During the first night of STN, we celebrated our awards. Seminole Ridge took home two third place and one second place awards. This is nothing to scoff at. Our kids worked their asses off this year. The news kids far more than the film kids. As we waited our turn to take pictures on the stage, the DJ began playing closing time. Part of me wanted to yell at him because one we earned our time to take this picture and two, the song isn’t about the bar closing. It’s about a chapter of the songwriter’s life ending. He was becoming a father and welcoming his baby girl into his life. But as I thought about that, I couldn’t think of a more appropriate song.
My students who are graduating this year are closing a giant chapter in their life. In three short months, a large portion of the thirty students I chaperoned will be heading off to college, while others will attend vocational school. But it doesn’t matter where their future is. They all have the same thing in front of them. The world is for them to take.
I saw students that have screwed around for most of the year create an amazing news package. And with all honesty, I really wanted to smack them. Their work was professional. In all honesty, it surpassed some of the news packages that aired on the news station where I worked. I just wish they put the same effort into my film class as they did during this competition. Unfortunately, they didn’t even earn an honorable mention.
Another pair of students that I watched worked took home honorable mention. Watching somebody who is usually a goofball transform into a professional was astounding. To see him work as a photographer like I have seen other seasoned photographer’s work gave me hope. He listened to everything his partner asked him. He never once changed her story, but he provided her with ideas about how the camera should be placed. But the moment the shoot was over, he went back to being a goofball. Which is pretty appropo for a photog. You should see what type of hungry fiends they turn into during the political season. No pizza is safe.
Some of our young female journalists did not make the cut to place this year. And my heart breaks for them because this was their last year to win. In the past, our school brought home a truckload of awards. However, the judges were different this year. They critiqued much harder than the previous years. Even the board of directors, who is a friend of my co teacher, said that this year’s winners were quarters of a point off from those who didn’t place.
That’s amazing and depressing all at once. The bar has been raised and we need to work harder. That means that the sophomores that we brought with us are going to have to work three times as hard as those that are graduating this year. My juniors had a hunger as we flew home to Florida. They know the work that they have to put into it. Some sophomores seemed to not care while others showed a passion and a drive that is going to make them placed in the years to come.
Unfortunately, judging is not everything that held us down. We shot ourselves in the foot from the beginning. Our vlog team kept fighting. And by the time they could finally sort things out and put egos aside, they wasted far too much time. It wasn’t just in California that they battled it out. Who would be on camera and who wouldn’t? They wasted a bunch of time back home, given the chance to practice. Aside from them, our film team was green. Not just age wise, but experience. Part of the fault is mine. This was my first time in a major competition, so I did not know what to expect. Two of our seniors, this was also their first time. And while we had someone experienced on our team, jealousy and anxiety overtook their ability to perform. The student also lost my trust. Sadly, this student got caught up in gossip and started a rumor of their own. They claimed that our strongest editor wasn’t skilled in their own right, but I did the work for them.
This rumor was nothing more than utter nonsense. That student has heard me say time and time again, “if I wanted to edit I wouldn’t be teaching.” Which is 100% the truth. It’s just sad that I have gone out of my way for this student and in a moment of weakness, they had to bring down someone on their team. What’s even worse is I heard it on an accidental recording and that student lied to my face when confronted.
But I will not let this moment or our lack of awards bring us down in the future.
In the next two years, we have an advantage. Instead of Long Beach, California, we’re going to be in Tampa Bay, Florida. It’s just a quick drive across the state and one that we will scout out locations. One that we know the history of the city and all its dirty secrets. However, we’re not the only ones with the advantage. Over 200 awards were given out in Long Beach, California, with more than half awarded to students living in southeast Florida. Every single one of those schools has the same opportunity as we do. And I know a bunch of schools will take advantage of that opportunity.
So now, as closing time plays on my radio, all I can think of is that the chapter is closed. The point where we could take home award after award is over. Students from across the country, and now internationally, have come to compete. Our students have to step up. But I have 100% know that our kids are competitive. They have a drive needed to win. And for those students graduating, becoming young adults, they are going to do amazing things.
I am absolutely exhausted. Today I participated in our school wide lip dub. Holy shit, was that fun. It reminded me why I love working in production. The energy everyone brings to performance can not be matched. Even working through tech problems. They are stressful, but it’s like my brain feeds off of it. I love watching all the pieces fall into place when the world seems against it. My mentor, Mr. Wright, started producing lip dubs in 2014 and I have always wondered how they could produce a high-quality video. Well, now I know.
Today was insane. If you check out my Instagram reels, you can see some of the behind-the-scenes footage from organized chaos. This production was months in the making. Wright spent months sending out emails to the school, ensuring that all clubs and sports were included. Everyone had the chance to submit a song of their choice. Some people slept on this chance and were not happy with the song selected for them. But it wasn’t just up to my mentor. The film club and SGA were a critical part in selecting music and comedic bits throughout the lip dub.
Late days and missed lunches were in abundance. My mentor would walk the path that we would take, mapping out everything to time the music just right. In the weeks leading up to today, he emailed out the final audio mix. He held rehearsals to prepare students for the parts they were supposed to lip sync. Even with all this preparation, problems arose.
