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Weekly Wacko (8)

First … I posted this not on Friday like I usually do because … I went snowboarding for the first time! And I didn’t die!

A Christmas Miracle!

I think you can tell a lot about someone based on what they find funny. I’m not sure what this story will lead you to think about me, but I want you to keep in mind this. Yes, I was aware something bad was about to happen, and then I laughed when the bad thing happened … BUT the bad thing that happened, happened to my brother.

For Christmas Eve my family’s tradition when I was growing up was to open one gift. The gift would be hidden amongst all the other gifts under the tree, with something to mark for my Mom which one was the designated Christmas Eve gift – it sometimes took her a while to remember her own cryptic messages. Does the star mean it’s their main gift, or the Christmas Eve gift? When I was younger, my brother, sister and I would get a new pair of pajamas for the Christmas Eve gift. Now that I’m older, I figure this was to make us look more presentable for Christmas morning pictures/videos.

When I was in 7th grade, Christmas Eve finally came around. My family was sitting in the living room, about to open the one gift. The TV was probably just turned off, interrupting our watching of “The Christmas Story” or “Scrooged.” My brother popped up, said, “be right back,” and came back shortly with a glass of milk. He set this over his left shoulder, within easy reach.

We opened our gifts. I got some little thing that wasn’t exciting for a 7th grader, but was nice. My family went back to the TV and the night slowly came to a close.

When the next morning finally arrived, and we were given the green light to come into the family room – my parents liked to make us sit just outside the family room while my Dad turned on the camera. He wanted to capture our angelic faces as we sized up the Christmas loot.

My brother again disappeared and came back with a glass of milk. Strong, healthy bones on that one.

We all resumed the same seats we had the night before – a sort of unwritten thing we tended to do. As my brother was setting his glass of milk on the ground between his feet, I noticed something. He hadn’t put up his glass of milk from the night before. And, wasn’t this just so funny, he had unknowingly placed last night’s glass of delicious milk on a heater.

Somebody, not me or my brother, got up and started to distribute presents.

Then, an unexpected present.

My brother reached back, not down. Back, to the sat-on-the-heater-all-night-long milk.

Then he raised the glass up and, wow, not just a sip of milk, a swig, a gulp even (Snagglepuss, that one’s for you). His eyes practically popped out of his head as the taste hit him and he sprinted out of the room to spit the milk out into the nearest possible sink.

Around the same time he started sprinting, I started laughing. Everyone else was confused.

When my brother came back in the room he stared at me, realizing by my laughter I’d known.

This seems appropriately-brother-like for this to be (probably) my favorite memory of him.

Shalom to Christmas everybody! And shalom to you!

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Weekly Wacko (7)

Since it’s nearing Christmas it’s the perfect time to buy things for yourself while making it look like you’re a good person shopping for others. That’s the Christmas spirit.

How am I Single?

I wanted to buy a video game whose target market was probably a bit younger than me (one of those Legos games – the Star Wars one). I went to the video game store and browsed around so that it would not seem like I came there with Legos on the brain. I looked at a number of games and eventually picked up the game I had come there for.

I went to the register and ended up getting the ‘cute girl’ (video game stores always seem to have one of those as a way to remind nerds of their place – and that place is at home, not talking to girls). She looked around for the CD, found it and put it in the case.

Suddenly, I speak (I had not planned this), “that’s for my nephew … Christmas gift.” This was a lie.

“Do you want me to gift wrap it?”

“Oh, no, no, that’s ok … It’ll just delay him getting to play with it.” That’s a lie, unless you replace the word ‘him’ with the word ‘me.’

“It’s no problem at all, I’ll gift wrap it.”

I’m not sure what’s more pathetic – me unwrapping a gift from myself to myself, or me lying without meaning to.

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Weekly Wacko (6)

When I was in middle school some friends of the family paid my family a visit. I got a very nice pullover jacket with “Notre Dame” written on the front.
My mom attributed my desire to go to Notre Dame to this jacket.
Really, I don’t know why I wanted to go there but somehow it made its way to the top of my list.
If anything, though, it was probably the movie “Rudy” (I’m only human).

