundable” for the next generation.  It seems like the core of your high school experience revolved around band, but that was a long time ago.  Does your “band experience” still have an impact on who you are today?  If so, how?  If not, why?

Phew.  Dodged a bullet there (those experiences in “band camp” are top secret).

I think anyone who played in band would say that they never leave those experiences behind.  I made some of my first friends there and those are friends I still see today.  For me, music has always been such an integral part of my life.  I learned to play the piano before I went to school, was writing my own songs when I was only 7 or 8…I was never really really good (there were far better players of music than I that we went to high school with) but I just loved it so much.  It’s something I can’t imagine that I would be the person I am today without.

Band camp happened at NHS by the way, so the scenes from American Pie didn’t exactly go down.  But there was one time, in a hotel at State Band Festival….oh boy! 🙂

What about the menfolk… I always remember you talking about this boy or another… who was your first high school crush?

Somehow all of my youthful stories revolve around menfolk, which in retrospect, would probably be a highly contributing factor to my sketchy GPA in high school.  But I’ll keep this one simple.  My first real kiss was in 8th Grade with a certain drummer/percussionist that I am currently Facebook friends with and it was so nice.  I have a sweet memory of that kiss—I’d call it my real first date.  I’ve always wondered if it was his first kiss too.  I hope it was.  In 9th grade I was still figuring the whole high school boy thing out.  By 10th grade.. .well.  My mom reads the blog.  And so does my husband.  But I had some very lovely, special boyfriends in high school and I was a pretty good girl, especially by today’s standards.  Can we just leave it there? 🙂

 Wow…. I’m not FB friends with too many of my ex-girlfriends… except my wife’s sister.  Anyway, four years is a lot of time to make great memories, but also plenty of time to make some mistakes.  If there was anything you could get a “do over” for, what would it be?

Note to self: Ask D-Rock about his wife’s sister.

I think if I could do it all over I would be more truthful with myself and others, I felt like I had to be “someone” in order to fit in and now I realize, I was always someone.  And that would probably have been enough.  And I would work harder, study more.  I was an average student in high school.  At this interval, I am 3/4 of the way done with my Bachelor’s Degree (even if I am a late bloomer) and I have only had 3 B’s in college ever.  I am proud of that.  But it makes me realize how much better I could have done if I had tried.  My daughter is so much smarter about that than I am.  I am so glad.

You’ve mentioned your daughter a few times at this point.  What are you feeling as your first child nears high school?  What misgivings do you have?  What do you want her to KNOW above all else as she soon moves into the next phase of her life?

Those are great questions.  I think you must have a unique point of view on this because you are a teacher of teenagers—I can’t wait to ask you about that in your interview.  Being a “younger” mom of a 13 year old, I feel like I am caught in a strange space.  In some ways I still remember the awkward wonderfulness of being 13-14-15 and I want her to have those experiences, I don’t want to take the magic away from them by allowing my own fears to interfere.  On the other hand, I still remember how much trouble there is to get into—and more trouble now than ever.  I am lucky, she is so good–much more focused than I ever was.  Maybe more focused than I am even now!  I have to tell her to relax and not sweat the small stuff more than anything.  I am strict about school and working hard, but I want her to have memories and be happy most of all.  Not too many memories though.  And ones that involve as little boys as possible…;)

I am also hoping to keep my daughters away from those dreaded “boys” – especially if the boys are like I was!  I need to work on my scare tactics…

Well, we could keep this rolling indefinitely, but lets cut it off for tonight.  Hopefully you enjoyed this little foray into the past.  If you happen to think of additional or follow-up questions, feel free to email either me or Nicole.  Tomorrow, I’ll take the hot seat.

The infamous Mr. Dicks and why I blog…

As many of you know, I will be blogging in tandem with Nicole Acciaoli Emamuel this week.  She started her blog several years ago, which was one of the main inspirations to begin my blog a year later.  We decided to do a few blogs together this week and share some of the things we’ve learned along the way.  We both hope you’ll enjoy the journey!

Of course we should probably start with a few questions: How do I know her?  Where did this idea come from?  What’s the plan?  To answer these questions, I think it would be instructive to return to the very beginning…

I spent most of my first day of high school alone. The kids from Cooke Middle School and Meads Mill Middle School were reunited, and everyone seemed to know everyone else. Lumbering seniors patrolled the halls, at home in their element, while a puny kid sporting a spotty beard and some wisps of chest hair felt totally out of place.  High school was not looking promising for me.