The day before the event, we found out that some students were upset about their song selection. We didn’t know they were upset until a teacher overheard students discussing their plans to protest. They would not sing the song that was picked for them by SGA. The club was called women leaders of tomorrow or something along those lines. Remember how I said they’d had months to pick out a song and weeks to listen to the music? The day before the production is not the day to complain. Their complaint was that they were in the cafeteria, and that the song that was selected for them was called stir fry. Apparently, they found this sexist saying “women were being put in the kitchen.” The problem was that they weren’t the only people in the cafeteria. The cafeteria is an enormous space. They shared the scene with multiple language honor societies and wrestling. Thankfully, there was no protest.
We ran through the first part of the lip dub three times. But production even started, students were outside for close to 45 minutes. They were setting up the inflatable helmet that the football players were going to run out of. The Cheerleaders were practicing their stunts, and the band was preparing to play their instruments. Our principal even did a skit in the beginning that was a callback to the year previous and a meme that one of our seniors created when he was a junior last year. It’s a lot of fun to see the student body work. The reason it took so long for us to start was that there were multiple people who weren’t in the correct place. The people who were supposed to be singing were missing, and certain academies just weren’t ready.
When we finally started, it was incredible to witness everything. We did the skit again and then the music seamlessly flowed into the senior class’s lip sync. That’s when the controlled chaos began. After the senior section, they broke apart and were running to their next locations. Football players magically appeared in the helmet. Some showed up in the cafeteria as a part of the national honor society in, or wrestling and flag football. From the cafeteria, we had the next set of singers hop on golf carts and head towards part of JROTC where they were doing the raiders rope bridge event. That went into the step team and the BSU. And straight into JROTC followed by automotive and into construction. We did this three times and every time things got better and tighter. Despite a few minor errors, witnessing the high school kids wholeheartedly engage in their tasks and show professionalism was the most enjoyable aspect of my day.
After that, there was a small break when everybody reset and moved on to phase 3. We recorded Phase 2 earlier because it was complicated. But understanding the match cutting that’s going along with it and how it’s going to flow. Here is the final product! I would love everybody to see the hard work of all these students, teachers and administrators.
After Wright walked phase three and made sure everybody was ready, filming began. I’m pretty sure the universe just wanted to test us today because we had complications in all the strangest ways possible. We almost got done with the first take and something happened in biotech and we had to reshoot. We did a race golf cart scene with our principal and the superintendent of the school board. It was amazing and fantastic until the Osmo’s battery died. This is something that’s never happened in the years of production. We had a group of boys infiltrate the basketball scene and the basketball players could not hear the music, so they didn’t know what to lip sync. Finally, we had 11 minutes left until lunch and we were doing our very last take. We were told that the superintendent had left, and we were going to have to figure out how to match cuts into that scene. But then the universe gave us a break.
When my mentor came out of the soccer scene and the superintendent was in the rival golf cart. The amount of pressure that was lifted off of his shoulders for editing was astronomical. There was a bit of delay in recording, but not much that anybody would truly notice. We got through the softball scene, SGA and basketball. We went through medical and biotech and finally finished phase 3.
Phase 4 was when everybody went to the courtyard. This was utter chaos. The original plan was to have all the students spell out the word hawk. That did not happen. We also still had to record the IT room and the drone room. There was a bit of a pause as we organized the students and went into IT to ask them if they were ready.
Wright moved from using the Osmo to filming with a drone. That meant we had to do another walkthrough just to understand what the framing was and the pacing for the drone. After completing the walkthrough, they sent me outside to assist the students in ensuring that the outside was prepared. Everyone was clueless about what they were doing. Because of course. After a swift talk from Wright to the students, everything proceeded without a hitch. We had two takes, and both were fantastic.
The day was chaotic. Everything happened between 8:00 a.m. and 11:45 in the morning. But it was wonderful. It epitomized everything I love about our industry. Showcasing our students and our school. We let the world know how well our administration works with our students and how our teachers communicate with our student body. This is something that other schools try to reproduce and they can’t do it. And I think a lot of that has to do with the social structure within the school itself. It’s not just the fact that Mr. Wright has been doing this for 14 years and has mastered the experience. It’s all the work that goes into it. The students’ effort to ensure this is an amazing production is commendable.
My favorite part about the whole thing was a surprise. Our 9th grade guidance counselor had a baby a few months ago. Her husband is the baseball coach and while we were preparing to do phase 3, I saw her holding this little tiny infant. He was wearing a baseball jersey. It was adorable. My absolute favorite thing was watching the senior baseball boys holding this little nugget. They tenderly held him while singing, showing their love for their sport, their coach and their coach’s wife. This is the stuff that needs to be shown. This is what people need to understand what makes a successful school. It’s not just about grades. It’s about the atmosphere in the social dynamic that is produced.
Write about the beach: Your favorite memory of a trip, what you love, what you hate. Would you live on the coast if you could, or is it better just for a visit?
I never knew you had to exfoliate your feet when I was younger. The reason is that I spent so much time at the beach that the sand took care of it for me. Growing up I was blonde with dark roots, tanned for as much as a pale girl could get. When I would sweat, I smelled like ocean water. I was as close as I could to being a mermaid.