Junior year of high school came and for spring break I was going to embark on the best, the coolest, the most exciting trip a seventeen year old boy can imagine for spring break!
A ROAD TRIP! With … My mom. Oh. And it was to visit colleges. Oh.
And we would be driving from Savannah, Georgia north to Ohio, then cut across to Indiana, then back down south stopping at 10 – 15 colleges.
Yowzers.

We saw a lot of beautiful colleges, Notre Dame included, and it managed to solidify its place as number one on my list.

I had, and was, taking all the proper (though ridiculous) steps.
I was stretched thin with my extracurricular activities – involved in so many clubs that I contributed meaningfully to probably only one or two. I volunteered twice a week, tutoring elementary school kids. I got good grades. I played sports. I was in JROTC.
I even had the ‘look at how unique I am’ angle on my entrance essay – I was a Military Brat. I wrote a life lesson learned for each state.

I took the extra steps, too. The ones not mentioned by stupid magazines or other people.
When people said, “oh, you’ll get in.”
I said, “oh, I don’t know … I’ve got my fingers crossed though!”
Clearly God/fate/karma/whatever would reward me for this.
By saying I couldn’t do it, I would, naturally, be able to do it.

A teacher asked if I got in, would I definitely go?
“Because I can get you in, but I don’t want to call in this favor if you end up not going.”
If I got in, I would definitely go. But I want to do it on my own!
I made a bigger deal out of this “dilemma” than I should’ve. I knew I would not accept my teachers offer, but I wanted people to know I’d gotten it as I was pretty proud of it.
I even called my brother to ask his advice – and I never spoke to him.
I declined my teachers offer.
While I do regret some big decisions in my life, this was not one of them.

I came home from school one day in the spring of my senior year.
My dad was not home. My mom was not home.
I went and checked the mail – hoping for acceptance letters.
Walking back – there it was.
Notre Dame.
I didn’t tear it open but instead thought of this: me sitting at the end of the driveway, the letter open and resting on my chest, and me smiling because I’d just learned I’d gotten in to my top school.
I do this a fair amount, I visualize something and then I feel I have to do it or I’m convinced it will be bad luck. Being crazy is fun, right?
I put the rest of the mail down inside, then walked casually back to the end of the drive way. I walked slowly because I pictured anxiousness as being bad luck.
I sat and looked around – it was a beautiful day.
After a long minute of trying hard to enjoy how beautiful the day was, I picked up the letter.

I scanned until I found whatever word to tip me off that I didn’t get in. Probably it was the lack of the word “Congratulations!,” or maybe just the lack of an exclamation point at all.
Then I read the letter, I mean I actually read it.
It said some nice things about a “tough applicant pool …,” or some such meaningless sentiment.
Stupid Brad.
Why did you tease yourself all this time? You’re not good enough.
I felt embarrassed for having been sure I’d get in.
It made sense, though. I didn’t get in because I’m not good enough and that’s that.

Eventually I got up and went inside.
My sister had sent me an instant message online.
I typed in, “I didn’t get in to Notre Dame.”
I don’t remember if I sent this or not, but I do remember that I started to cry then. This was a big deal for me at that time (I tried very hard, starting probably around the  time I realized it was not a “boy” thing to do to cry – to never cry).
I was disappointed in not getting in, disappointed in myself.
I am extremely confident in myself – I honestly think I can do just about anything. Anything I “put my mind to.” This is perfect because you can always say, “well I just didn’t really want it.”
I really wanted to go to Notre Dame.
So why, then, if I’m so great, did I just fail?

Just so you don’t think I’m prone to depression let me end this on a high note.
I got into other schools and ended up picking Southern Methodist University.
Here’s the important part I learned enough, and did enough enjoyable things to make it impossible to say if I would’ve had a better experience at some other school.
On the downside, I’ve never been as big a fan of “Rudy.”

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