The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘high school’

Weekly Wacko (27)

Punch-Me-in-the-Face-Adorable

When I was in high school I often played with neighborhood kids (it was actually a neighbor mom’s mother who made me realize why – she was asking about my favorite neighborhood growing up and I said Alaska, because even though I was only K – 2nd grade when we lived there, even the ‘big kids’ (ie high school) played sports and stuff with my friends and I. She pointed out that I was now the big kid. Very perceptive and obvious, and it made me feel pretty good to carry on something I thought was so amazing).

One of the kids was a little girl in elementary school. She had apparently developed a crush on me – I would guess it’s because I was a senior in high school, a boy, played with the neighborhood kids, and tall (it was more fun that way when I picked up kids and spun them around or such).

One day she was running around the neighborhood and she decided to come around. She rang the doorbell and I answered. She had, watch out for the oozing amounts of adorable, brought over a juice box for herself and I.

We went outside and drank juice (substitute wine and add forty years and that’s the kind of scene). It was getting dark out so I told her I’d walk her home.

She wanted a piggy back ride so I obliged. Walking across the circular field in the middle of the neighborhood she admitted to me very plainly, “I wish I was a teenager so we could date.”

I mean, come on. I challenge you to out-cute that.

One day, her younger brother walked up to my house as I was sitting outside. It was my senior year of high school. The weather was perfect, and so I walked outside and laid down on the driveway, watching the clouds roll by. The young stud walked up, said “hi” (he was maybe four at the time?) and sat down beside me. He looked over, then laid down like me. Looked over again, so I had my arms behind my head – using them like a pillow, and mimicked that.

I felt like the coolest older brother ever. It’s no wonder I’m a huge fan of that family.

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Weekly Wacko (5)

In high school I wrote for a paper that was written by teenagers from various high schools, and then printed and distributed by the city’s paper (the Savannah Morning News). The paper was called “Savvy.” Clever, huh? It was a great thing for the Savannah Morning News to do, and a great experience. I was lucky to have an editor who let me write stupid nonsense (much like this blog). I applied to write for the paper from the “I’m a Military Brat” angle – so every once and a while I would do Military-related pieces.

Since I’m home for Thanksgiving, I found this old article I wrote and decided to use that for this Weekly Wacko. Hope you enjoy it.

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Hometown: Life on the Move

“Hey, where ya from?”

Many times when you meet a person, this is one of the first questions you would ask. In most cases you then receive a casual answer. “Savannah” or “Waycross” or any other number of towns in Georgia.

Well if you ask a person who has a parent in the military, or is just plain lucky enough to move around a lot, then it might not be so simple.

When I first moved here my biology teacher asked me to tell the class a little bit about myself – you know, what your name is, where you’re from. Well, the class probably thought I was weird from that moment on. I, like some of my rover friends, get a kind of dumb and confused look on my face when asked where we’re from. We nomads tend to go on and on about different places we’ve lived.

The list isn’t so long for me because I’ve lived in a relatively small number of places compared to others. Some people take a good 15 minutes summing up the laundry list of past homes. After going through this list, the person who asked the question usually does on of a couple things: 1) sneak away slowly, leaving you thinking you’re still talking to someone; 2) become dumbfounded after hearing only the second place you’ve lived; 3) become really impressed (OK, so I’m dreaming there).

Everyone knows how rough it is to start at a new school by their experience with starting junior high and high school. Well, imagine doing that over and over and over again. It gets annoying.

Although, it can also be cool. When I’m around gullible people I tell them that although I miss Alaska, I miss my pet polar bear Fuzzy the most. Or if you’re going for the cool bad boy look, you could say, “Yeah, my dad’s not really in the Army. It’s just cuz I keep getting kicked out of all the schools at those other states.”

Honestly though, this, like everything in life, has its ups and downs. You just have to roll with the punches, keep an open mind and stay light-hearted. So sure I don’t have a hometown, but who needs one? Not having a hometown makes for good conversation. In fact, elite readers, you should try out an adopt-a-rover program. Make an effort and say “hey” to the new kid. They might seem odd when they break out in a heavy sweat over seemingly simple questions, but there’s a chance they’re normal.

And, for that person’s sake, don’t ask him/her where he/she is from. Say something like, “So, where have you lived?”

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I hadn’t re-read this til now, and I find it funny that I’m a bit aw-shucks-preachy. I am that way in a lot of short stories I write (that I’ll one day post – so stay tuned?!).

Someone who wrote for Savvy the same time as me now writes for Vanity Fair, so would you look at that. So, Feifei Sun, Miss professional author – thank you for the advice on starting the blog and facebook blabbing for me.

Happy belated T-Day everyone!

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Weekly Wacko (4)

I never drank until college, and my mom learned that a fun way one day.

The summer before my senior year of high school, a neighbor moved and gave us tiny bottles of liquor since they didn’t want them to break during the move. Or maybe they wanted my family to get very slightly drunk.

I had come home from school and was hanging out in the kitchen, probably staring at our food and wondering why my mom hates me (we never, not once, had an endless supply of doughnuts).

A thought came to me.

“Hey mom … can I try a shot of whiskey?”

I explained to her that I wanted to see if it’s like in the movies. If I took a shot, would I then involuntarily sort of wheeze/cough?

It’s pathetic what a mamma’s boy I am.

She agreed to it, I won’t even guess at her line of thinking during all of this.

She opened the tiny bottle, got out a shot glass (which I was surprised to see), and poured me a shot.

I grinned, picked it up, pretended to be like some sort of pro-alcoholic, and boom!, took the shot.

One second.

Two seconds.

Cough/wheeze.

It worked! It was just like I’d pictured, except for just about everything, starting with the fact that my Mother poured the shot.

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