In college, everything changed. Growing up, I could go to the beach for free. The idea of paying for parking was, and still is, ridiculous. In Boca, they had very limited free parking. Now I had to have money to go to the beach. The beach was supposed to be the only place I could go when I was broke. Where I didn’t feel pressured into spending money. Instead of going to surf or hang out with friends like I did in my youth, most of the people now wanted to drink. Sometimes they would play games. However, something was just different. A trip to the beach was just a side stop in the day instead of being the whole day. Going to the beach felt more like a chore than it did as a relaxing escape from life.
When I moved to the mountains of Brazil, I realized how much I missed living near the ocean. Even though I spent less time at the beach, the option was always there. But in the mountains, I was five hours away from the closest beach. It felt like someone took a part of my soul, knowing I couldn’t escape there whenever I wanted.
My stint in Brazil was short and the first place my best friend took me after landing was the beach. During the flight, I knew my marriage was over. I had not wanted to admit it to myself, but sitting there watching the waves break on the shore, I could focus on everything that happened on my sixth month journey. There is just something about the sun and sand that washes away the pain.
While I was adjusting to my life back home, I took advantage of going to the beach every day. It was fall, and the air was crisp. The waves were building and even though I had part of my life out of storage, I never picked up my surfboards. I would sit on the sand and write. My friends and I would head to the beach at night. Running around in the shore break. Some nights, we were crazy enough to swim with the sharks. Not actually with them, but growing up in Florida, you knew the sharks were more active at night.
Autumn at the beach has become my favorite time of year. It rejuvenates my soul and fills me with hope. While most people are mourning the loss of warmer weather, I relish in the cool breeze. The biggest reason behind this is autumn at the beach is the first time my husband kissed me. We had been spending more time together. One evening we were sitting near the pier at sunset talking. Eventually, we were both quiet. You could feel the tension. Out of nowhere he asked, “Can I kiss you?” and I laughed, saying, “Don’t ask, just do it.”
This had to be illegal. It was completely dark, and Brooke just climbed over two chain-link fences. That’s two more than she ever climbed over in her life. Surely people only did that on television. But here she was with a flashlight in her hand, following a white rabbit. Who was she? Alice?
No, she wasn’t Alice, and this definitely wasn’t wonderland. Unless everyone who lost the head to the queen of hearts was buried here. The small rabbit darted across the graveyard. It bounced between headstones, nibbling flowers left for loved ones, only to stop in front of the mausoleum.
“Where are you going, little bunny?” Brooke asked, peeking from behind a tree.
The steps glowed as the rabbit hopped up to the door, each paw glowing the same color. Scared to move, Brooke kept still as possible. She had been following the rabbit for the last six hours after it escaped from her professor’s laboratory. Until this magic moment, she did not know why her professor was so under that it escaped. All it did was poop all over the lab and eat power cords. If anything, the rabbit’s escape was a blessing. At least it was to this broke college student. Who could afford to replace 80 dollar cables every other week?
With at least a decade’s worth of grime encrusted on the track, the door of the mausoleum creaked open. Silently, Brooke prayed the door wouldn’t shut before she got there. She couldn’t see a handle or a lock from where she stood. From all appearances, the mausoleum seemed sealed.
As if the universe heard her prayer, the door became stuck in the grime as it tried to close. Brooke raced from her hiding spot. Her heart pounded. She could hear the door almost freeing itself. Brooke slid in just in time as the door slammed shut.
The years of dust overpowered Brooke’s need for stealth. She coughed and gagged trying to catch her breath. And to make things worse… Her flashlight died.
Thankfully, whoever designed this house of the dead loved the moon. A rich glow poured in from the constellation windows that lined the ceiling. Brooke looked all over for the rabbit, but only found a large marble pedestal holding a black onyx coffin. Creeping around the coffin, Brooke saw tracks in the dust swooping out in a crescent pattern. However, there was no way a five-pound bunny would have been able to move the heavy coffin.
Brooke dropped to the ground. If the rabbit could activate whatever trip device moved the coffin, it would have to be on the floor. Brooke looked around for any sign of an unlevel tile, a button, a clue of some kind.
“Nothing better eat me,” she muttered to herself as her hand traced along the foot of the pedestal. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”
As she stood, her foot slipped on the dust, and she kicked the pedestal. Brooke desperately grasped for something to soften her fall, but there was nothing, not even the floor. The title had disappeared. Brooke plummeted into the darkness. Her screams echoing against the walls.
“What a horrible way to die.” Brooke thought. “Alone, afraid, body mangled, where no one will ever find me.”
But the sounds of crashing waves drowned her fears, replacing them with new ones. Brooke’s arms waved wildly by her side. Water meant she had to get her body in the correct position. If she wanted to avoid breaking any bones or knock herself out, Brooke had to enter the water with her toes pointed at a 45-degree angle, legs closed, and arms secured to her side. Drown was not the way she planned on dying. But Brooke was in the dark in more ways than one. She didn’t know how much time she had.
The sound grew closer. Brooke had stopped screaming long ago. She didn’t need her mouth hanging open to catch a mouth full of water. But that didn’t stop her from thinking how dead that rabbit was if it survived the fall. The salty mist stuck to her face. Quickly, she drew her arms to her side and pointed her toes. A wave crashed over head dragging her deeper under the water. Brooke tumbled under wave after wave, unable to tell which way was up. Her lungs burned from lack of oxygen and her eyes stung. She wanted to shut them to make the pain go away. As her vision blurred, four bright lights darted through the water. The rabbit.
