Sometimes it's hard to see how strong family ties are until three generations sit around a disassembled bathroom sink for twelve hours.
My dad and I are horribly similar in personality, as my mom frequently points out in frustration, and my grandmother is just another in the set.
My dad promised her he'd replace the sink hardware in the bathroom after we got back from our trip to New York City. He began attacking the thing with several wrenches and a pair of pliers at about 9:30 in the morning.
At 9:30 that night, he was still wedged under the sink, cussing the pipes and nuts and bolts while Grandma stood unhelpfully in his way, brimming with concern and guilt. I stood by and handed him wrenches.
My dad is a pretty smart guy. Straight A's throughout his Master's Degree, Teacher of the Year, plaques from the Air Force abound, etc. He is not, however, mechanically inclined and he is definitely not a plumber. But he is a good son and a determined individual and refused to give up on the sink.
My very, very cheap grandfather even told him that it was okay, to give up, he'd pay for a plumber. Dad had just emerged from the sink, his hands raw and covered in grease and filth and WD-40. His sides were almost completely absent of skin from squeezing into the cabinet. He'd just driven nine hours to New York City, spent three days navigating the streets in sweltering heat, and drove nine more hours; he was exhausted. The sink was still not installed. We were due back home at least six hours ago and Mom kept calling and telling Dad to give up. Grandma was on the verge of tears because she felt so guilty about putting her son through this.
But still, he would not quit. He started a job, and he was darn sure going to finish it. I didn't know whether to consider this stupid stubbornness, a kind of unnecessary plumbing martyrdom, or an admirable display of will and determination. All I knew for sure is that I longed to go home but a drain stopper and a hot water valve stood solidly in my way, and Dad was not going to quit.
Now, Grandma definitely considered this stupid stubbornness, but I know she's exactly where her son got it from. Just the in the preceding days, the woman had followed us all over the streets of New York City in ninety degree heat for miles and miles. Every time we turned around to check on her, she'd insist that she was just fine and kept plugging along. She's painted her entire house solo in recent years, and takes care of my whiny, self-centered, sickly, helpless, and thankless grandfather all by herself. Her 75th birthday is next week.
My dad is his mother's son and I'm my father's daughter. Even if they're determined to the point of stupidity sometimes, I can't help but hope I share in some of their strength. I have their eyes, their sense of humor, and their love of travel. I hope that, like Dad, I would also finish the sink.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 14, 2010
Gossip and Underwear
A bad thing happened to me in second grade, which like the Sunday School incident, I have been unable to forget.
There was this very strange girl in our class named Briana. I was always nice to Briana, because, while strange, she wasn't mean or anything. She liked me well enough and we got along decently. We weren't best friends, but we'd say hi if we saw each other in Walmart.
Well, one day, Briana's strangeness must have overwhelmed her.
The class poured out onto the playground for what appeared to be a normal recess period. But then kids started accumulating under the bridge. The bridge was this typical playground structure, composed to where there were holes in it and you could see through it. By natural curiosity, I joined the ever-growing group.
They were all staring at Briana, who was standing innocently on the bridge. In a skirt. With no underwear on.
Being about seven years old, everybody had a good giggle, then ran off to tell their friends. I shall note here that I did not go off and tell anyone. I found it more embarrassing than hilarious, and just went off to swing or what have you and thought nothing more of it.
We came back to the classroom and quickly noticed that Briana was missing and the teacher was staring at us with those stern "you did something wrong" eyes. We all nervously awaited our punishment.
She began lecturing us on the hurtful nature of gossip, and slowly we pieced together that the news of Briana's bare butt had spread quickly throughout the playground and eventually made it to the teacher's bench. Briana was off somewhere crying, and being given proper undergarments.
The teacher then took it upon herself to locate the perpetrator of this vicious "rumor." (I put rumor in quotes because it most obviously and glaringly true.) She chose the child that she apparently heard it from and asked him where he'd heard it, tracing it back through the rows of desks, until somebody provided my name. This somebody was my best friend Erica.
After Erica's accusation, the teacher was staring at me, asking where I'd heard it from. This was quite the predicament, considering I certainly hadn't told Erica, and nobody had told me. I just saw for myself, as most of the kids in the class had. It had been an incriminating line of lies. A line that I felt should stop, not being able to falsely accuse anybody. I simply sat there and received a lecture on why gossiping was bad. The teacher must've suspected what had happened a little because I received no further punishments.
I don't think Briana ever found out that I was pinned for the alleged crime, and I had many strange and sometimes regrettable encounters with her in the future, but she was wearing underwear throughout all of them, and I didn't tell a soul.
