Kix -- Kid tested, Mother approved.
When I first saw Kix cereal I was pretty excited. Finally, a commercial product that legitimized what I spent hours doing every day. It was all about soccer, from the box to the commercials. This stuff just didn't happen in the 70's. Maybe all the hype was true and soccer really was going to be the next big thing here in the U.S.!
Then I tasted it. This cereal is nowhere near as much fun as playing soccer is. I think I kind of expected a party in my mouth. That's when I looked much closer at their tagline. It says "Kid Tested", but it never says that the kid approved it. His mother did.
I was conflicted about Kix throughout my childhood. Now that I think it tastes okay without a lot of sugar on it, it's too late. Maybe if that "Mother" remembered what it was like to be a kid, my childhood cereal memories would be a lot better.
Soccer is cool!
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
The Last Act of Defiance
Mom wants a 5th grade story. This may be a bad decision on her part.
Have you ever seen the cartoon where the bird of prey is attacking a mouse? It's talons are sharp, extended, and ready. It's swooping down at full speed, and the mouse has no chance whatsoever at survival. The mouse is calmly standing there flipping the bird (somewhat literally in this case). The point is that the mouse knew he was done for either way, so he might as well get in his last shot.
Sometimes when you're a kid, you feel like a mouse being attacked by a very large bird.
Sometimes when you're a kid, you get suspended -- and when you're 38, you won't even remember why you got suspended "that" time. You may have to go get your coat from class as part of your "walk of shame" after being suspended. You may even call your teacher the "B" word as loud as you can while you're grabbing your coat. My last act of defiance! (That day)
I remember the conversation I had with my dad that night:
"Sean, do you know what that word means?"
"No" (I know that it means she's really mean, that people don't like to be called it and that it's going to get me some attention when I return to school.)
"Well, it's a word that means female dog. Do you think that Mrs. Carl is a female dog?"
"No" (Heck yes, I do. She totally deserved it and now I can tell my friends what it means!)
"Do you think you should apologize?"
"Yes" (No!)
Now, Mrs. Carl retired from the Air Force which means a couple of things to me:
Have you ever seen the cartoon where the bird of prey is attacking a mouse? It's talons are sharp, extended, and ready. It's swooping down at full speed, and the mouse has no chance whatsoever at survival. The mouse is calmly standing there flipping the bird (somewhat literally in this case). The point is that the mouse knew he was done for either way, so he might as well get in his last shot.
Sometimes when you're a kid, you feel like a mouse being attacked by a very large bird.
Sometimes when you're a kid, you get suspended -- and when you're 38, you won't even remember why you got suspended "that" time. You may have to go get your coat from class as part of your "walk of shame" after being suspended. You may even call your teacher the "B" word as loud as you can while you're grabbing your coat. My last act of defiance! (That day)
I remember the conversation I had with my dad that night:
"Sean, do you know what that word means?"
"No" (I know that it means she's really mean, that people don't like to be called it and that it's going to get me some attention when I return to school.)
"Well, it's a word that means female dog. Do you think that Mrs. Carl is a female dog?"
"No" (Heck yes, I do. She totally deserved it and now I can tell my friends what it means!)
"Do you think you should apologize?"
"Yes" (No!)
Now, Mrs. Carl retired from the Air Force which means a couple of things to me:
- She probably had to be a "B" word from time to time just to get by
- She was most likely pretty cool, and surely had some great experiences that I would have liked to have heard
I believe that she's passed on, but I would like to say that I'm sorry. For reals this time.
Soccer is cool!
Sunday, December 7, 2008
The First Girlfriend
In sixth grade, how do you know that a girl is someone that you should ask to "go out with" you? Well, she should be cute.
As a personal aside, listing looks first doesn't make me shallow, it just makes me honest. Very few "first time I saw her" stories start with "I thought she was kind of ugly to begin with". Physical attraction is "species-continuation" necessary. Now how the heck do I get down from this soap box?
To continue the list of traits: She should be kind, fun to talk to, have a good sense of humor, she should be smart and sophisticated in a 6th grade sort of way. In return, she would have to agree to go out with this guy:
I decided that I was going to ask Shauna Massey to go out with me because she perfectly matched the most important traits on my list:
Cute?
Check
Kind?
Maybe
Fun to talk to?
I don't know - I never really talked to her
Good Sense of Humor?
Not sure
Smart?
I think she could be
Sophisticated?
Must be, she has a fake fur coat
NOW you can call me shallow!
Being suave and sophisticated myself, I used the checkbox technique to pop the question. I wrote the note and asked Shawna Jensen to deliver the note. Shawna was her best friend and someone I viewed almost like a cousin -- my mom and her mom were best friends. She gave her the note as we parted ways, I went down Atherton, and they went down Beechwood. I was freakin' nervous! I remember that I was with a friend of mine, but I was clearly focused on her so I don't remember who it was (it had to have been Judd Lewis or Brian Shaw -- not pertinent, but true).
They yelled back the answer which could have been very embarrassing, but since it was "yes", I was okay with it. Looking back, I am not sure whether the feeling I had was elation with her answer or relief that I wasn't rejected. I think it was relief.
