The Wonder Years: 1991-1992: Freshman Year

"Growing up happens in a heartbeat. One day you're in diapers, the next day you're gone. But the memories of childhood stay with you for the long haul. I remember a place, a town, a house, like a lot of houses. A yard like a lot of other yards. On a street like a lot of other streets. And the thing is, after all these years, I still look back... with wonder." - Last episode of The Wonder Years

A few years back I wrote a series of posts on how I met my wife. It was written to and for my kids in mind. I was cute and titled the series "How I Met Your Mother".  I am aware lots of couples have pretty good stories, but in fairness and by any measure of objectivity it's pretty epic (ya know, if you're into that kinda thing).

A few days ago I find myself thinking of the The Wonder Years and how I was almost the same age (11) as Kevin when the series started. It got me thinking back to my own adolescence and teenage years. I figured it would be nice to revisit the past and write down my memories before they are all forgotten in my old age. On an interesting note,  I am writing this about my "wonder years" at around the age my dad was when The Wonder Years came out. So, without further adieu. Here are the fragments of my freshman year in high school. 

 I watched that first kiss between Kevin and Winnie with my parents on the couch and me sitting on the ground. I blushed but dare not turn around. I didn't want to break it to them I liked girls too. 

If I am going to follow The Wonder Years, then technically I should be starting with my middle school years but I don't feel like it and it's my blog. Is there really any other reason needed?  

Let's get it out of the way, the 60's were a much more dramatic and colorful backdrop than the 90's. In every conceivable way. Although I do remember watching CNN on the first night of the Gulf War and thinking if that war really was the next Vietnam, I could be drafted in five years!

My 8th grade year had been a success. We had a good group of about 7-10 guys that hung out at lunch and after school. Some of us had band together, some of us played on the same YMCA basketball team and a few of us had been friends for years from church. Although, we weren't popular by any measure, we were middle-of-the-road, good kids. High school would be different and this little group would splinter into pieces.

I began my freshman year in high spirits in the fall of 1991 (about a month before the release of Nevermind). Marshall was a large high school and I didn't have any of my friends in any of my classes. Furthermore, I never even saw my friends once school started. I could wander the hallways and never see any of my good friends.   As far as I was concerned, it was like I was attending a different school from my best friends.

This might be the tannest picture of me ever. Look at me - there's color there! I remember this because I had gotten sun burned at the beach the week before. That shirt was so dope in 1991.

Lonely at Lunch

My first day of school at lunch, I found myself in a near-panic, I looked around feverishly for anyone I knew. Any ONE. There were already cliques and it became readily apparent that I didn't fit into any of them.

There were the "kickers", the tall guys that looked like they were in college, the freaks (proto-goths), the jocks, the drama club nerds, the ROTC geeks, the snobby hot girls, the ethnic tables of various types, the tough maybe-possibly-gang members, the preppy cool kids that went to parties and drank, and of course, the nerds and outcasts. It was a nightmare for a 14-year-old.

I finally found Chris, sitting at the end of a table in the middle of the cafeteria. Good ol' Chris. What a sight for sore eyes, it was Chris!!

Chris was a quiet kid that I was "pals" with back at middle school. We weren't "friends" by any means but Chris would do. Chris had saved me from utter humiliation (at least that's how it felt at the time).  Chris was a good kid, a little boring and probably pretty nerdy but then again, so was I. He was a little taller than me, had braces and always wore dark polo shirts with dark jeans. At least that's how I always remember him. He sometimes mumbled when he spoke and we had little in common. Nonetheless,we forged a friendship under the banner of loneliness and we were both better off for it.

We ended up sitting together every day at this same table. Sometimes, we sat close to a group of guys further down the table and they would sorta talk with us. Man, that felt good. I don't ever remember him being absent. When he was absent, I likely scarfed down my food and walked around outside trying to look busy or at least like I wasn't alone.

My Sister, My Foil 

My sister was a senior at Marshall as well, and I served as her foil in almost every way:

She was popular and out-going,
I was not popular and a natural introvert.
She was well-liked by her teachers and an over-achiever,
I was the kid that teachers forgot and an under-achiever in every way.
She was involved with school and seemingly knew everyone
I didn't do anything and kept my head down low so that no one would notice me.