There was this very strange girl in our class named Briana. I was always nice to Briana, because, while strange, she wasn't mean or anything. She liked me well enough and we got along decently. We weren't best friends, but we'd say hi if we saw each other in Walmart.
Well, one day, Briana's strangeness must have overwhelmed her.
The class poured out onto the playground for what appeared to be a normal recess period. But then kids started accumulating under the bridge. The bridge was this typical playground structure, composed to where there were holes in it and you could see through it. By natural curiosity, I joined the ever-growing group.
They were all staring at Briana, who was standing innocently on the bridge. In a skirt. With no underwear on.
Being about seven years old, everybody had a good giggle, then ran off to tell their friends. I shall note here that I did not go off and tell anyone. I found it more embarrassing than hilarious, and just went off to swing or what have you and thought nothing more of it.
We came back to the classroom and quickly noticed that Briana was missing and the teacher was staring at us with those stern "you did something wrong" eyes. We all nervously awaited our punishment.
She began lecturing us on the hurtful nature of gossip, and slowly we pieced together that the news of Briana's bare butt had spread quickly throughout the playground and eventually made it to the teacher's bench. Briana was off somewhere crying, and being given proper undergarments.
The teacher then took it upon herself to locate the perpetrator of this vicious "rumor." (I put rumor in quotes because it most obviously and glaringly true.) She chose the child that she apparently heard it from and asked him where he'd heard it, tracing it back through the rows of desks, until somebody provided my name. This somebody was my best friend Erica.
After Erica's accusation, the teacher was staring at me, asking where I'd heard it from. This was quite the predicament, considering I certainly hadn't told Erica, and nobody had told me. I just saw for myself, as most of the kids in the class had. It had been an incriminating line of lies. A line that I felt should stop, not being able to falsely accuse anybody. I simply sat there and received a lecture on why gossiping was bad. The teacher must've suspected what had happened a little because I received no further punishments.
I don't think Briana ever found out that I was pinned for the alleged crime, and I had many strange and sometimes regrettable encounters with her in the future, but she was wearing underwear throughout all of them, and I didn't tell a soul.
Jun 13, 2010
Something Nice
A really long time ago, I used to go to Sunday school and Wednesday night youth every week with the same rag tag bunch of preteens. I actually kind of liked going, but we never really talked about anything churchy. We did some community service, and that was about the closest thing to a religious experience.
But we did have long "discussions" and I guess the leader, Tammy, was under the impression she was making a difference because us kids didn't talk so candidly to anyone else. While this was totally false, at least in my case, it created a weird sort movie-esque environment that wasn't a horribly bad experience. We even spent a day decorating the room so it would be "cooler." Some of the stuff we did in there still exists today, and it's still just as lame as it was then. But it's kind of nice seeing my handywork survive.
Anyway, one day during Sunday School, Tammy started to say something like "speaking of good deeds, I heard Samantha did something really good the other day" or something like that. Obviously this got my attention, because I wasn't aware of preforming any miracles lately.
But something distracted her and she never finished the story. There was never a spare moment to ask what I'd done, and I felt it slightly rude to demand her to tell me why I'm a good person.
So I never found out. Every time I saw Tammy after that, I wondered what she had been about to say. Such a mystery. I racked my brain trying to think of something that could be construed as a good deed, but not a single thing came to mind.
This is my strongest memory of that year of youth group. I think perhaps not knowing what I did was more powerful than actually knowing. It made me think "hey I did something nice without intending to, without thinking 'hey my youth leader will congratulate me on this later.'" That's the kind of good I'd like to be, unconscious and automatic.
That lesson was never taught in the brightly colored, glossy teen bible study pamphlets that were forever opened in front of us but never really read.
But we did have long "discussions" and I guess the leader, Tammy, was under the impression she was making a difference because us kids didn't talk so candidly to anyone else. While this was totally false, at least in my case, it created a weird sort movie-esque environment that wasn't a horribly bad experience. We even spent a day decorating the room so it would be "cooler." Some of the stuff we did in there still exists today, and it's still just as lame as it was then. But it's kind of nice seeing my handywork survive.
Anyway, one day during Sunday School, Tammy started to say something like "speaking of good deeds, I heard Samantha did something really good the other day" or something like that. Obviously this got my attention, because I wasn't aware of preforming any miracles lately.
But something distracted her and she never finished the story. There was never a spare moment to ask what I'd done, and I felt it slightly rude to demand her to tell me why I'm a good person.
So I never found out. Every time I saw Tammy after that, I wondered what she had been about to say. Such a mystery. I racked my brain trying to think of something that could be construed as a good deed, but not a single thing came to mind.
