Friday, December 31, 2010
Frozen Solid Weekend, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Tessa,
Got a call from my Jr. High principal yesterday. His assistant, actually. "Hi, David. This is Steve Groen's assistant calling." Whoooosh. I heard nothing more she said. Suddenly I was 13 years old, sitting in a chair strategically designed to give Steve Groen a height advantage over whichever student had earned their way into his office this time.
Today, I was that kid. I was that kid most of the time. 3 tardies earned you detention. That rule alone was enough to award me the lion's share of the available detentions, but today I was in for trying to start a club. It was a club that, for a small admission fee ($20) allowed you into the group. We had a dozen members. Once in, you had the chance to guess who'd win all the NFL games for the upcoming season. The member with the most correct guesses won a bunch of the admission money. Me and my buddy Matt pocketed a healthy share for coming up with the idea. Everyone was happy. Especially the younger kids, who would have paid $20 just to sit with the older kids at lunch.
To Mr. Groen, this club was less of a club, and more of combination gambling/swindling outfit. I was not so much Co-Chair of the Football Appreciation Club, as I was "totally out of line, young man." It sounded so much worse when he said it. It always sounded worse coming out of his mouth than it did inside my head. And so that was detention #1 in a limited collectible series of 47; all signed by me, and Mr. Groen, and my parents. My mom instituted a 1 Detention = 1 Hour of Vacuuming rule, and we had the cleanest house that year.
"Mr. Groen heard you had taken a job with Bethlehem Covenant, and was hoping you could speak to the kids at chapel next month." I told her that I was responsible for most of Mr. Groen's grey hairs, and that I seriously doubted he wanted me back in the building. She laughed, and I realized she thought I was joking. Sure, I can speak at chapel; I probably owe the guy that much. 47 hours of detention, absolved by 20 minutes of every man's worst fear. Sigh. He told me once that I'd look back and wish I'd behaved myself more often. I just didn't think this would be the reason.
Got a call from my Jr. High principal yesterday. His assistant, actually. "Hi, David. This is Steve Groen's assistant calling." Whoooosh. I heard nothing more she said. Suddenly I was 13 years old, sitting in a chair strategically designed to give Steve Groen a height advantage over whichever student had earned their way into his office this time.
Today, I was that kid. I was that kid most of the time. 3 tardies earned you detention. That rule alone was enough to award me the lion's share of the available detentions, but today I was in for trying to start a club. It was a club that, for a small admission fee ($20) allowed you into the group. We had a dozen members. Once in, you had the chance to guess who'd win all the NFL games for the upcoming season. The member with the most correct guesses won a bunch of the admission money. Me and my buddy Matt pocketed a healthy share for coming up with the idea. Everyone was happy. Especially the younger kids, who would have paid $20 just to sit with the older kids at lunch.
To Mr. Groen, this club was less of a club, and more of combination gambling/swindling outfit. I was not so much Co-Chair of the Football Appreciation Club, as I was "totally out of line, young man." It sounded so much worse when he said it. It always sounded worse coming out of his mouth than it did inside my head. And so that was detention #1 in a limited collectible series of 47; all signed by me, and Mr. Groen, and my parents. My mom instituted a 1 Detention = 1 Hour of Vacuuming rule, and we had the cleanest house that year.
"Mr. Groen heard you had taken a job with Bethlehem Covenant, and was hoping you could speak to the kids at chapel next month." I told her that I was responsible for most of Mr. Groen's grey hairs, and that I seriously doubted he wanted me back in the building. She laughed, and I realized she thought I was joking. Sure, I can speak at chapel; I probably owe the guy that much. 47 hours of detention, absolved by 20 minutes of every man's worst fear. Sigh. He told me once that I'd look back and wish I'd behaved myself more often. I just didn't think this would be the reason.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Northern Exposure
Tessa,
It's cold outside, and I have been cold all day.
In bed I was at the soft, comfortable center of the universe. Then morning spit me out into the icy blue day and I have been cold ever since.
Writing about the weather usually signals that the author has nothing big going on in his or her life, much as talking about the weather with a stranger in the elevator means you have nothing else to offer them but awkward silence. But other times it's just bleeping cold outside. Cold enough that Katy Perry put a whole shirt on. Cold enough that the weather report in the paper just shows a picture of an Eskimo holding a gun to his head.
I can do this. In an age of remote car starters, heated boots, and North Face fleece, I stand a decent chance of seeing next spring. What I might never understand, is how people settled these parts before Thinsulate-lined boxers. Why Minnesota, unless you have no knowledge of Florida? My only thought is that they came in the Summer, and then the snow trapped them in. I know that's what happened to us.
It's cold outside, and I have been cold all day.
In bed I was at the soft, comfortable center of the universe. Then morning spit me out into the icy blue day and I have been cold ever since.
Writing about the weather usually signals that the author has nothing big going on in his or her life, much as talking about the weather with a stranger in the elevator means you have nothing else to offer them but awkward silence. But other times it's just bleeping cold outside. Cold enough that Katy Perry put a whole shirt on. Cold enough that the weather report in the paper just shows a picture of an Eskimo holding a gun to his head.
I can do this. In an age of remote car starters, heated boots, and North Face fleece, I stand a decent chance of seeing next spring. What I might never understand, is how people settled these parts before Thinsulate-lined boxers. Why Minnesota, unless you have no knowledge of Florida? My only thought is that they came in the Summer, and then the snow trapped them in. I know that's what happened to us.
I Heart You.
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