That was before Mister Dicks.

The last hour of that dreadful day found me traveling down the science hallway for Earth Science and a dose of the mysterious “Dicks.” I didn’t know who Dicks was – it was just a name on the first semester schedule. As it turned out, Dicks was a silver haired goon with an unnatural hatred of hats. The man most likely would have put an early end to my high school career if not for the posse that surrounded me.

At the table in front in front of mine sat the two Jennys. In true “it’s a small world” fashion, Jenny R. went on to marry the music coach of some of the most talented freshman students I have ever been privileged to teach. Behind us sat Sara from Australia, who kept the semester moving by giving us a daily concert countdown – “22 more sleeps until Megadeth!” And then, there was my table partner, Nicole Acciaoli.

A few things I remember about Nicole: after a brutal first day of High School, she was really kind to me. She seemed to be friends with everyone around us, and could start up a conversation with anyone. She frequently wore silk shirts, as did I (in 1992 silks were the height of fashion). And she was my ally in the battle against Mr. Dicks.

Mr. Dicks didn’t like me. I’m still not quite sure why – I really didn’t come out of my shell in his class, and never caused a ruckus. But I was a hat wearer. And he hated him some hats. In fact, he had banned them from his room altogether – you couldn’t even bring a cap across the threshold of his classroom. And believe me – he always kept an eye open to see if the hat-haired boys had a cap tucked away in their sweater or jeans.

One day, I was running a little late. Most likely I had been hitting on some of the young ladies in the class of 1996 – showing off my latest chin whiskers.  While rushing to Earth Science, I realized that I was still sporting my brand new fitted Georgetown cap. Crap! Should I got back to my locker and take a tardy (and risk the wrath of Darlene, my rough and tough mama)? Or should I try to tuck the cap into the back of my trousers and sneak past Mr. Dicks? I decided to take the risk. I mean, could Dicks really notice every hat that came into his classroom? My money was on NO.

I slipped into the classroom and took my seat. Whew.  No problems so far! I simply sat on my hat and started chatting with Nicole. I wish I could say where the conversation went – probably Nicole’s new manfriend (pretty sure she had 15 that semester ;), though the 21 intervening years leave me fuzzy. However, what came next isn’t fuzzy at all.

“Mr. Southwick – I’d like to see you at my desk.”

Uh, I didn’t even know that Mr. Dicks knew my name, and I am certain this conversation was our first ever chat. I glanced up and noticed he was looking down at his desk. I surreptitiously slipped my hat over to Nicole. “Hold this for me,” I whispered. My hat was precious – part of my freshman identity. I knew I could trust it with my lab partner. Nicole had my back.

As I walked to the desk of Dicks, I felt pretty confident. My hat was safe where he would never find it. Moreover, I had thwarted his ridiculous rule. If only my white sneakers (worn with black jeans, of course) hadn’t been squeaking quite so loudly as I walked to the front of the room.

Just as arrived at his desk, Mr. Dicks spoke again. “Miss Acciaoli, would you please throw Mr. Southwick’s hat in the trash for me?”

Horror.

I looked back at Nicole. She looked up at me. Our eyes wide, she simply had to do as he asked. She walked to the front of the classroom, looked at me again, and tossed the hat into the metal basket.  The clang reverberated in my ears.

I don’t even remember what Mr. Dicks talked to me about that day. I know that in that instant, he became my mortal enemy.  Our epic battles would culminate in a yelling match in a packed hallway during my senior year. But that was years into the future.  What I do remember about that day is how profusely Nicole apologized for throwing away the hat.

“I am so sorry, Derek! I didn’t know what to do!”

“It’s ok. It’s not your fault. He’s the…” Not really sure what choice word I used in that moment. I’m sure it didn’t do Mr. Dicks justice.

“But I feel SOOO terrible!”

“No really. It’s ok. I’m not mad at you at all! I promise!”