Brooke kicked after the vexing bunny, finally breaking the surface, only to be smacked in the face by another wave. But a breath of soggy air was better than death. Brooked gasped, treading water. Every muscle burned, but that meant she was alive. A wave pushed her forward. Or where she thought forward would be. Where did she fall? Maybe this was wonderland after all.
The sky, or ground covering, wherever she was, was still dark. However, there was a faint glow in the distance. With a bit of salt oxygen in her lungs, Brooke paddled forward, hoping she was heading in the same direction as the phosphorescent rabbit.
Waves crashed harder as the horizon came into view. A sharp and dangerous reef was under Brooke. She protected her head as she dove with the waves. She felt like a dolphin, only there was no joy in her dives, only survival. A few times, panic set in her when kelp wrapped around her ankles. Brooke thought maybe a giant squid or octopus had attacked her. Only she had seen no living creature in the water aside from the troublesome bunny here and there.
At last her feet met the sea floor. Exhausted, she wasn’t sure if she should try standing, fearful that once she stopped swimming, she’d be unable to start again. Brooke was having a hard time making out the land ahead of her. She could see trees, but the waves still swallowed the beach. Finally, she stood. Waves broke on shore and gently receded. Satisfied that the shore wasn’t covered in rocks, she rode in the waves instead of swimming.
The final wave brought Brooke ashore. Laying in the shore break, Brooke started laughing. What had her life become? All she wanted to do was earn extra credit by finding the stupid rabbit. Not go on some wild adventure where the sand glistened.
Brooke rolled over. With her face close to the sand, she discovered it wasn’t the typical sand she had spent a lifetime looking at. Instead of being tan and white, these were particles of black, green, red, purple and blues. Sitting up, she scooped a handful of sand and let it run through her fingers. They felt like tiny little gem stones. But why didn’t they scratch her more than the sand at home did?
A vine trailed down the beach from the dunes, ending in front of Brooke. She trudged her way to the plant, only to find that it, too, was not normal. It possessed the flexibility of a plant, yet the strength of emeralds. Brooke stranded her eyes towards the forest ahead of her. That’s when she saw all the palms on the palm trees glistened like the sand. A breeze floated from the sea and into the forest. All the trees sounded like delicate wind chimes.
Another breeze blew, this time it caressed her face and whispered. “We’ve been waiting for you Brooke.”
Brooke’s eyes widened. There at the edge of the forest were a group of soldiers clad in gleaming armor. And in the arms of the leader was the illuminated rabbit.
What is one question you hate to be asked? Explain.
One of the most annoying things that I encounter has to deal with my faith. I understand that it is typical to ask about someone’s spouse after discovering their faith. However, what is the most belittling is when people find out my husband is an atheist. The first thing most people ask is, “He still lets you go to church?” or “Does he let your children go with you?” Like hold up, wait a minute. When did 2024 turn into the 1950s where the husband dictates what the family does?
Marriage is a partnership, not a dictatorship. I’ve heard of people who are in Jewish / Christian marriages and when people find out about that, they ask, “Do you celebrate Hanukkah and Christmas?” No one is discussing someone limiting anyone’s beliefs. I’m uncertain whether it’s my husband or atheism itself that drives people to ask such questions.
My daughter and I attend church regularly. She is a part of the faith formation and will take her first communion in a year or so. My stepson would be a part of his confirmation class if the other household would take him to his Wednesday class. We didn’t bring up the topic of him attending Wednesday classes, even though his mom was okay with him getting baptized. So he never started the classes. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t attend church. He does, when baseball doesn’t intervene. So that’s kind of limited.
But back to my husband and my children’s faith.
When we got together, Tyler knew I was a Catholic. We talked about how I find peace in my faith and we have talked endlessly about why he lost his. Witnessing people murder each other in the name of their God can really do wonders on a person. However, faith wasn’t a big thing for him growing up. For my childhood, my mom took me to church and my dad worked. Even if he didn’t work, he was Catholic and my mom was raising us as Presbyterian. It didn’t cause any problems in our household. We weren’t orthodox and my mom took us so we could learn from people who were more experienced in the faith. So this way of raising children was very familiar to me.
My husband has been by my side through all three of our children’s baptisms. In truth he was the one who pushed me through my postpartum depression and reminded me to set up the baptism dates. He is also the one who will tease me and call me a bad catholic or heathen when I choose sleep over going to mass. Tyler knows my faith is important to me and when I falter in going to church, he is there to support me.
I sometimes question whether my husband is genuinely an atheist rather than an agnostic. Someone who can’t put a name to their faith. I have caught Tyler a few times talking about the unexplained. Maybe the universe has been more involved in our lives than he believed. I have seen him break down and denounce God with a passion when he lost his dog far sooner than we ever expected to lose her. You don’t do that unless you have faith to lose.
What I don’t understand is how perplexed people are that someone who is an atheist would allow his significant other to raise their children with faith. It is absurd that someone so certain in their belief of nothing would be scared by someone’s belief in something. It just makes me value my relationship with my husband more. The way he empowers my faith, that we have civil discussions about things and that he has never once tried to stop me from sharing what I value with our children.