My sister drove us to school in 1986 Toyota pick-up (that would later be my first car). It had bucket seats and a stick shift. We almost always picked up another friend of hers on the way to school. I didn't mind because this usually meant I was stuffed next to cute senior girl. One morning, she decided we would have to pick up an extra friend, but I'll save that story for the end.

It looked almost exactly like this one. I remember it fondly

Typical Freshman Fare - Random Memories 

The quality of teachers I had in my freshman year were horrible.  I loved history but my history teacher was awful. He was confrontational and mean. He would challenge students and always say, "How about those apples, huh?" He constantly sent people to the office and threw temper tantrums. Somewhere between weeks 6-10, he quit. No one was sad to see him go. We had about 5-6 subs and a whole grading term before finally finding a full-time sub. It was altogether a terrible experience.

My other teachers were average to sub-par and since I wasn't in any honor classes or extra curricular activities, I was around some pretty crappy kids and classrooms.

I was absolutely terrified of speaking with girls. Specifically, girls that I liked. I was scared of rejection. I was scared that word of that possible rejection would grow and that suddenly my status among my peers would be even lower. This fear paralyzed me for three years of high school and it made me miserable.  Always a dreamer but never actually doing anything. Making things worse was the fact that I hated myself for feeling this way to begin with.

My self-confidence was a 1.5 out of 10 from 1991-1994. Luckily, I had enough friends to keep me laughing and busy and a little bit of hope that things would one day be better. Hey, I was right! 

Of course my lack of self confidence didn't stop me from day-dreaming of asking a girl out to go steady.  Ever the hopeful romantic, I was always on the look-out for love. Sometime in the late fall, I found myself in my first serious high school crush.

It was Stacey from church. We rarely spoke to each other at church but I figured this connection had to help me. She was a tiny little brunette with freckles and beautiful blue eyes (or were they green?).
We passed each other every day in the passing period between fourth and fifth period.

This was the moment I looked forward to every day, if somehow we missed each other, it felt like a bad day. I planned my hair grooming around the event and would try to round this specific corner everyday at the same exact time. It was actually a little stressful.

We would see each other, smile and say "Hi". To my recollection, the first 20 times or more this happened, I was too scared to say anything but, "Hi". But eventually, this would change....

High School football is a big deal down here in Texas and our school in 1991 was pretty darn good. In fact, we had future NFL star in Priest Holmes and another NFL Vet ND Kalu on our team. Holmes was known as Anthony back in the day and he was a pretty nice guy. One time I found myself walking right next to him on campus and to my surprise found him about as tall as me!  He was amazing to watch every Friday or Saturday night. How many times, we wished for instant reply but to no avail.

I had another crush on a girl in my English class. It's getting a bit hazy but I think her name was Crystal. Crystal or Jessica. Or maybe something else. I may have forgotten her name, but I haven't forgotten her face. Or her hair. She sat in front of me so I would sit there staring (and smelling) her long, straight, black hair. She had big brown eyes and looked a little like Princess Jasmine (ya know, but human). She was different from most girls that I had liked. Very stylish and less of the girl-next-door vibe than usual.

I thought she was hot and eventually we got to talking from time to time.  To my surprise, we got along pretty well and eventually for some crazy reason she asked me if I could buy her a Cosmopolitan magazine because her mom would never let her get one. I had no idea why she was asking me this or if it was just a game to see how much control she had over me, but it got my brain running. I would have to somehow procure some cash (of course, I had no money), and then walk to the grocery store and then (gulp) actually buy a Cosmo magazine. When would I have time for this? I usually walked to the neighbor basketball court, so that could be my cover-story. Could I bring myself to actually buy this magazine? I figured the checker would think I was buying it for myself for uh, well,  "entertainment purposes". I thought about it for weeks but never had enough gumption to actually do it. Even for love, I was too embarrassed.

Soda in the Time of Love

English was my last class of the day, so sometimes, our teacher let us go out and get sodas from the machine at the front of the school (which wasn't too far from our room).  I have no idea why she would do this and just imagining a world where the high schools have soda machines again is pretty crazy. As I bought my Dr. Pepper (my drink of choice from 1988-2002) and noticed that the machine strangely spit my fifty cents out again.  I put my two quarters back into the machine and once again, I got a Dr. Pepper and the two quarters came spitting back at me.  I did this about 10 times or so until I couldn't carry anymore sodas. When I returned back to class, I was the hero for the day. I went back after school, made sure no one else saw me and managed to get another 5 or 6 and put them in my backpack.