“OK. But I still feel bad…”

And with that, life swept onward. The epic journey to retrieve the hat is also a story for another day. And within a few months, a new semester began. I had a new class and a new lab partner, and Miss Acciaoli – the thrower-away-of-hats – became a memory. One semester became a year, which became all of high school, which became a decade and three years. I never had a conversation with Nicole again. Ever. I might have nodded my head at her in the hallway a time or two. Such is high school.

Facebook tells me that the first time we had contact was when we became friends in 2009 – my first conversation with Nicole since 1993. 16 years. Even then, it was a bit strange – who was this girl writing to tell me how beautiful my family is? I mean, I am a huge Facebook fan, and I love having contact with old friends, even if it is just to see picture of their families and lives.  But it still can be weird sometimes, you know? Especially when the main memory you have of the person revolves around them throwing your hat away…

Then, a few years later, Nicole posted a link to her blog. I’m sure many of you have already read it, and were just as moved as I was. What an incomparable wordsmith. As I continued to read her words, I often found myself laughing and full of hope.  Other times, I felt sorrowful, or even wistful. She toiled away to bring her words to the rest of us, reaching us in a way not possible a decade ago. She quickly assumed the role of the best-writer-I-personally-know, even though I still didn’t really know her. Moreover, she offered inspiration to someone who had put his own pen down years ago. Her blog made me want to write… but did I have the courage?

In December of 2012, I sent Nicole a message (via Facebook, that wonderful tool that connected us) to ask her about her blog. How did she start it? Why did she start it? Was it terrifying to put her thoughts out in the public sphere? Was it rewarding? What was her vision? When did she get so awesome at writing? The questions went on and on.

These were questions by a man in the midst of change – someone who had just switched careers and didn’t quite fit in yet. These questions came from the heart of someone who loved to write long ago, but let go of those dreams because that’s what you have to do when you are an adult in the workaday world. The questions came from a big, furry guy with a passion for telling tales above all else. I desperately wanted to tell stories, but I had no idea how to find an audience. Nicole was busy telling stories and making a difference. I had to ask her those questions. She was the only person I knew that was where I hoped to be.

Nicole encouraged me, gave me advice, and helped me find my voice. A few months later, I started the Furry Bard, my place to tell stories. Sometimes I feel a little bit embarrassed – I know I am not a skillful writer like Nicole or the multitude of other bloggers I now read and converse with. But I feel at home every time I hit “submit” on a new post. For that, I have Nicole to thank.

Blogging represents a huge community of diverse people from a multitude of backgrounds. Over the past year, I realized other high school classmates have their own blogs, as well as former students, friends, and arch enemies. Everyone has a story to tell, and the means with which to tell it. However, it often takes a catalyst, a brave person to show you the way or to offer a hand in help or encouragement.

I’m glad Nicole finally made up for throwing my hat away 🙂

I’m looking forward to a week of sharing some thoughts in our little corner of the blogging community.

A year of blogging…

A year ago on February 24th, I launched The Furry Bard with the post Telling the Story.  It was a terrifying day for me – I had no idea if a single person would read it.  If anyone did read my words, what they would think?  Would they think I was an arrogant jerk for believing people would want to read my stories?  Would they laugh at my pathetic prose and talk about how I need to spend some time learning the English language?  Would they get mad at me and *gasp* defriend me on the Facebook?  I was petrified when I hit the “Publish” button.

I did hit the button though.  I did so because I always wanted to be a writer of some sort.  I don’t know that I’ll ever make the New York Times Bestseller list, but I love telling stories.  At age 34, I no longer wanted to wait for another day to start writing.  I spent far too much of my life pursuing goals that I cared nothing about – the time had come for me to actually do something I have a passion for.  So I decided not to worry about my fears and just start writing.  I set a goal of writing 20 blogs in 12 months, and I sat down and captured my thoughts.

Then an amazing thing happened.  People did read it.  And they didn’t talk about how my grammar sucked (although I know it does).  And only one person sent me a private message telling me I am a pompous a$$ that wants to feel important by writing stories no one cares about (yes, that did happen).  With my fears unfounded, I discovered a delightful way to spend my free time.

Along the way, I learned some things too.  Here’s a quick list of lessons I learned during my first year of blogging:

1.  I can accomplish my goals: As I mentioned, I set a goal of 20 blogs.  This blog will mark my 70th of the year.  Holy crap.  Looks like I was aiming low.