This is my strongest memory of that year of youth group. I think perhaps not knowing what I did was more powerful than actually knowing. It made me think "hey I did something nice without intending to, without thinking 'hey my youth leader will congratulate me on this later.'" That's the kind of good I'd like to be, unconscious and automatic.
That lesson was never taught in the brightly colored, glossy teen bible study pamphlets that were forever opened in front of us but never really read.
Jun 11, 2010
Pomp and Circumstance
Graduations are weird. Even though I was partially participating in the event, I couldn't help but wonder why it was such a celebrated "accomplishment" to have attended school, a compulsory thing. You're pretty much expected to pass all the way through, and then you get to the end, and people act like it's some great feat. Almost everybody who started out finished. Woohoo? I guess I'm being too cynical.
The whole thing just seemed to really lack real sentiment. All five of the students who spoke said almost exactly the same thing, most of which I consider to be hardly true. They all used the over tired "just four years ago we walked into this gym as freshmen, and now we're here as graduates" device, and then said how the school had taught them all it's okay to be unique. (Nevermind the traditional practice of them all wearing identical graduation robes, which I understand, but find ironic.) I know most of those people in some capacity, and I'm in high school, and being unique is the last thing they cherish. They all listed the same accomplishments, and the people who got cheers from the audience members were hardly those who chose to "walk their own path." Again, with the cynicism, but it just seemed like one big show that didn't nearly reflect the experience that those people actually had.
The administrators sounded bored (one of them kind of angry), and a few even let the softness of preferential treatment and partiality taint their voice as they called each student across the stage. That was perhaps the most honest moment in the whole thing.
They promise great things for the class of 2010. In my head, I'm thinking half of them will hate college and drop out, some will stick with it even though they realize they picked the wrong major halfway through, and a select few may actually love their college experience and the subsequent job. The chances of any of them changing the world? Slim to none. It's just semantics that nobody believes but everybody has to say.
They'll all land somewhere and I hope the majority of them will be happy. I hope standing in that crowded gym wasn't the the happiest they'll ever be, and I hope holding that diploma isn't their highest accomplishment in life. That's what they should be wishing upon the robed masses at graduations--I hope this isn't it. I hope you do something beyond get through high school. Your track team's going to state your Senior year should not be what you're talking about in ten years as the best moment of your life. They should just hope that they go far beyond the "realizing that it's okay to be yourself" lie they kept repeating.
Most of all, graduation made me grateful I chose my school and grateful that all the tearful accomplishments we name at our graduation won't be lies, and that I will sit among people I admire instead of tolerate. I found where I'd be in the line-up and smiled at my preferred seat in the bleachers. A good decision can never be reinforced too many times.
I also just realized that they didn't throw their hats. In what kind of graduation do they not throw their hats?
The whole thing just seemed to really lack real sentiment. All five of the students who spoke said almost exactly the same thing, most of which I consider to be hardly true. They all used the over tired "just four years ago we walked into this gym as freshmen, and now we're here as graduates" device, and then said how the school had taught them all it's okay to be unique. (Nevermind the traditional practice of them all wearing identical graduation robes, which I understand, but find ironic.) I know most of those people in some capacity, and I'm in high school, and being unique is the last thing they cherish. They all listed the same accomplishments, and the people who got cheers from the audience members were hardly those who chose to "walk their own path." Again, with the cynicism, but it just seemed like one big show that didn't nearly reflect the experience that those people actually had.
The administrators sounded bored (one of them kind of angry), and a few even let the softness of preferential treatment and partiality taint their voice as they called each student across the stage. That was perhaps the most honest moment in the whole thing.
They promise great things for the class of 2010. In my head, I'm thinking half of them will hate college and drop out, some will stick with it even though they realize they picked the wrong major halfway through, and a select few may actually love their college experience and the subsequent job. The chances of any of them changing the world? Slim to none. It's just semantics that nobody believes but everybody has to say.
They'll all land somewhere and I hope the majority of them will be happy. I hope standing in that crowded gym wasn't the the happiest they'll ever be, and I hope holding that diploma isn't their highest accomplishment in life. That's what they should be wishing upon the robed masses at graduations--I hope this isn't it. I hope you do something beyond get through high school. Your track team's going to state your Senior year should not be what you're talking about in ten years as the best moment of your life. They should just hope that they go far beyond the "realizing that it's okay to be yourself" lie they kept repeating.
Most of all, graduation made me grateful I chose my school and grateful that all the tearful accomplishments we name at our graduation won't be lies, and that I will sit among people I admire instead of tolerate. I found where I'd be in the line-up and smiled at my preferred seat in the bleachers. A good decision can never be reinforced too many times.
I also just realized that they didn't throw their hats. In what kind of graduation do they not throw their hats?
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