The Epic of Stacey (or "How To Screwed Up A Sure Thing) 

I really did like the girl in English, but I was "in love" with Stacey (yeah, I am pretty sure I thought that).  Eventually, the "hellos" would grow into small talk in the hall way or at church. I was young and stupid and I had no idea if she liked me or if she was just being nice.  In retrospect, it's pretty obvious she liked me but as they say, "hindsight is 20/20". Even with doubts, I decided I would call her.

I was paralyzed with fear but had a huge advantage. The church directory. Having the directory downstairs by the family phone in the kitchen allowed me to skip the whole awkwardness of asking for a number and just move on the the anxiousness of making a cold call. I thought rejection by phone would be easier to take than rejection face-to-face.

My sister usually hogged the phone most nights, so I had to time my call carefully. As far as I was concerned I was on a SECRET-OPS MISSION.  No one could know how this went down, not friends and definitely not family. My worst fear was that my sister would pick up the phone and start to dial or worse still, she would pick up the phone and (horrors of horrors) actually listen. Yeah, those were the days, when you heard a click and were like, "I know you're on the phone -- hang up!!" I think I waited until she was watching TV or doing something for school.

Yeah, this was actually my phone in 1992. Take careful note of the cord. I was so excited when I got this phone and then when you plugged it in the cord was like 8 inches long. 

I took a deep breath and called her phone number. Stacey picked up and after just a few seconds, I asked her on a date. My idea was to ask her to the movies and I suggested The Addams Family (this was in the winter of '92) on the following Saturday.  I was pretty surprised when she said.......yes. Wonders of wonders, miracles of miracles, it was actually happening! I was beyond thrilled. I don't think we talked much after that I figured the less I talked the less likely I could screw it up. Up until this point, I think we had spoken for maybe a total of 45 minutes, but I was sure we had a LOT in common. I mean, we went to the same church, the same school, oh, and she wanted to see The Addams Family with me, so, there was that.

Yes, I was indeed on cloud nine the next few days, but.....there was something still hanging over me. My secret mission now had to be disclosed to everyone else, and most especially, my parents. I thought about just telling my sister and somehow concocting a cover story to hide the fact I was on a date. But no matter how many times I tried coming up with something, nothing seemed to make sense.  Looking back, I have no idea why I was so scared to tell them this was happening. I mean, they would have been happy it was with a girl from church! In my crazy head, I figured I would be hounded by embarrassing questions, innuendo about how "cute" it was, I just felt totally uncomfortable with the whole idea. I was paralyzed by shyness and awkwardness.

Saturday kept getting closer and closer and I growing more and more terrified.  kept putting off telling my folks about the date and suddenly, it was Saturday afternoon. I couldn't do it. It started to rain outside and I had these crazy ideas to somehow trick my sister into driving us to the theater but I froze up. Unbelievably, I called Stacey and cancelled our date.  I have no idea what excuse I made up, but I was so ashamed of myself, I never even called her back.

This little episode was re-lived over and over in my head for the next few months (and years). I deconstructed it, made excuses for it and I probably even dreamed about it. Eventually, I got enough gumption to ask her out again in the summer of 1992. And then one Sunday, she brought a boy to church named Dorian. In that instant, I knew I had waited too long.

Oh, how I hated Dorian. I hated his cool hair, the fact that he was older than me. I especially hated his name. Dorian. Looking back it's easy to see I hated Dorian because I hated myself for what I hadn't done. That should have been me!

Stacey dated Dorian for a little over a year. I waited around thinking I could wait their relationship out. However, as soon as she broke up with Dorian, there was an immediate replacement, Chris (no, not my friend from lunch). He was even older than Dorian and was actually in college. I was stunned. The guy was 6"2 and looked like he was 30 to my 15 year-old eyes. There had been no gap, no chance for me to even know she had been single! I was so mad. I felt like life had kicked me when I was already down.  Stacey went on to marry Chris after my freshman year in college.

The good news is I never had to sit through The Addams Family. Never did see this crappy movie.   

I was heartbroken but I knew that was a part of life. I've always been blessed with a laid back, reality-based attitude. I knew these things happened and the rules of probability would eventually fall my way. After all, Kevin and Winnie had a rocky path as well.