2.  Blogging has made me a better dad:  The simple fact that I always think about “the story” makes me so much aware of the relationship I have with my daughters.  The fun times (like Daddy Daughter Day), the hard times, and the sweet times – all of these might  have slipped by unnoticed if I wasn’t making an effort to capture the tales as they happen.  Although their business idea of sleeping with people for money still gives me nightmares!!!

This time last year, my daughter would never have reached over and grabbed my hand. We are closer today… in large part because of the blog…

3.  I am more fascinated by others: Being more aware of my own story made me so much more interested in the story of my coworkers, friends, family, etc.  We all lead such interesting and varied lives – and I love finding out more about the people who I come in contact with.

4.  I will never make a stupid promise again:  Well, I probably just did make a stupid promise.  But one promise I never should have made was to my in-laws in saying I would keep them out of the blog.  Seriously, like 3/4 of my best stories involve the hillbilly in-laws.  Like the one when my mother-in-law… nevermind.  Or when Virgie… gah!!!  Can I at least tell the one when Uncle Richard sent two little girls across the church with his fake leg to tell me he needed a ride home?  No?  Seriously people!  If you know my in-laws, let them know you want to hear stories – you NEED to hear stories wherein they are the main characters.  

5.  Blogging has made me a better husband:  If you have been reading the Furry Bard since the early days, you know the wifie is my main antagonist.  From the most popular post of the first six months of the blog to her devastating blow to my Christmas dreams, she constantly shows up to foil my plans.  But in real life, I have come to appreciate her much more these past 12 months.  We haven’t always had the best marriage… when you are 21 year-old kids getting hitched whilst barely knowing each other, the road isn’t going to be very smooth.  By examining our story and choosing things we are willing to share, we came to a much deeper appreciation of each other and the amazing life we have lived… even if I ruined it all by sharing the story of my monthly shopping trips.

6. I want to do this more: This might confuse you, as I already said I exceeded last year’s goal by 250%. Plus, I wrote enough words last year for a novel (no lie). I don’t necessarily want to do it more in terms of quantity. I just want to get better. A lot better. And I certainly want to be more consistent. I feel like half the time, my blogs are a mess that just happen to make someone laugh, and I know that I write so sporadically that some people don’t even check in anymore. I want to be more intentional.

I recently watched a video on a friend’s Facebook page and I thought it perfectly captured how I feel. You can watch it here (Note: the sound is kind of funky until the 30 second mark):

So expect more from the Furry Bard this year – much more!

7. I want to touch a life or two: This is the main reason I want to get better. I so deeply desire to have a positive impact on people’s lives. I mean, my whole career is tied up in trying to improve the lives of my students – I want them to feel valued and affirmed and brave and willing to take chances when they are in my classroom. But the truth is, I only have them for 5-10 months, one hour a day. I pour myself into what I do just hoping that they will see how much I care and it will change their lives for the better… but then they are gone, on to another grade or college and a busy life and I can only hope that the seed took root.

This blog is my chance to do the same with words. Even though my skills are not what they could be, I hope that people can sense the thirst I have for life and the passion I have for the stories we create each day. And if I get better, maybe those stories will be shared and spread and make a difference for someone, somewhere.

I hope you have enjoyed year one of the Furry Bard. I hope you’ll enjoy year two even more.

The best roses are free…

Half a dozen roses… so gorgeous… so expensive… especially on Valentine’s Day.

I usually don’t do roses on the day of love.  I’d rather spend the money on a nice dinner and a movie or concert.  It’s too cliche (because dinner and a movie aren’t cliche).  Who am I kidding – it’s a rip off – those florists probably turn their profit for the year on that one day.  I refuse to engage in capitalism at its worst…

Of course, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to give the wifie some roses on Valentine’s Day.  I’m just too cheap.  But I am also opportunistic.  If I were able to somehow get my hands on some inexpensive roses, I would jump at the chance.

So when a student waltzed into my classroom on Valentine’s Day with a beautiful bouquet of roses from her boyfriend, I felt a little sheepish.  They were amazing roses, lush, crimson, and fragrant.  In short, they were perfect, and she knew it.  She inhaled deeply, set them down on her desk, and almost floated back to the hallway, presumptively to say good-bye to her 17 year-old Adonis.  A few of the other students discussed the quality of the roses (so lovely) and their classmate’s good fortune (she is sooooo lucky to have such a wonderful boyfriend).  All the chatter made me feel guilty – did roses really cost that much?  Here is a teenager willing to put out a small fortune to take care of his girlfriend on Valentine’s Day, and I am unwilling to break the bank for the mother of my two children.