The next day during morning recess, we were playing keep-away and Gary Wilde accidentally ran into her. I threatened him because I thought that's what you were supposed to do. She said I was too protective and broke up with me. So. . .
I had a girlfriend which meant, I was pretty sure, that I wasn't a virgin anymore -- we never kissed or anything, but I didn't think that was important. It didn't really bother me that it was over because my goal was accomplished.
If I hadn't threatened Gary, she would have broken up with me later in the day for sneezing wrong or something, so I'm just glad I gave her a reason early. That was some sweet 18 hours!
Epilogue:
A month or two later, the doorbell rang. As was my custom when such things happened, I answered. Much to my surprise, chagrin and dismay I was staring at Shawna and Shauna. My mom (unbeknownst to me, and clearly without my permission) agreed to give them a ride to the movies. Without a word to them or anyone else, I shut the door and went to my room. Suave and sophisticated, indeed!
As a personal aside, listing looks first doesn't make me shallow, it just makes me honest. Very few "first time I saw her" stories start with "I thought she was kind of ugly to begin with". Physical attraction is "species-continuation" necessary. Now how the heck do I get down from this soap box?
To continue the list of traits: She should be kind, fun to talk to, have a good sense of humor, she should be smart and sophisticated in a 6th grade sort of way. In return, she would have to agree to go out with this guy:
I decided that I was going to ask Shauna Massey to go out with me because she perfectly matched the most important traits on my list:
Cute?
Check
Kind?
Maybe
Fun to talk to?
I don't know - I never really talked to her
Good Sense of Humor?
Not sure
Smart?
I think she could be
Sophisticated?
Must be, she has a fake fur coat
NOW you can call me shallow!
Being suave and sophisticated myself, I used the checkbox technique to pop the question. I wrote the note and asked Shawna Jensen to deliver the note. Shawna was her best friend and someone I viewed almost like a cousin -- my mom and her mom were best friends. She gave her the note as we parted ways, I went down Atherton, and they went down Beechwood. I was freakin' nervous! I remember that I was with a friend of mine, but I was clearly focused on her so I don't remember who it was (it had to have been Judd Lewis or Brian Shaw -- not pertinent, but true).
They yelled back the answer which could have been very embarrassing, but since it was "yes", I was okay with it. Looking back, I am not sure whether the feeling I had was elation with her answer or relief that I wasn't rejected. I think it was relief.
The next day during morning recess, we were playing keep-away and Gary Wilde accidentally ran into her. I threatened him because I thought that's what you were supposed to do. She said I was too protective and broke up with me. So. . .
I had a girlfriend which meant, I was pretty sure, that I wasn't a virgin anymore -- we never kissed or anything, but I didn't think that was important. It didn't really bother me that it was over because my goal was accomplished.
If I hadn't threatened Gary, she would have broken up with me later in the day for sneezing wrong or something, so I'm just glad I gave her a reason early. That was some sweet 18 hours!
Epilogue:
A month or two later, the doorbell rang. As was my custom when such things happened, I answered. Much to my surprise, chagrin and dismay I was staring at Shawna and Shauna. My mom (unbeknownst to me, and clearly without my permission) agreed to give them a ride to the movies. Without a word to them or anyone else, I shut the door and went to my room. Suave and sophisticated, indeed!
Thursday, December 4, 2008
The Fight
Here's something odd for you. My dad has now tied my grandma for the number of times each has given me grief for not updating the blog. Alright, Dad, you play supporting role in this one, so here goes:
In 3rd grade (and every other grade through 6th)I got in a lot of fights. Looking back, I can't remember what led to most of them.
I do remember fighting a lot with Jason Beard. In the middle of the year, I had to transfer out of Ms. Unander's class and into Mrs. Forrester's class because he and I fought all the time.
About that -- freaking genius idea! For a guy I hated so much I fought with him every day, you'd think we'd find each other on the playground or something, but I don't think we fought again after switching classes. I guess it must have been scholarly pursuits at the crux of our problem. (You know, how do you draw a capital cursive Q, which dinosaur was the coolest -- deep stuff like that.)
Hindsight also makes me feel bad -- you have to wonder why I switched classes and he stayed.
That said, if I hadn't switched classes this story wouldn't exist. Man, I wish I had stayed. I don't like how this one ends.
With any new teacher there are pros and cons.
Pro: Mrs. Forrester was pretty old - I believe that she could give first-hand accounts of dinosaurs that would back my "T-Rex is the coolest" argument.
Con: Apparently you and Jay Warnick can't say "naked ladies" back and forth across the room without your parents getting a phone call.
Pro: I learned what "beheading" is -- cool word!
Con: Dad picked up the phone when it rang and was waiting in the classroom when I came in from recess. Apparently he agreed that "naked ladies" was an inappropriate thing to say over and over again across a room of 3rd grade kids.
Pro: Everybody laughed when I guessed what a "metallic" taste was, but I was right.
Con: Suspended for two days? I have to stay up in my bed for the rest of today? Oh, man!