As our children get older, they will leave the house and have the same opportunities I did. They can choose to stick with the religion they grew up with, or convert into something else. Maybe their life will take them on the same path as their father and something might make them lose their faith. That’ll make me sad, but they will be adults in charge of their own spiritual journey. I just want to give them the tools for that journey.
Describe a phase in life that was difficult to say goodbye to.
I looked up from my laptop and locked eyes with someone I thought I would never see again. I had been reading his obituary before I looked up, after all. He sat there, infuriatingly patient as only the dead could.
“Take a picture. It’ll last long.” He said with a crooked smile.
I rubbed my eyes, but still he sat in front of me, occupying the chair that was meant to be filled by the rest of our living morning friends.
“You’re not here.” I said softly. “You put a bag over your head and filled it with helium, suffocating your life and robbing the world of your talents.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “No one paid attention to my talents. No one cared.”
I wrapped my hand around my coffee cup. Feeling the warmth radiate in my hand grounded me. At least I was still alive, maybe losing my mind, but I was alive. “You’re such a fucking lair. I cared. Melissa and John cared. Countless others do too.”
He leaned back in his chair; the light shining off his freshly shaved head. I’m not sure if ghosts take the look they have when they die or what they are most comfortable with.
“I couldn’t live like that anymore.” He said after I went back to typing.
My fingers ran across the keyboard a few more times before I responded with a simple, that’s nice. What did he expect me to say? He left us here on this realm. To deal with the heartache and pain of the hole he would leave in our souls. He was so young, life was just starting for him and he robbed himself, his family and friends of what might have been.
I finally looked up from my laptop and he was still there. Elbows resting on his knees, his chin in his hands. “Why are you here?”
He reached across the table as if he would take my hand. “I just wanted you to know I was at peace.”
I wanted to desperately reach out, to touch him, but I was scared. Scared my hand would go straight through him or that mind would turn cold. Would my touch let him see into my soul and know the pain that he had left me with? If he was at peace with his decision, then I should be too.
I took a drink and smiled. No one knows the monsters you fight within yourself. If he felt this was the only way to quiet them, then I must have faith he did it for the right reasons. I never saw him as a weak person before. Strong and dedicated to his craft. Determined to fight for what he wanted.
I tapped the table near his hand. My hesitation hurt him. But he hurt me. “Did you find all the answers you were looking for?”
His brown eyes lit up. “You can’t imagine all that there is. The answers are truly in the stars.”
I went back to writing. I didn’t want to ask him anything else. One could only pretend to have a conversation with the dead before others start to wonder if you skipped your meds. I swore I heard him tap the table, but when I looked up, he was gone.
Stay close to people who feel like sunshine. It’s a saying that has popped up for the last few weeks. I made a cute little poster for my husband to print out for me so I can have it up in my classroom. But the saying warms my heart. It took so long for me to understand that meaning. To value those who value you, encourage you, and don’t do it to put others down, or do it in a passive aggressive way that is for their gain. Unfortunately, as you age, you will meet far too many fake people. People who will pry on your trust and try to manipulate situations. But that doesn’t mean hide from the world or change who you are. It just means to be a bit more skeptical.
I’ve been burned plenty of times. By people who I thought were lifelong friends, by employers who took advantage of my work ethic or, well, other things. I’ve written about it before, so I don’t feel like rehashing that again. I should have a wall of ice surrounding my heart. And when I was younger, I did. But that’s exhausting. To some, forgiveness may sound weak, but just because I forgive them doesn’t mean I forget. I will let God judge these people when the time comes. But I will not allow them the power over my mind, body, and soul. If the pain lingers, I will use it to my advantage. I work old wounds into my writing. I transform living nightmares into stories where I control the narrative. Just because I lost my power to a situation once does not mean I must stay powerless to it forever.
That goes the same with learning how to trust people because I am not a trusting person to begin with. So when someone talks to me, I am already listening with a grain of salt. Because of my distrust, I tell my students don’t ever lie to me because once you have lost my trust; it is gone forever. Several of the students I have been teaching for four years now understand that it is better to admit that they forgot or were overwhelmed with sports and other classes, instead of pretending that the computer erased their work. They have warned other classmates to be honest and I will work with them. Those who have lied to me have discovered how much of a stickler I can be.
It’s not just with my students. If you are a friend or family member and lie to me, I may let you stay in my life, but I will never trust you again. This doesn’t mean the lie has to be over something big, it could be something small and it will put me off. Two incidents occurred last summer that made me develop a distrust for someone who had been interacting with my family. I had given the person a piece of paper and asked them to sign it. They said to give it to their wife, so I did. When I explained he needed to sign it, she laughed, signed the paper saying “he never signs anything, I always have to.” So I gave the paperwork to my husband and explained what happened. When he approached the person, the non-signer straight up looked at my husband and said, “No, no, I signed it.” I was so confused. I didn’t want to fight with that person in front of a bunch of kids, but from that moment on, I couldn’t trust a single word out of his mouth. A few weeks later, my family and a few other baseball families were at a baseball game. My husband stepped away with the baby to grab something, leaving me with the nonsigner and another dad. I watched my daughter run around with friends while listening to the nonsigner talk to the dad. He was telling a story about the 3rd dad that we usually spend time with. Only I had already heard this story from my husband. The nonsigner told the dad that the 3rd dad went to get an oil change but when he returned, he was hammered. Saying his shirt was untucked and his wife was yelling at him on the phone. The dad was highly concerned about the 3rd dad showing up drunk and driving home with his child.