My grades were pretty average. An occasional A, more B's, lots of C's and a sprinklings of D's.  I didn't really care about school all that much except to pass my classes. I forged a few progress reports because I would be failing at least one class per 6-week term and I didn't want my dad yelling at me. My grades would only get worse in the next two years.

My freshman year wasn't all bad.  I had a great group of friends. Philip, Adam and Steve at Marshall and Doug from church (who went to one of our rival schools, Taft).  I was busy with basketball after school (we had some epic games), hanging out at the mall on the weekends, talking about girls and sports forever, having sleep-overs and playing video games late into the night. I also stayed busy with youth group activities at church, Doug and I had a blast being goofy and hanging out. Without my friends I honestly don't know how I would have made it out of high school without the need of therapy.

The Story of the Bumpy Ride 

I am sure there are many more drama-filled stories to tell but they are forgotten in the mists of time. But there is one more story to tell and it goes back to that old Toyota truck.

As I said above, my sister would always give rides to her friends to and from school. One day, she told me she had to pick up two girls on the way to school. It was cold outside and I knew we would get in trouble if I rode in the bed of the truck, so this meant one thing: a girl was going to to have to sit in my lap in this tiny truck.

I  saw this picture and the memories came flooding back. Even the little imperfections of our particular truck came back to me. 

My sister's friend lived a few streets down from us and she was very pretty. Understand that this 1986 Toyota pickup did not have what I would call "good shocks". I was a 14 year-old young man, riding with a beautiful (did I say pretty? Because I meant beautiful) young lady in my lap in a pick-up truck bouncing around the road on the way to school.

To explain the challenge further would be to belittle it.

I fought so hard that morning. With ever fiber of my being I thought of every NBA statistic that I could muster. All-time leader in points? Blocks? Which top-ten statistical categories was David Robinson in?  I thought of school, even the music playing on the radio (that is, until I realized it was a sexually suggestive song). About half way to school, I was in in total check but somewhere along the ride, something happened.

It was half-mast.

I was sweating like never before all the while pretending nothing was amiss. Maybe she could feel it, maybe not. I couldn't be too sure. But half-mast it stayed. Somehow I had willed it.

Luckily, there were only a few minutes left. My torture was over. I quickly exited the car and got the heck out of dodge.

Next year would be worst of all high school years. If you're still reading this one, I have no idea why you wouldn't read the next one, as you must be easily entertained.

Wrecked Fragments

In September of 2001, I was in a bad car accident. Here are the fragments.

I was 24 and starting my second year of graduate school. Although we didn't know it, this was the Friday before 9/11, and my friend JJ and I planned to visit our friend Eric, who lived in Abilene. I was excited to go and hadn't gone out of town this far away from home before. 

Sometime after 5:00 PM, we left town and made our way up towards what I like to call the "middle of no where".

Our trip before the accident was already eventful. I had to stop about an hour and a half out of town because I had diarrhea.  We drove through a small town but finding a gas station wasn't an issue.  You see, I have a thing for clean restrooms. We were driving in one of those "antique towns" so there were no obvious fast food joints either. After what felt like forever, I found a nice-looking Americana restaurant. I think the hostess asked me how many would be in my party but I can't remember if I answered at that point. At this point, my bowels were more or less guiding my brain. I don't mean to gross you out, it's just if I hadn't had this bout of diarrhea, the accident would have likely never happened. 

It's disconcerting to think our little lives revolve around such inane chance events. 

We were driving between Brady and Mason when the accident occurred. It must have been a little after 7:00 PM and the sun was just dipping below the horizon. It was one of those beautiful late summer/ early autumn sunsets when the sky is pink, purple, and blue.  We were listening to Weezer's Green Album, as I was trying to convince my friend it was pretty okay. We were cruising right at the speed limit of 70 mph and we were about halfway to Abilene.

Then it happened.

There were two deer on the side of the highway. I had time to see them and think "no". They ran right in front of my 2000 green Ford Frontier. I knew intellectually I wasn't supposed to try to dodge them at that distance and at our speed but that's just how I reacted in the milliseconds I had.

I swerved to my left but the deer were already there and my truck hit the back end of one of them. Instinctively, I yanked the steering wheel back to the right, trying to get back to the right side of the road. Of course, this was a textbook case of "over-correcting". Don't try it at home, folks.