Pro: Wendy Luebbe
Con: Chad Harmon
So Wendy Luebbe was in my new class, and she was one of the three cutest girls in my school (Cari Pocock and Dena Miller were the other two). As a third grade boy, you don't really know what's going on or what to do with this weird feeling, so you do some strange stuff. I had to let Wendy know that I thought she was cute, but how? The first idea that I came up with was to keep throwing the big rubber ball at her during recess. That didn't seem to work.
I can't remember how I hurt her, but I do remember that she had some scratches on her neck and she and I were in the principal's office.
Enter Dad: stage right
Exit Sean and Dad: stage left
Suspended for how long? Oh Man!
Rumor had it that Chad Harmon and Wendy were boyfriend and girlfriend. This made no sense at all because Chad played the accordion. Even in the third grade I knew that something was a little off about anybody who played the accordion -- I'm pretty sure some accordion-playing whack-job on Mr. Rogers was the one who clued me in.
Clearly, I had to fight Chad. The premise of the fight was that he was an accordion player and I was the founder of the AAPNCA (Anti-Accordion Players Named Chad Association).
Long story short:
I got the living crap kicked out of me by an accordion-playing whack-job named Chad. He got the girl; I got a bloody nose. He now has a blog with a story about how he kicked the crap out of some kid that looked like Opey, and I run for cover whenever I hear "Lady of Spain" and curl into the fetal position whenever my grandma turns on the Lawrence Welk show.
Soccer is cool!
In 3rd grade (and every other grade through 6th)I got in a lot of fights. Looking back, I can't remember what led to most of them.
I do remember fighting a lot with Jason Beard. In the middle of the year, I had to transfer out of Ms. Unander's class and into Mrs. Forrester's class because he and I fought all the time.
About that -- freaking genius idea! For a guy I hated so much I fought with him every day, you'd think we'd find each other on the playground or something, but I don't think we fought again after switching classes. I guess it must have been scholarly pursuits at the crux of our problem. (You know, how do you draw a capital cursive Q, which dinosaur was the coolest -- deep stuff like that.)
Hindsight also makes me feel bad -- you have to wonder why I switched classes and he stayed.
That said, if I hadn't switched classes this story wouldn't exist. Man, I wish I had stayed. I don't like how this one ends.
With any new teacher there are pros and cons.
Pro: Mrs. Forrester was pretty old - I believe that she could give first-hand accounts of dinosaurs that would back my "T-Rex is the coolest" argument.
Con: Apparently you and Jay Warnick can't say "naked ladies" back and forth across the room without your parents getting a phone call.
Pro: I learned what "beheading" is -- cool word!
Con: Dad picked up the phone when it rang and was waiting in the classroom when I came in from recess. Apparently he agreed that "naked ladies" was an inappropriate thing to say over and over again across a room of 3rd grade kids.
Pro: Everybody laughed when I guessed what a "metallic" taste was, but I was right.
Con: Suspended for two days? I have to stay up in my bed for the rest of today? Oh, man!
Pro: Wendy Luebbe
Con: Chad Harmon
So Wendy Luebbe was in my new class, and she was one of the three cutest girls in my school (Cari Pocock and Dena Miller were the other two). As a third grade boy, you don't really know what's going on or what to do with this weird feeling, so you do some strange stuff. I had to let Wendy know that I thought she was cute, but how? The first idea that I came up with was to keep throwing the big rubber ball at her during recess. That didn't seem to work.
I can't remember how I hurt her, but I do remember that she had some scratches on her neck and she and I were in the principal's office.
Enter Dad: stage right
Exit Sean and Dad: stage left
Suspended for how long? Oh Man!
Rumor had it that Chad Harmon and Wendy were boyfriend and girlfriend. This made no sense at all because Chad played the accordion. Even in the third grade I knew that something was a little off about anybody who played the accordion -- I'm pretty sure some accordion-playing whack-job on Mr. Rogers was the one who clued me in.
Clearly, I had to fight Chad. The premise of the fight was that he was an accordion player and I was the founder of the AAPNCA (Anti-Accordion Players Named Chad Association).
Long story short:
I got the living crap kicked out of me by an accordion-playing whack-job named Chad. He got the girl; I got a bloody nose. He now has a blog with a story about how he kicked the crap out of some kid that looked like Opey, and I run for cover whenever I hear "Lady of Spain" and curl into the fetal position whenever my grandma turns on the Lawrence Welk show.
Soccer is cool!
Thursday, November 6, 2008
The Problem
Is the problem with me, with competition, or with our society?
3rd grade:
Our class (Mrs. Forrester's class) challenged a 4th grade class to a math competition. The rules were simple. Each class would have a kid do a multiplication problem, and then the other class would go. The contest would last until lunch time, and the class who missed the least number of problems would win.
I know I'm not alone on this one, but I still feel bad about it -- I wanted everyone in their class to fail. I was bummed when they got the problem right. I was nervous when our dumb kids were up to bat. (Harsh, I know, but I'm conveying a memory here, and I was in 3rd grade -- back off!)
I was also intensely nervous when my turn came -- I didn't want to be the dumb kid.
