Tuesday, February 15, 2005

So What The Hell Do I Write About Tonight?

When I sat down to type tonight I had no idea what I was going to write. I did a whole bunch of work tonight, and now that it's done I wanted to write something. It's becoming habit. I never thought I'd ever keep a journal, but I guess this is close enough to prove me wrong.

I sent my soon-to-be-ex a reply email. I was polite, but I made it clear that I'd like her hostile attitude to stop. I've gone far above the minimum in terms of support and I'm tired of the attitude that I'm somehow to blame for all of her problems.

So let me tell you a little about my childhood. I had a pretty middle-class upbringing for the first 10 years of my life, I lived in a quiet neighborhood across the street from a state park. The other kids who lived nearby were a couple of years older than me, and all of them were pretty decent kids. The worst they ever did to me was execute a vile snowball ambush on me as I was building an igloo. We had lots of woods around and my brother and I (I have two brothers, but one wasn't old enough to follow us around then) would explore all the time. We had a couple of main hangouts: The Big Rock, The Round Rock etc. My dad made an enormous wood pile with logs he cut with his chainsaw which turned into the Millenium Falcon the day after we saw Star Wars.

Elementary school was great for me. I was labeled a "gifted" child early on, but I was pretty immature because I'd never really interracted with kids my age before I started there. I ended up with one really good friend, somebody who is still my friend to this day. There are two events that really stick out in my mind when I look back.

One day I was walking (or marching, we all walked in lines through the halls) and suddenly somebody coming towards me stopped me in my tracks. I was looking at the first african-american person I had ever seen. I sometimes wonder what he must have thought seeing me standing there staring at him. Don't be too hard on me, I was only 6 years-old.

Another thing I remember was my fifth grade teacher. I decided one day to run my finger through the work assignment on the chalkboard as I walked out of the classroom, because I was just too cool in those days. I was trying to impress a girl named Jessica with my elementary-school James Dean impression. I'm pretty sure it worked. Later on that day our teacher asked us who did it, and she was not happy. She said that we would not be going out to recess until she knew who did it. Jessica and others were starting to stare holes into me. I quickly admitted I had done it and was told that I would be told what my punishment would be later. Talk about a good way to ruin a perfectly good recess. When we came in she pulled me aside and told me that she wasn't going to punish me because I had told the truth. She taught me a pretty valuable lesson with that - I've found that it's always better to admit your mistakes and face the consequences right off the bat than to try to cover things up.

When I was in the fifth grade my world changed. I had decided that I wanted to play Little League baseball and was trying to convince my mother to let me join. She wouldn't give, and finally told me that I couldn't say anything, but that she had decided to divorce my father. I had no comprehension then of how much that would change my life.

Sorry to cut this short, but it's time for bed.