How lame am I?

What came next was wholly unexpected.

A tempest whirled into the room – the student that had seconds before been basking in the glory of her roses.  “I hate that &@*&#  &#$&*@#)(=!!!!,” she snarled, grabbing the roses.  “He’s such a #*()*$)*#@$!!!”  She turned and fled from the room, but only after slamming her roses into the trash can next to my desk.

There they are… just waiting to be given to someone special…

Complete silence.  We were all absolutely stunned by the turn of events.  When I could finally think again, the first coherent thought to form in my brain was, “I wonder if I can give those to the wifie…”

Then the chatter started back up.

“OMG!  I wonder what happened!”

“She was just madly in love like two seconds ago!”

“What could he have done to make her so mad?”

All the while, I visualized the joy on wifie’s face as I gave her roses on Valentine’s Day.

“Hey, Mr. S!  What are you gonna do with the flowers?  Are you gonna give them to your wife?”

Oh no!  Was it that obvious on my face?  “Do you think I should?” I asked, because every grown man should seek justification from high school juniors and seniors.

“She threw them away!  They’re yours now!”

“I mean, I guess I could – it hadn’t really crossed my mind…” I lied through my teeth.  “But I probably should wait and see if she wants them back.”  Please let her not want them back…. please…

“Are you kidding – she hates him!  You can tell!”

“Your wife is gonna be really happy when you give her those – they’re amazing!”

“Yes, yes they are.”  I am going to be a hero tonight.  For sure.

After lunch, all the students returned to class… and finally Miss Rose walked back in.  She seemed to be a little more settled, and all of the other students looked at me expectantly, knowing what I would soon ask.  I carefully approached her and asked in my most soothing voice, “are you feeling better now?”

“Yes, I’m really sorry I lost it in front of the class.  I just got so MAD AT HIM!!!  I’m sorry, I’m doing it again…”

“Well, I’m sorry about whatever happened.  I saved your roses in the trash can for you, just in case you wanted them back.”  The whole class held its collective breath.

“Oh thank you, but I don’t want them…  in fact, why don’t you give them to your wife?  It would make me happy if someone got them…”

SCORE!  The whole class was grinning.

“Well, if you’re sure…”

“I am.  Happy Valentine’s Day!”

Did I mention that I got roses for my wife on Valentine’s Day?  Not the cheap, flimsy ones.  Beautiful, plush roses that made her swoon.

How smart am I? 

A husband’s monthly shopping trip…

A few quick disclaimers:

Wifie wouldn’t give her blessing for this post unless I made it clear this doesn’t happen every single month.  OK.  Not EVERY month.

Also, I had to be somewhat vague.  I think you’ll get the point.

As always, no actual student names are used.  If a student is mentioned, the name has been changed.

There are certain things they don’t tell guys before they get married.  They don’t tell them that for the rest of their God given lives, they will be forced to sleep on approximately 1/8 of the bed, while the wifie is free to roam the other 7/8.  They don’t tell guys that there is no such thing as winning an argument – that even if a guy presents the more compelling case and effectively “wins” the argument… well, that ends up being a loss too.

Most importantly, no one tells guys that once they are married, they will need to go shopping for certain “necessities” once each month.

Now, this really shouldn’t be a problem.  I mean honestly, it’s nature.  It is part of the miracle of life.  Women all over the globe experience the same phenomenon regularly, and have done so for countless ages.  There’s no need to be embarrassed about it…

But its still rough on guys.  I think a few things upset guys about this.  First of all, the failure to plan.  I mean, come on – really?  You didn’t know this was going to happen?  Then, you have the fact that it’s ALWAYS an emergency.  I like things to be on an even keel – I don’t want to have to rush to the store and back again.  I’d rather sit at home and think about starting a new exercise program while eating chips and reading articles on espn.com.  And then there’s the whole fact that you’re a dude buying a lady product of a sensitive nature.  And, yes, no one is going to think that the guy is actually using the product – in fact, many will think “what a nice fella – he’s taking care of his lady.”  But there’s just something about it that brings embarrassment… furtive glances around the store; going up and down low traffic aisles that you normally avoid; and most importantly using the self check out to avoid direct human contact.