The battle was fierce, the soldiers were fearless, and a draw seemed inevitable. No one had missed a problem, and lunchtime was ticking closer and closer. So now I'm conflicted; on the one hand, we had to determine a winner; on the other hand, we might be having cooked carrots or turkey pitas with mystery yellow sauce for lunch. I really liked them both, but the cooked carrots were something you had to be careful with since only a retard (3rd grade -- back off!) would like cooked carrots.
Then it happened. The problem was 8*7. I don't know her name, and I don't remember what she said, I only remember that she didn't say "56".
My feelings in order:
She got it wrong!
Yes!
Burn on you - we just won!
We are probably the smartest 3rd grade class on earth -- what other 3rd graders could beat 4th graders in times tables -- no other 3rd graders, that's who!
What is she doing?
Oh, crap!
What am I supposed to do when a girl cries?
I feel bad for her.
She probably should have studied harder.
She's probably crying cause everyone in her class hates her now.
I don't think I'm supposed to be happy.
This definitely makes me less happy.
I think I have to play it cool until recess.
Yes, we won -- I mean, I knew we were smart, but . . . that smart? Wow!
I feel really bad for her!
I've heard that you remember 'moments' in your life. I remember that moment, and I still feel really, really bad for her because I bet she remembers that moment, too. I hope she's successful and happy.
Soccer is cool!
3rd grade:
Our class (Mrs. Forrester's class) challenged a 4th grade class to a math competition. The rules were simple. Each class would have a kid do a multiplication problem, and then the other class would go. The contest would last until lunch time, and the class who missed the least number of problems would win.
I know I'm not alone on this one, but I still feel bad about it -- I wanted everyone in their class to fail. I was bummed when they got the problem right. I was nervous when our dumb kids were up to bat. (Harsh, I know, but I'm conveying a memory here, and I was in 3rd grade -- back off!)
I was also intensely nervous when my turn came -- I didn't want to be the dumb kid.
The battle was fierce, the soldiers were fearless, and a draw seemed inevitable. No one had missed a problem, and lunchtime was ticking closer and closer. So now I'm conflicted; on the one hand, we had to determine a winner; on the other hand, we might be having cooked carrots or turkey pitas with mystery yellow sauce for lunch. I really liked them both, but the cooked carrots were something you had to be careful with since only a retard (3rd grade -- back off!) would like cooked carrots.
Then it happened. The problem was 8*7. I don't know her name, and I don't remember what she said, I only remember that she didn't say "56".
My feelings in order:
She got it wrong!
Yes!
Burn on you - we just won!
We are probably the smartest 3rd grade class on earth -- what other 3rd graders could beat 4th graders in times tables -- no other 3rd graders, that's who!
What is she doing?
Oh, crap!
What am I supposed to do when a girl cries?
I feel bad for her.
She probably should have studied harder.
She's probably crying cause everyone in her class hates her now.
I don't think I'm supposed to be happy.
This definitely makes me less happy.
I think I have to play it cool until recess.
Yes, we won -- I mean, I knew we were smart, but . . . that smart? Wow!
I feel really bad for her!
I've heard that you remember 'moments' in your life. I remember that moment, and I still feel really, really bad for her because I bet she remembers that moment, too. I hope she's successful and happy.
Soccer is cool!
Sunday, October 5, 2008
The Poem
Second Grade, Mrs. Pannier, and the "P" word. I'm not real proud of this one, but it's true -- so here it goes.
I somehow got it in my 7-year-old head that I could write poetry. The good news is that, even at 7, I knew that my first few efforts were poor. The bad news is that I thought that I could fool the world.
It was autumn, and I was trying to write a poem about it -- you know, lots of easy topics -- leaves, football, chill in the air, halloween, etc. When I failed to write anything fridge-worthy, I checked out a poetry book from the library to give me some ideas. I found a poem that I liked -- mostly because it mentioned apple cider and had a fox. I really, really like apple cider and foxes seemed pretty smart. (Btw, cider is unprocessed, is usually dark brown, cloudy and perishable, whereas juice is further processed and has a longer shelf life -- I like them both, but I prefer cider.)
Since this poem was good and had two cool things in it, I thought I'd try to write a similar poem. I gave it two or three shots before I figured out that it would just be easier to write the same words on a different piece of paper and pass it off as my own.
Mrs. Pannier was always one of my favorites. I'm not sure why she didn't call me out on the obvious plagiary -- I thought I fooled her for a long time -- but I still think she was a good teacher.
Soccer is cool!
I somehow got it in my 7-year-old head that I could write poetry. The good news is that, even at 7, I knew that my first few efforts were poor. The bad news is that I thought that I could fool the world.
It was autumn, and I was trying to write a poem about it -- you know, lots of easy topics -- leaves, football, chill in the air, halloween, etc. When I failed to write anything fridge-worthy, I checked out a poetry book from the library to give me some ideas. I found a poem that I liked -- mostly because it mentioned apple cider and had a fox. I really, really like apple cider and foxes seemed pretty smart. (Btw, cider is unprocessed, is usually dark brown, cloudy and perishable, whereas juice is further processed and has a longer shelf life -- I like them both, but I prefer cider.)