Here's where it gets interesting. Everything slowed down - every second felt like an additional 10 seconds. I know the memory can be an odd thing to pin down, but I remember it very clearly and happening very slowly. After over-correcting, the truck seemed to hang on the driver's side two wheels.  In this millisecond, my brain concocted a favorable outcome, similar to An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge.  I remember thinking, "We're gonna make it".  Of course, we would land back on all four wheels, flipping would be impossible. Sure,  I'd have a pretty damaged front end, but we would be back on our way to Abilene in no time with a story to tell.  No problem, right?

Instead, the truck continued it's momentum to the right and we slammed down onto the road towards our journey upside-down and right-side up again. And again, and again.  It felt earth-shattering. This was easily the loudest noise I had ever heard before or since. At one point I remember opening my eyes and seeing the world turn upside-down and thinking, "When is this going to end?" It felt like this was taking entirely too long.

We finally settled about 10 feet off the road, we must have flipped at least 5-6 times. Thankfully, this was central Texas and there weren't many trees around.  We were also blessed enough to land right-side up. Weezer was still playing on the trusty stereo ("Simple Pages" for those scoring at home). My first action was to turn the music off.  JJ later told me he asked me if I was okay about 2-3 times before I responded but I don't remember that at all. 

As I looked around I couldn't fathom how or why my left arm was bleeding profusely. I looked down and I just saw red; red meat. Blood was everywhere and I remember thinking that this could be very, very bad. We were in the middle of nowhere and my left wrist and arm were bleeding more blood than I had ever seen in real life.

JJ was basically unscathed - he had one small scratch on his arm. Thus I deemed him "Unbreakable" after the accident. If you haven't seen the movie, well, you are missing the reference. 

It's an underrated movie that I think was unfairly panned at the time of its release.  Unbreakable has a lower score on IMDB than The Avengers. I am sorry, The Avengers sucked. I  guess it was a "fun" movie (with lots of explosions and aliens)  but the more I think about it, the more it sucked. Search your heart, you will know it's true. Unbreakable gives you something to think about. I think people felt the ending was too much of a rip-off of The Sixth Sense (and this was the very next film after its release). Although the ending was a surprise, it remains one of my favorites because of the themes of identity and purpose. It helps that it's about comic books too. Oh, and it's my favorite Samuel L. Jackson flick - the more restrained he is, the better (although neutered in Star Wars was like watching a Michael Jordan play minor league baseball).  

My arm hurt but it wasn't all that bad - I was more worried than anything else.  My door was sealed shut but JJ could get out of his side. JJ called 911 with my cell phone. I had never wanted one of the new-fangled devices but my Mom insisted on giving one to me. I never used the thing, maybe using it just a few times in my life. However, I did take it with me if I traveled. This was very cutting-edge in 2001 and it featured those classic alarm-clock-like numbers on it! Looking back, I am surprised the phone even had coverage in the middle of nowhere.   

At this point, things get hazy. After the 911 call and obligatory phone calls to our families, JJ began to gather our belongings. All of our bags and clothing had been strewn  across the highway.

Someone had pulled over to help us and soon a man was visiting with me at the driver's side window. This stranger was going to help me keep myself together. I wanted to get out of the car but glass was everywhere and the stranger told me to stay put.

I knew I was going into shock. It's an entirely odd and disconcerting experience to lose control of your body while at the same time knowing exactly what and why it is happening. Suddenly, it felt as if the wind picked up and this beautiful late summer night seemed downright cold.  My teeth began to chatter. I knew I was losing blood from my arm so I pressed it as tight as I could onto my leg. I lifted it off my shorts to examine it but it only made me scared so I didn't do that again. The stranger had brought me a white sheet from his car to cover me.

The stranger asked me questions about my life, my career goals, etc. I remember answering him slowly. My field of vision kept getting smaller and smaller. The blackness was closing in. I told the stranger that I couldn't see and he told me to keep talking. So, I did. In the back of my head, I was worried. The thought occurred to me that I could die right here, but that thought was not as frightening as you might think.

My life didn't flash before my eyes nor did I reflect on God, the afterlife, heaven or hell. I didn't think about my regrets in life or the things I wanted out of my future life. Most of what I remember thinking was simply, "I want to live".  This will to live was a powerful feeling and like the shock I was experiencing, it also felt uncontrollable. This wasn't a choice, but instinct. Something deep inside of me was urging me to fight. 