Let me reiterate that this is typically an issue EARLY in the relationship.  After a few years, the guy becomes a seasoned veteran.  No longer secretive, he proudly takes his monthly journey to the store and walks around with pride.  If he has a shopping cart, he makes sure to place the package where all can see it  and know: here is a man that knows no shame.  Sometimes, he will even walk up and down the aisles while tossing the package in the air – not even a hint of embarrassment.  Ice water runs through his veins – he is a master of feminine care.

I’ll admit to having run the gauntlet through my married years.  At first, I was humiliated to go on the monthly shopping trip of shame.  Then, I started to embrace it.  Finally, I became a bold shopper, ready to show the world my purchase.  After 13 years of marriage, nothing much can embarrass you.

Unless, of course, you shop where your students shop.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, I was forced to make my usual monthly run to Meijer Thrifty Acres to purchase necessary goods.  I noticed the parking lot was more full than usual, but I was in good spirits – this wasn’t an “emergency” run, so I wasn’t in a hurry.  I even grabbed the sale paper on the way in to look for other bargains.  Of course, I stopped to grab my “key” purchase first, as I wanted everyone to know what a loving husband I am.  Then, I took a stroll back to the main aisle.

There, I saw one of my students – a young man of 15.  Now, normally I love living in the same community where I teach.  Its always wonderful to see kids out and about town, and chat with them and their parents outside of the walls of the school.  I love that interaction.  This was no different.  We chatted for a few moments about our upcoming break and Christmas and whether or not he was buying any gifts for a lady in the class… and then he looked into the cart.

…

…

Conversation stopped.  His eyes were huge as they snapped back up to mine, his mouth moving but making no sound.  He clearly had no idea how to handle such a moment.

I knew the conversation was lost, so I bid him farewell and moved deeper into the store.  I turned a corner, and ran smack into another student and her parent.  I smiled and attempted conversation, but all eyes were already on the package in my cart.  What was happening here?  Of all people, a mother and daughter ought to understand, right?  The mother mumbled, “so nice to see you,” and put her hand behind her daughter’s back and propelled her onward.  Awash in embarrassment such as I hadn’t felt since 2004, I decided to cut my shopping trip short and head for the checkout aisle.  I also did something I had not done for many years – I dropped the sale paper over the package.  I hid my shame.

As luck would have it, I wasn’t quite done having conversations that day.  At the front of the store, one of my older students stopped me to talk.  I was a little edgy, but having covered the package with the paper, I felt somewhat safe.  Then, I noticed her cocking her head… she was trying to see what was under the paper.  I glanced down and realized it had shifted to the side a bit, exposing a just enough packaging to reveal the contents.  Her eyes met mine, and she smirked, but she continued chatting for a few more moments before taking her leave.  Whew.  At least that encounter wasn’t too awkward.

I paid and headed home, off the hook for another month.  I felt exhausted, but triumphant.  I had faced adversity and survived to shop another day.

The next day I was prepping my classroom for the day as students filed in for first hour.  The boy I had seen at Meijer arrived a bit early.  We made eye contact, but he said nothing.  I felt like we had reached a silent understanding.  The girl I saw with her mom shuffled in as well, and just sat looking at her binder, no words to share.  All the discomfort from yesterday was over – it was time to learn about the Age of Exploration.

Just before class started, another girl came in – one I had not seen at the store.  She set down her backpack and announced to the class, “Mr. S was at Meijer last night!  And he was buying “feminine products” for his wife!!!!”

I glanced around the room in horror.  The boy had his head down on the desk, shaking it back and forth.  The other girl, eyes locked on mine, was nodding her head vigorously up and down.  “How do you know what I was doing last night,” I asked as the rest of the class erupted into laughter.

“Emmy tweeted that she saw you buying “necessities” at Meijer and you were trying to hide them!  The whole school knows!!!”

The laughter still rings in my ears.

I blame the wifie.  Why the heck do I have to buy her stuff every month?!?!?  Why can’t she do it herself?

I guess I’m just gonna go sleep on my 1/8 of the bed now…