Since this poem was good and had two cool things in it, I thought I'd try to write a similar poem. I gave it two or three shots before I figured out that it would just be easier to write the same words on a different piece of paper and pass it off as my own.
Mrs. Pannier was always one of my favorites. I'm not sure why she didn't call me out on the obvious plagiary -- I thought I fooled her for a long time -- but I still think she was a good teacher.
Soccer is cool!
Monday, September 29, 2008
The Spelling Bee
If my family reads this post, I'm sure they're salivating over what they expect to read here - I'll get to my sixth grade spelling bee a little later - for now, a happier time, and a happier story.
Due to all the reading I did (see "The Flower"), I was a pretty good speller. I only remember one spelling bee in first grade - and this is a story about that event.
Schools used to prepare you for the real world a little better than they do now. If you failed, you knew it and so did everybody else. We moved all the desks to the side, and sat down on the floor one behind the other. You stood up to spell your word and success meant sitting back down in your spot. A misspelled word meant the walk of shame. You had to walk past all the sitting kids and watch the rest of the bee from your desk. I did not want to lose, and fortune was on my side.
Three people were left, I remember one of them was Brent Blair, I don't remember number two, and I was the third. We were all spelling the easy words alright, and I think that either the teachers were tired of the bee, or we were coming up on lunch or recess, so they decided to pull out the tricky words. Much to my delight, they pulled out the word "alphabet" -- "How could that be good news?", you might ask?.
Flashback --
Earlier in the week, I was in the library and saw a word that I thought was spelled wrong, so I asked about it. It was elephant. I asked Mr. Dunkley about it, and he educated me about the wonders of the "ph" combination making the "f" sound - as an aside, he mentioned that "alphabet" was another word that was spelled that way.
Unflashback --
I won.
It's funny, how fate and a serendipitous conversation with a librarian can change how others view you and how you view yourself. If it hadn't been for this shot of confidence, there may not even be a sixth grade spelling bee story. Stupid fate. Stupid serendipity.
Soccer is cool!
Due to all the reading I did (see "The Flower"), I was a pretty good speller. I only remember one spelling bee in first grade - and this is a story about that event.
Schools used to prepare you for the real world a little better than they do now. If you failed, you knew it and so did everybody else. We moved all the desks to the side, and sat down on the floor one behind the other. You stood up to spell your word and success meant sitting back down in your spot. A misspelled word meant the walk of shame. You had to walk past all the sitting kids and watch the rest of the bee from your desk. I did not want to lose, and fortune was on my side.
Three people were left, I remember one of them was Brent Blair, I don't remember number two, and I was the third. We were all spelling the easy words alright, and I think that either the teachers were tired of the bee, or we were coming up on lunch or recess, so they decided to pull out the tricky words. Much to my delight, they pulled out the word "alphabet" -- "How could that be good news?", you might ask?.
Flashback --
Earlier in the week, I was in the library and saw a word that I thought was spelled wrong, so I asked about it. It was elephant. I asked Mr. Dunkley about it, and he educated me about the wonders of the "ph" combination making the "f" sound - as an aside, he mentioned that "alphabet" was another word that was spelled that way.
Unflashback --
I won.
It's funny, how fate and a serendipitous conversation with a librarian can change how others view you and how you view yourself. If it hadn't been for this shot of confidence, there may not even be a sixth grade spelling bee story. Stupid fate. Stupid serendipity.
Soccer is cool!
The Yard Sale
Yard sales?? Really?
Luckily, I love Julie more than I despise yard sales.
Soccer is cool!
Luckily, I love Julie more than I despise yard sales.
Soccer is cool!
Monday, September 22, 2008
The Flower
We're staying in first grade for this one. Mom -- if you can find a picture of this event, send it to me, and I'll add it to give a bit more color to my description.
In order to get us excited about reading, we had a contest to see who could read the most over a month's time frame or so. I'm going to give an account the way my 6-7 year-old brain remembers it, and if I find evidence that I'm exaggerating or understating anything, I'll add a footnote.
I was a good reader (once my mom reads this, she may make me add my first footnote for that statement alone) -- I was stoked to show everybody, too. I had to count the number of books I read, and I remember my mom keeping track of them on a 5" x 8" (or so)notepad, and the way I remember it, you would get credit for a book for every ten pages you read.
I specifically remember reading a book about marine life, and one about some gargoyles and pizza (my favorite book back then, but I can't even remember the title now). All in all, I read over 600 books -- since this seems unlikely, I now believe it may have been over 600 pages. Again, Mom, if you have the certificate -- scan it and I'll be really sad when I have to revise my story down to "just over 60 pages".
They had a big awards assembly where we had to wear our best suit -- problem being that this was the mid-seventies, so there weren't even any good suits. Forest green polyester - far out, man -- sold! We also had to walk arm in arm with one of those soft people (girls). I wasn't really excited about that, but it was still my big night. The governor was going to be there (could have been a city council member who was also the father of one of the kids), and I was pretty sure that the media would be covering the event.
I remember being nervous about hand placement. I was supposed to put my hand over my belly button, and the girl would put her arm through the hole in my arm. I took this VERY seriously, and didn't want to screw it up. I can actually see a manifestation of my thoughts and feelings in the way my nephew, Andrew, currently handles important situations like this one. Serious as a heart-attack and stiff as a board.