I still do not understand why the nonsigner had twisted the story. I interrupted him, saying he wasn’t drunk. His shirt was untucked because he had gotten off of work and hadn’t changed out of his office attire. I explained that the oil change place had taken longer than expected and that’s why his wife was annoyed with him because they had plans.
The nonsigner was quickly changing his story and the dad sitting next to him looked confused on who to believe. When we were leaving, I told my husband what happened. We were both confused why nonsigner would try to destroy the 3rd dad’s reputation. However, we both agreed that we would longer believe whatever nonsigner says, and would go directly to his wife if we needed anything. Some people like to exaggerate and we thought that would be the worst from nonsigner.
On Veterans’ Day, we were a part of a tournament and since I am in charge of social media, I wanted pictures from all the parents and coaches that are veterans. A few years ago, when Nonsigner met my husband, he said he served in the army as well. Throughout the years, we have asked questions, trying to understand nonsigners behavior. He didn’t act like enlisted personnel or an officer. For about two weeks I kept asking for pictures and received them from a handful of our veterans, however nothing from nonsigner. I thought it was odd, so did my husband. But we didn’t say anything to anyone. It wasn’t our business. Maybe he had a bad experience, maybe his ex wife had them, or they got lost in the fire. Who knew? But it was just strange. It was also strange that every time the veterans would talk about the stupid stuff they did in the branches, he would step away instead of joining in.
At the end of February every lie nonsigner had told finally caught up with him. I will not go into the mess because it is not my story to tell. However, every single thing my gut told me about this human was correct. The worst part of this for me and my husband was discovering that nonsigner never served in the military. I left horrible. My husband has just as many trust issues as I do. We would never have met nonsigner if I had not pushed my husband into coaching baseball. I was worried that this would damage the relationship my husband was building with other members of the baseball team. But we weren’t totally side blasted by this lair. Numerous signs beforehand left us wondering what the reality was. We had already started to distance ourselves from him because of the red flags and manipulation tactics he used.
As I look around at everyone who has been affected by this person, one thing stands out – they all feel like sunshine. I am glad the damage caused by this person did not harm the hard work my husband has done in healing from his PTSD. I wish there was more we could do for the family of nonsigner because they are innocents caught in this horrible mess. However I hope they know that the sun is waiting for them when they are ready to feel the warmth again.
Saturdays are no longer free days where I get to lounge around the house doing nothing. Those days have been long gone. However, with two kids in sports and one tiny wild man, Saturdays are anything but free. However, I make the best out of the situation.
Today Adelyn had a 3 hour practice. It was amazing. She ran around and worked her butt off. She didn’t get discouraged that she didn’t catch every ball. In fact, she tried harder. Which is all I could ask. When it came to batting, she did really well. But there was a moment where I had to hold my tongue. One little girl on the team that does not like my daughter. Adelyn is 6 playing on an 8U team. That means that most of these girls are about to be 9. While Adelyn was switching her glove and mask for her helmet and bat, the rude child said, “Stop trying to be better than me.”
The amount of self control it took to not pull that ponytail and say leave my child alone was unfathomable. Adelyn has a very kind heart. She tries to make everyone her friend. This little girl has already told Adelyn that she is the worst player on the team. Which she is not by any means. Before I could say or do anything, Adelyn just looks at the girl and walks right past her and onto the field. Instead of giving the girl any attention, she takes a few practice swings and then procedures to crush all ten balls pitched to her. The mean girl didn’t hit one. I could not be more proud of how Adelyn handled the situation.
Usually the B and my husband join us for the Saturday practices. But today, Markie had a doubleheader and my husband had things to do before the games. So he took the boys to do the errands. That meant I had three hours to myself. Not going to lie, it was a bit strange. I didn’t have social media to doom scroll with. I talked to another mom for a little while and finally I just read my book. It was a blessing to be outside. The day was gorgeous. Sunny blue skies with a light breeze. These were days I prayed for, but when I am teaching, it’s pouring rain on the weekend.
It was nice to just be. To not have to worry about where to go next. Or if something needed folded or picked up. I can’t remember the last time I just relaxed like that. It made me realize I need to take some time for myself. However, I instantly felt guilty. I need to change this way of thinking. I need to put more value into myself. I tell my friends this all the time, to take a moment for themselves, but I never put my words into practice. I guess I will have to figure out how to do this parent, teacher, wife thing all while still taking care of myself. Because if I am exhausted and burnt out, who is going to be there when I fall apart?
I started writing this prompt a year ago during lent, and they revisited the prompt today. So I figured I would finish this.
I’m not entirely sure if I believe in fate and destiny in the sense of predestination, but I think we have the option of different choices and paths to take, and those paths shape us.
Sometimes when my husband smiles, I see glimpses of the past. He’ll get the same spark in his eyes that he had almost twenty years ago. Something that I thought he lost after the hard road he has traveled to get us to where we are now.