Ok, here's the weird part. At some point, a woman started taking pictures of the whole thing. We have no idea who she was. She told JJ she would send pictures to his home address.  Check out the dude in the white shirt on the left. I have no idea who this guy was. He was not (to my recollection) the stranger who spoke with me. You could say he was my guardian angel, and if so, he looks very, very disappointed in me.

I am comforted by the fact that in these moments I didn't suffer great pain or fear. Shock comes in and helps blunt most of the pain and at the same time, kept fear at bay. I also understand how the body will just give out with too much trauma - ending all the pain altogether. I obviously can't speak for anyone but myself, but it's a nice thought knowing many people I had assumed had painful deaths, could have actually experienced less pain and fear than I had previously imagined.

Eventually, the ambulance and fire department arrived. After a few questions, I told them, I was fine to climb out of the window (not true, but ya know). I heard them talking amongst themselves, someone mentioned "the jaws of life". All I knew was that meant more waiting. One of the firefighters wrapped a huge NFL Cowboys blanket over me to keep me warm. I was finally able to see a little better. They were under the blanket with me as well, telling me what was happening, as the machine was ripping the roof off the truck cab. I started to get warmer and actually really hot. I told the firefighter I was hot but he said that was a good thing.  Then I heard the machine cutting the roof off the truck. I might have cracked a few jokes to the firefighter but I can't be sure.
 

This is nice one as you can see the extent of the damage of the roof. Hard to believe we weren't injured any worse. 



Here they are pulling me out of the car.

  

Cut that roof off like a sardine can. 

Afte the roof was cut off, they were finally able to load me into the ambulance. This was quite a surreal experience. One of the most over-used shots in film is the "Victim's POV looking up at EMT/doctors/nurses" camera angle and here I was, experiencing that particular point of view. At this point, I realize someone is taking pictures, so I give them the classic/cliché "thumbs up". 

 I loved that shirt. RIP

I may have been woozy but I remember the medic in the ambulance being cute. As my left leg was drenched in blood, she attempted to cut my shorts off to ensure I wasn't injured elsewhere on my body. I was starting to feel a little embarrassed by the whole thing. I knew I shouldn't have tried to dodge the deer and I felt like an idiot. Now, this cute medic wanted to cut my pants off. Luckily, she believed me when I told her my legs were just fine - so my bloody shorts remained on.

I asked her questions about insurance as I didn't have any health insurance at the time. But she told me it was my car insurance that would provide coverage, so I could enjoy the ride the hospital in relief. What an American moment, instead of being grateful to be alive, I was worrying about how my family was gong to pay for the treatment. 

Once in the hospital, I waited in the emergency room by myself for what felt like forever. I just sat there with my arm bleeding into a tray. It was a lonely experience. By now, my injuries were beginning to hurt and I was ready for some kind of treatment. When the truck was flipping, my arm went flying out the window and scraped the road. Again, I was fortunate my arm wasn't hurt any worse.

Finally, someone arrived and I began getting treatment on my arm. The nurses picked the tiny pieces of asphalt that had been embedded into my arm, piece, by torturous, piece. It was excruciating. It was the worst pain I have ever felt and I responded like a little baby. I think they gave me some kind of painkiller but it felt like I was given a half of aspirin. I asked for more medicine and the nurse told me, "we've given you all we can honey". I felt like a weakling. Thankfully, Eric's mom had been in Abeliene and was already at the hospital, she kindly held my hand as they picked out the bits of road from my arm.  I kept telling myself that it would eventually end, and I would have a story to tell one day.

At the junkyard the next day. It was quite a sight to see. Also, a rare photo of myself and my Dad (at least on the Hopeful Fragment). On the way home we stopped at a mom-and-pop hamburger restaurant and I swear it was the best hamburger I ever had.

Sometime after midnight, my parents finally arrived.  It turned out JJ couldn't get a hold of my parents so he left a message on my parent's home phone answering machine. Later, my Mom told me my Dad went a little crazy when he heard the message because JJ did not make it clear I was alive and kicking and that I  was going to be "ok".   I have never talked about it with him because that's just the relationship we have. We mainly talk about sports and my kids.  