I don't remember how they paired up the boys and girls, but I do remember hitting the jackpot -- Tracy Hooton. Dark hair, fair-skinned, and wore a light green dress that would go well with the pimp-daddy polyester I was wearing. She was the belle of the ball and I was the red-headed, freckle-faced, hyper-active and crew-cut date on the end of her arm. I'm sure we both felt pretty lucky.
She was also wearing a flower and -- get this -- perfume. All the boys were suddenly a little hipper to the positive aspects of the soft people. They were lining up to smell her flower - clearly a front to get a little closer, but still be cool.
Not a shabby night. I remember telling people for years that I set a record for the number of books read, and I believed it. In hindsight, 60 pages ain't bad!
Soccer is cool!
In order to get us excited about reading, we had a contest to see who could read the most over a month's time frame or so. I'm going to give an account the way my 6-7 year-old brain remembers it, and if I find evidence that I'm exaggerating or understating anything, I'll add a footnote.
I was a good reader (once my mom reads this, she may make me add my first footnote for that statement alone) -- I was stoked to show everybody, too. I had to count the number of books I read, and I remember my mom keeping track of them on a 5" x 8" (or so)notepad, and the way I remember it, you would get credit for a book for every ten pages you read.
I specifically remember reading a book about marine life, and one about some gargoyles and pizza (my favorite book back then, but I can't even remember the title now). All in all, I read over 600 books -- since this seems unlikely, I now believe it may have been over 600 pages. Again, Mom, if you have the certificate -- scan it and I'll be really sad when I have to revise my story down to "just over 60 pages".
They had a big awards assembly where we had to wear our best suit -- problem being that this was the mid-seventies, so there weren't even any good suits. Forest green polyester - far out, man -- sold! We also had to walk arm in arm with one of those soft people (girls). I wasn't really excited about that, but it was still my big night. The governor was going to be there (could have been a city council member who was also the father of one of the kids), and I was pretty sure that the media would be covering the event.
I remember being nervous about hand placement. I was supposed to put my hand over my belly button, and the girl would put her arm through the hole in my arm. I took this VERY seriously, and didn't want to screw it up. I can actually see a manifestation of my thoughts and feelings in the way my nephew, Andrew, currently handles important situations like this one. Serious as a heart-attack and stiff as a board.
I don't remember how they paired up the boys and girls, but I do remember hitting the jackpot -- Tracy Hooton. Dark hair, fair-skinned, and wore a light green dress that would go well with the pimp-daddy polyester I was wearing. She was the belle of the ball and I was the red-headed, freckle-faced, hyper-active and crew-cut date on the end of her arm. I'm sure we both felt pretty lucky.
She was also wearing a flower and -- get this -- perfume. All the boys were suddenly a little hipper to the positive aspects of the soft people. They were lining up to smell her flower - clearly a front to get a little closer, but still be cool.
Not a shabby night. I remember telling people for years that I set a record for the number of books read, and I believed it. In hindsight, 60 pages ain't bad!
Soccer is cool!
Sunday, September 21, 2008
The Contest
I'm a Seinfeld fan. You should know that. Because of that, I have decided to change my blog entry naming convention to match that of Seinfeld episodes. So from now on, the blog will be named "The [something]".
I've decided to make the next few entries about the most memorable experiences in my elementary school years. If you are a fan of the show, you may enjoy the irony inherent in the fact that "The Contest" is about a first grade experience.
I can't remember what key learning we were supposed to take away from this fall activity, but I'll bullet point my thoughts once I'm done. This is the way "The Contest" went down from my first grade viewpoint.
The assignment was:
Catch a bug
Make sure that it's a really good, fast bug
All bugs will be put into the middle of a circle, the first bug out of the circle wins
Lucky for me we had a grasshopper farm in our neighborhood. It wasn't too far a walk either, as it was located between the back of our house and the back fence and was bordered by the two side fences. Some of the best and fastest bugs in the state were found here -- I was pretty sure I was going to win. The hunt was exhausting, and many hoppers were caught and summarily dismissed upon closer examination when they fell short of my size, speed, and/or spunk requirements. I finally found the winner. It wasn't the best I'd seen, but I figured it was good enough to win against the chump bug-catchers in my class.
I put him in the requisite mason jar with the grass/weeds for food (pretty much Wheaties for bugs) and the holes in the lid. I remember being very concerned that there would be controversy when my bug won, and some other kid claimed that it was actually his bug. Something had to be done. I'd love to give credit where it's due, but I can't remember whether it was Mom or Dad that came up with the idea to put fingernail polish on the abdomen (the last part of the bug along with the head and thorax -- I think I just figured out what we were supposed to be learning). The fingernail polish was somewhere between red and hot pink -- very distinctive, problem solved.
The inspecting of the athletes took place outside the doors to our classrooms before school started. There are two memories of note here. First, there was a group of guys playing catch with a football. At first this may seem benign, but to my hyper-competitive mind, these guys were CLEARLY not taking things seriously enough. No pep talks, no checking out the competition, no last minute strategy adjustments -- very good news.