My husband, Tyler and I met in high school. He was a senior, and I was a freshman. As fate would have it, the school district decided that his four years of JROTC would no longer count as an art elective. Now, in his last year of school, Tyler had to choose between band, art, or drama. He picked drama since he couldn’t draw or play an instrument.
At the beginning of the year, my drama class was around 16 girls and one boy, Dan Mosley. I think he lasted a week before he had his schedule changed. For a short time, we were an unruly group of girls before a tall, dark stranger was sitting at the desk behind mine.
Truth be told, I am naturally shy, so I do not know how I began talking to him. Especially so since I thought he was cute, and usually, when I think someone is attractive, my mouth does not work. However, with him, it was like word vomit. Maybe because I was in a room full of females and we outnumbered him. Or possibly the idea of him being so much older than I was; I saw no threat. Whatever the reason was, we became friends. Some days he sat at the desk to the right of me, and we would talk, and other days he would sit behind me and play with my hair that covered his desk.
Looking back at our life, it reads like a Young Adult novel. Of course, my real-life crush just so happens to be the definition of a book boyfriend. I laugh because I’ve seen a meme, “Fictional men raised my standards.’ Girl, your only requirements are dark hair and trauma.'” However, when I first met my husband, he only had dark hair. It wasn’t until after two deployments did he gain the trauma.
Tyler’s transfer to our class took place early in the year. I know this because our generation is marked by one life-changing event: 9/11.
Before that tragic day, the weeks were blurred together. The only thing I vividly remember from the month of August is the tall, good-looking guy with a crooked smile invading our girls only drama class.
On that morning, I can remember practically every detail. I was in my Spanish two class, where every moment was forgettable until someone rushed into the room. The person shouted at my teacher to put on the news. The entire class turned their attention to the tv. Students were talking amongst themselves as my teacher frantically tried to call her daughter. She lived in NYC. My classmates and I watched, and I began arguing with anyone that would listen. I grew up around planes my whole life. The anchors kept saying that a small Cessna flew into the first tower. I knew that was impossible to be true. The plane wouldn’t look the way it did if it was a Cessna. As the anchors tried to make sense of the situation that was going on, a second plane flew into the tower’s twin. At that moment, I stopped talking. The world froze, and everyone had a single thought: we are under attack. As I digested what I had just witnessed, another thought filled my mind: The guy I had a crush on was going to war.
One thing that attracted me to my future husband was his enlistment in the army. Growing up with my family serving in all branches except for the navy, I found his dedication to our country attractive. And discovering that he enlisted the summer before he was eighteen just made it that much better. But when he enlisted, we were at peace.
An announcement came across the loudspeaker, and we were told that they would dismiss us from our last-period class. I am sure I was a part of the few people who were eager to move. My last period was drama, which meant I would see Tyler and talk to him about everything that happened. The entire class sat on the floor in front of the tv. I remember leaning against him and asking him what he thought was going to happen. He may have looked at me, but I was too focused on the news coverage. I just heard him say, “I guess I’m going to war.”
Two weeks passed, and so did his eighteenth birthday. I don’t know why these memories have stuck with me, but they have. He went skydiving with his mom and got the Sky Dive America’s Uncle Sam tattoo on his shoulder.
So now the guy I had a crush on had a tattoo, jumped from a plane, and was going to war. All he needed was a motorcycle to complete the bad boy package. But Tyler was anything but that. We’ve talked about high school, and he said he never really was one of those people who hung out with one group. He was friends with everyone. He played sports, was a part of JROTC, and didn’t care who you were as long as you weren’t a dick.
At the beginning of December, I chopped off all my hair. It was a rebellious move because my mom loved my long hair, and I was mad that I didn’t get to go to the Buzz Bake Sale. The Bake Sale was a local rock concert festival. I know it was a ridiculous fifteen-year-old move, but that was all I could control.
When I went to school that Monday, I wasn’t comfortable with my decision anymore. My hair was like a comfort blanket. The longest point reached my butt, and I had chopped it up to my ears. When I sat down in my seat, I felt a pencil swatting at my hair. “I like the hair, little one,”
Suddenly, I didn’t hate my hair anymore.
As the school year progressed, Tyler started taking another classmate and me home from school. That meant I no longer had to take the bus home every other day and since he drove a ford ranger with a bench seat in the front, I sat in the middle. At first, he would simply drop me off at my place, but as we got closer, we spent time together, discussing stupid things. It didn’t matter if it was about class that day, and how life was going, or music we liked. Our conversations were how I learned he only didn’t just enjoy country music. He liked the same pop-punk nonsense as I did.
One day, he came into class and plopped down in his seat. He didn’t have the same positive attitude as usual, and I asked him what was wrong. He said he got in trouble with his mom for going over his text message limit again. I turned bright red and asked, “well, who are you texting?” he just laughed and said, “Gee, I wonder who’s been texting me every day.” I might have been part of the reason he had to get unlimited text messages.
We would play twenty questions, however, those twenty questions would somehow last well into the night. It was fun getting to know someone this way. It felt more like we were sending letters as opposed to text messages, and it took the pressure off taking him face-to-face when I saw him the next day.
The closer we came to the end of the school year, the sadder I got. He was going to graduate and go off to the army, and I was going to continue on with my life as if he had never walked into it. I didn’t have any right to be sad about him leaving. We weren’t dating. We were just friends. I knew he was dating someone at the beginning of the year, and eventually, they broke up around February. I had to ask him when it happened because I wasn’t sure. That part of his life wasn’t important to me. We were just friends, and I didn’t even entertain the delusion that we would turn into something more.