All that said, I've been blabbing too long.  I was on my road to recovery. I had fractured my wrist, got a whole bunch of stitches and had a huge gash of road rash (treated like a 3rd-degree burn). I got used to doing everything with one hand. It sucked, but ya know, I was glad I wasn't dead. 

When people would ask, I would often reply that I was attacked by a pit bull. I have scar tissue that is essentially a tattoo of the asphalt (as it's darkened black like the road).  I tell people it's the only tattoo I'll ever get.



February 12th: Time, Loss and Memory

12 years ago on the February 12th I was watching the Spurs v. Sixers in a bar in College Station, TX. It was a Friday and I was out having fun. It had been a long, hard week (as much as a typical spoiled college student's life could be called "hard").

After my roommate and I had finished our weekly radio show, we grabbed some food, cleaned up at our apartment and joined some friends to bar-hop. I somehow managed (with a lot of help of my friends) to become plastered. It was the drunkest I have ever been, before or since.

I remember lots of beer, shots and laughing a lot. We went to regular bars, shot bars, and at least two different dance clubs. At the second dance club I began to find the whole scene really pathetic (this often happened around 2:00 AM for me). In my inebriated state I couldn't find my friends at the club so I decided to walk home.

This might have been a good idea if I wasn't all of the below:

A) Drunk, really, really drunk

B) In cold weather with no jacket

C) about 2-3 miles away from home

D) 2-3 miles from home and having to cross major thoroughfares

Nonetheless, I left. I wasn't mad, I just wanted to leave and I was ready to sleep. So I began my journey and I kept repeating to myself, "don't get hit by a car", "don't look drunk" -- over and over again. Finally, I arrived home.

I had a message on our answering machine. I pushed the button and there it was.

The worst message of my life.

I called my friend back as she didn't say exactly what had happened. I thought she was stuck somewhere drunk without a designated driver.  I soon found out that one of my close friends had died in a car wreck earlier that day....probably sometime during our radio show.

I told her she was wrong or that she didn't know for sure. It was a classic denial stage setting in. However, the initial shock and disbelief was quickly fomenting into anger. I was seething with life, everything, God -- I kicked and punched the walls. In my drunken stupor I squirmed on the floor like a child writhing in rage. How could God take my beautiful friend? How could he take my best friend’s little sister? I screamed and repeated obscenities over and over. I expected to somehow black out so it could all to go away. As I recall these flashbacks so vividly - it’s like a tiny glimpse of hell itself.

It was so hard to understand. It's still hard to remember but as I write I feel just a shadow, a ghost feeling that still lingers just a little while as I write about it.

Mikey was special. Not in the "great person" special - she was special because she was different. She was moody, funny, fun-loving, jig-saw puzzle and old movie loving, quick to anger but most of all, my friend. She had a way of making you do just about anything for her. Maybe she was manipulative but more than that I think she was magnetic. When we weren't fighting or annoyed with one another she could make me feel special. She did this to everyone, because at her memorial service, she had just about everyone convinced. Everyone thought they were Mikey's best friend because she made everyone feel part of her world.

So, why rehash all this?. Is it some kind of therapeutic thing? A need to story-tell as to feel better about it? No, I got over Mikey's passing a long time ago.

I'm writing because I feel guilty.

I feel guilty because every year, Mikey fades away a little more. I think about her a little less than the year before. I had a little photo of Mikey next to my bed for years that I finally put away about five years ago. Assuredly, I probably forget more every year; the way she would smile or how she would say a certain word. I feel guilty because I have moved on.

This isn't to say I have forgotten her or that I don't think about her. She still sneaks into my dreams every so often. The last time I was a time traveler trying to warn her not to get into the car. But, cruelly and inevitably, time keeps moving. Mikey's still 19 and now I'm 33. She's staying in college and now I'm a father of two (with another on the way). She's still young and vibrant and now I'm older, mature and settled.

God willing, I'll keep getting older. I'm sure some details will continue to fade and there's nothing I can do about that.

However, blurry memories, are still memories. And its true, I have moved on, but I won't ever truly forget. I'm sure Mikey would want it that way.

So I'm writing today because I want to feel sad again.

I want to remember that the world lost something 12 years ago this month. It lost a true individual who was loved by many. We still miss you, Mikey.

yeah, she was crazy, but ya know, a good crazy.