Secondly, there was Curtis Adkins. I didn't know Curtis very well, but his reputation as a very smart kid preceded him. It was this reputation that really had me questioning my strategy when I saw what he brought. He had a red, cylindrical container (kind of looked like a flashlight body), and his competitor was right there in the bottom. You had to look really hard to see him, though, because he was an ANT. I thought I had clearly missed the boat, because the smart kid brought a freakin' ANT -- what was I missing?!?! Turns out that either Curtis was no where near as smart as people thought, just forgot about the assignment and caught the first thing he saw on the way to school, or was so much smarter than I was because he saw the humor in bringing an ant. I'll never know, Curtis moved before we hit second grade.
So Curtis didn't win. Sean didn't win either - devastating, but I learned some pretty important things:
Catch your bug on the day of an event - they lose a lot of their spunk overnight
Mark your bug (I still think it was a smart move!)
Not everybody sees everything as a competition - and they'll probably live longer
Soccer is cool!
I've decided to make the next few entries about the most memorable experiences in my elementary school years. If you are a fan of the show, you may enjoy the irony inherent in the fact that "The Contest" is about a first grade experience.
I can't remember what key learning we were supposed to take away from this fall activity, but I'll bullet point my thoughts once I'm done. This is the way "The Contest" went down from my first grade viewpoint.
The assignment was:
Catch a bug
Make sure that it's a really good, fast bug
All bugs will be put into the middle of a circle, the first bug out of the circle wins
Lucky for me we had a grasshopper farm in our neighborhood. It wasn't too far a walk either, as it was located between the back of our house and the back fence and was bordered by the two side fences. Some of the best and fastest bugs in the state were found here -- I was pretty sure I was going to win. The hunt was exhausting, and many hoppers were caught and summarily dismissed upon closer examination when they fell short of my size, speed, and/or spunk requirements. I finally found the winner. It wasn't the best I'd seen, but I figured it was good enough to win against the chump bug-catchers in my class.
I put him in the requisite mason jar with the grass/weeds for food (pretty much Wheaties for bugs) and the holes in the lid. I remember being very concerned that there would be controversy when my bug won, and some other kid claimed that it was actually his bug. Something had to be done. I'd love to give credit where it's due, but I can't remember whether it was Mom or Dad that came up with the idea to put fingernail polish on the abdomen (the last part of the bug along with the head and thorax -- I think I just figured out what we were supposed to be learning). The fingernail polish was somewhere between red and hot pink -- very distinctive, problem solved.
The inspecting of the athletes took place outside the doors to our classrooms before school started. There are two memories of note here. First, there was a group of guys playing catch with a football. At first this may seem benign, but to my hyper-competitive mind, these guys were CLEARLY not taking things seriously enough. No pep talks, no checking out the competition, no last minute strategy adjustments -- very good news.
Secondly, there was Curtis Adkins. I didn't know Curtis very well, but his reputation as a very smart kid preceded him. It was this reputation that really had me questioning my strategy when I saw what he brought. He had a red, cylindrical container (kind of looked like a flashlight body), and his competitor was right there in the bottom. You had to look really hard to see him, though, because he was an ANT. I thought I had clearly missed the boat, because the smart kid brought a freakin' ANT -- what was I missing?!?! Turns out that either Curtis was no where near as smart as people thought, just forgot about the assignment and caught the first thing he saw on the way to school, or was so much smarter than I was because he saw the humor in bringing an ant. I'll never know, Curtis moved before we hit second grade.
So Curtis didn't win. Sean didn't win either - devastating, but I learned some pretty important things:
Catch your bug on the day of an event - they lose a lot of their spunk overnight
Mark your bug (I still think it was a smart move!)
Not everybody sees everything as a competition - and they'll probably live longer
Soccer is cool!
Monday, September 15, 2008
Thing 3
When I was in kindergarten, I very distinctly remember one event (and my cute teacher Mrs. Coil).
We had to stand outside until the teachers would let us in the building. (Yeah, kids used to have to stand out in the cold -- we all lived through it, too.) I thought it would be pretty impressive if I was able to climb the little fence that separated the evergreen bushes from the little cement step in front of the glass doors. Can you imagine? A kid who can climb a 3 foot fence!?! Now that is something that is sure to impress the fellas, and that the girls would like to see.
As it turns out, it might have been a lot more impressive if I had actually cleared the obstacle. I got to the top and caught the crotch part of my pants on the sharp "Y" that used to exist on the top of chain-link fences. I lost my balance, fell over the other side, and the fabric of my pants ripped from the crotch area all the way down my leg.
On the one hand:
Sharp metal stuck into my pants at the CROTCH, ripped all the way down my leg -- nary a scratch. I was very, very lucky.
On the other hand:
The best pants-fixing technology available at the school was a stapler and masking tape that had to be applied by the aforementioned cute teacher to my kindergarten crotch area. Not great.
The moral of the story:
If it is ever claimed that I am unimpressive, maybe that's because I learned my lesson on a cold winter day in my kindergarten year. Good night and God bless.
Soccer is cool!