At some point in the spring semester, I learned that Green Day, Blink 182, and Jimmy Eat world were on tour together. I was beyond excited and begged my mom to let me go to the concert. None of my normal concert going friends were going, and she said I had to have an adult accompany me. I ended up asking a family friend if she would take me, and she said yes.
I was so thrilled that I was going to see my favorite bands I overloaded him with information. At some point, he told me he had never been to a concert before. This shocked me. I had been to a BackStreet Boys Concert, seen Melissa Etheridge at Sunfest while in middle school, and just saw No Doubt play at Sunfest a few weeks prior. I guess all my excitement must have given me the courage to invite him to join us. Because at that point in my life, I was never that brave.
I am pretty sure I died a little inside when Tyler said he would go. Though we were just friends and I had a crush on someone else who I thought I had more of a chance with, I couldn’t believe Tyler said he would go. I think he said something about his mom not wanting him to go at first. But he told his mom he was eighteen and had already signed up for the army. He was going to go to the concert.
Mental break in writing because looking back and experiencing these emotions as a thirty-six-year-old (well, thirty- seven since I took a year break) is almost as unnerving as it was when I was fifteen. I am nervous about how my husband is going to react to reading my post because he reads everything I write. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to hold back. I have a hard enough time remembering what I did at the beginning of the week. I just hope I don’t mix up things from twenty years ago.
The concert wasn’t until the beginning of May, which meant it was a few weeks away, and for a fifteen-year-old, it felt like an eternity.
We texted along the way to the concert. Trying to figure out where to meet. My family friend, Joy, thought everything happening between us was adorable. I told her to stop. We were just friends. Trying to remember events from twenty years ago is kind of a blur. I don’t remember him getting there or how long we waited for the first band, but I’ll never forget when the music started.
The first band was Jimmy Eat World, and to this day, they are still one of my absolute favorite bands. As they played through their album Bleed American I sang along to every word of every song. I remember feeling self conscious at first. Wondering if Tyler would think I was silly, but in the end, it didn’t matter. The music took over, and I was there to have a good time. If this boy I liked thought I was silly, so be it. If he was going to like me, it would have to be for me being me, not a pretend version of myself.
As the last chord of The Middle played, I was a ball of energy. We were waiting for Blink 182 to come on. I need to pee and find food. Nothing has changed in my concert going habits in twenty years. I beelined it to the bathroom and picked up a sweet corn arepa on my way back to our spot on the lawn. However, Tyler had made his way a little closer than where we were for Jimmy Eat World.
Blink 182 started with Travis spinning in on his drum set above the crowd. I guess Tyler knew more of Blink’s song because this time he sang along with me. High-speed music coursed through me. At some point, I must have mentioned that I was having trouble seeing because he ended up picking me up, and I watched most of the show like a koala on his back. Then Adam’s Song came on. If you haven’t heard that song, I highly suggest it. It’s a slow, powerful song about a friend who commits suicide. I remember his thumb running against my forearm.
The rest of the concert was a blur. I barely remember Green Day. I know they were good, and I enjoyed it, but I was still on a high from being a tiny koala. Eventually, the concert ended, and we all went home. I remember talking my head off to Joy about the music and how thankful I was that she took me. She asked if I was sure if I was just thankful for the concert and not anything else. I didn’t understand what she meant at the time.
After taking a shower and snuggling into the sheets, I got a text. It read. Thanks for inviting me. The next one said “I liked us.”
Only there wouldn’t be us until thirteen years later. Tyler went to the army and war. I lived my life. I finished high school, went to college, partied, traveled the world, had my heart broken, broke a few hearts myself. I even got married and moved to Brazil. I never expected a friend request from the boy at the rock show to change the course of my life. But I’m glad it did.
I couldn’t think of what to write today so I turned to my handy dandy 300 writing prompts journal. I flipped through page after page and thought I was going to write about “If you could pack up and leave on vacation today, where would you be off to?” Then I kept flipping and stopped at “Is our world today a better or worse place than it was when you were a kid?” I started planning for that one. But then the book almost closed on itself and the very last page was left open. The prompt was “Describe your favorite photograph.” That one stuck with me. I knew the answer right away.
There is a picture of me at the beach at night. I am on the sidewalk, sitting on a pillar of a bike rack. In my hand is my cell phone. I have a look of shock on my face and a bit of excitement. I am wearing a green long sleeve shirt that is covering my hands and I think tan capris. What makes this picture memorable has nothing to do with the image itself. It’s the memory that is invoked every time I look at it.
I can feel the humidity on my skin and the salt on my face. The ocean breeze softly blows as my phone rings. My nerves are on edge when I look at the number. It’s an international number and I know only one person who would call me from out of the country. My friends tease me. It’s Tyler. He’s in Iraq in a war and the boy I have a crush on is calling me. I know nothing is going to happen between us. The age difference. Him being in actively in the middle of a war. Nevertheless, I am giddy, excited that he is alive.
I say “Hello,” there is a delay in his response. But I expect that.
My friend snaps the picture, and the flash goes off when he finally says “Hello.”