We had to stand outside until the teachers would let us in the building. (Yeah, kids used to have to stand out in the cold -- we all lived through it, too.) I thought it would be pretty impressive if I was able to climb the little fence that separated the evergreen bushes from the little cement step in front of the glass doors. Can you imagine? A kid who can climb a 3 foot fence!?! Now that is something that is sure to impress the fellas, and that the girls would like to see.
As it turns out, it might have been a lot more impressive if I had actually cleared the obstacle. I got to the top and caught the crotch part of my pants on the sharp "Y" that used to exist on the top of chain-link fences. I lost my balance, fell over the other side, and the fabric of my pants ripped from the crotch area all the way down my leg.
On the one hand:
Sharp metal stuck into my pants at the CROTCH, ripped all the way down my leg -- nary a scratch. I was very, very lucky.
On the other hand:
The best pants-fixing technology available at the school was a stapler and masking tape that had to be applied by the aforementioned cute teacher to my kindergarten crotch area. Not great.
The moral of the story:
If it is ever claimed that I am unimpressive, maybe that's because I learned my lesson on a cold winter day in my kindergarten year. Good night and God bless.
Soccer is cool!
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Entry #2
This post is dedicated to Ann Keys. She said that she's been waiting for another one, so here goes. . .
First a little Fresh Prince (sing to the song of "Parents just don't understand -- I just changed a few of the words to fit our situation):
Okay, here's the situation
Our family came here for a week's vacation and
They took the keys to the brand new car
Would we mind?
Umm, well, of course not
They'll just take it for a little spin
And maybe show it off to a couple of friends
They'll just cruise it around the county or state
Well, maybe they shouldn't
Yeah, of course they should
Pay attention, here's the thick of the plot
Someone pulled up to the corner at the end of some block. . .
It's really not that bad - Julie was able to get most of the paint off the bumper with her new best freind "The Magic Eraser".
So at the end of the day, she is a much better, more giving, and patient person than I am. I have said, and many other people have said that she needs to learn how to say "no". I've believed it every time I've said it. In the end, she is aware that family takes advantage of her, and she's okay with it. She even likes it -- so I guess I need to learn to say "yes" more, and quicker.
Enough of that crap.
So to rebut Julie's assertion that my blog will be like the time I said I'd do one load of laundry each week. For starters, I didn't just put the load of laundry in the washer -- I also added soap and started the machine. Secondly, I wash my workout clothes every week -- I don't blame her for not touching them until they're clean, and I am guilty of not always putting them away in a timely manner -- when I re-read this, I don't come out that great - still. . . . I did add the soap and start the washer, and I've repeated the event.
We're doing P90X together, and it's great. My muscles are very tight, so Yoga is usually my worst day.
I have a new bike, but I can't ride it yet. I broke my toe.
Soccer is cool.
First a little Fresh Prince (sing to the song of "Parents just don't understand -- I just changed a few of the words to fit our situation):
Okay, here's the situation
Our family came here for a week's vacation and
They took the keys to the brand new car
Would we mind?
Umm, well, of course not
They'll just take it for a little spin
And maybe show it off to a couple of friends
They'll just cruise it around the county or state
Well, maybe they shouldn't
Yeah, of course they should
Pay attention, here's the thick of the plot
Someone pulled up to the corner at the end of some block. . .
It's really not that bad - Julie was able to get most of the paint off the bumper with her new best freind "The Magic Eraser".
So at the end of the day, she is a much better, more giving, and patient person than I am. I have said, and many other people have said that she needs to learn how to say "no". I've believed it every time I've said it. In the end, she is aware that family takes advantage of her, and she's okay with it. She even likes it -- so I guess I need to learn to say "yes" more, and quicker.
Enough of that crap.
So to rebut Julie's assertion that my blog will be like the time I said I'd do one load of laundry each week. For starters, I didn't just put the load of laundry in the washer -- I also added soap and started the machine. Secondly, I wash my workout clothes every week -- I don't blame her for not touching them until they're clean, and I am guilty of not always putting them away in a timely manner -- when I re-read this, I don't come out that great - still. . . . I did add the soap and start the washer, and I've repeated the event.
We're doing P90X together, and it's great. My muscles are very tight, so Yoga is usually my worst day.
I have a new bike, but I can't ride it yet. I broke my toe.
Soccer is cool.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Day 1
Katie and I are sitting here without anything to do, so we thought it a good idea to create a blog. Why?? -- We think a public forum is necessary to rebut any and all accusations made on threelittlejoneses.blogspot.com.
For example, Katie would like it to be known that the lipstick was red, not orange. She also says that SHE is the one who takes all the pictures, not Courtney. Courtney usually won't take pictures with her. For my part, I would say that trying to get the camera away from Katie is like trying to get a pork chop away from a dog gone mad from starvation.
Soccer is cool.
For example, Katie would like it to be known that the lipstick was red, not orange. She also says that SHE is the one who takes all the pictures, not Courtney. Courtney usually won't take pictures with her. For my part, I would say that trying to get the camera away from Katie is like trying to get a pork chop away from a dog gone mad from starvation.
Soccer is cool.
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