words, words, words
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If I begin to detail myself here, will you understand?
P. I am me
Q. I don't always know exactly who that is
R. I am Quaker
S. I like words and playing with them
T. I like genmaicha tea
U. I like the word napkin more than most others
V. I spend time walking my neighborhood
W. I cook rice often
X. I sleep well most every night
Y. I eat large amounts of fruit and vegetables
Z. I munch, sleep, write, create, cook, bike, watch, walk, listen, hope, learn, drink, live, breathe, touch, know, question, taste, copy, read, stare, carry, talk, dance, finger, try.
raisin@gmail.com
albums:
Magnetic Fields: 69 Love Songs
Erasure: I Say, I Say, I Say
Depeche Mode: Black Celebration
The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds
Marvin Gaye: What's Going On?
David Bowie: Hunky Dory
George Michael: Listen without Prejudice
George Gershwin: Porgy and Bess
Yo La Tengo: And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out
songs:
Wild is the Wind: Nina Simone
Come Undone: Duran Duran
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini: Rachmaninov
My Funny Valentine: Chet Baker
Feeling Yourself Disintegrate: The Flaming Lips
This Must Be the Place: The Talking Heads
Hyperballad: Bjork
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Wednesday, June 30, 2004
As I said, spring of 94 was on of the best times in my life. I was excited about everything, about the track season, about football being over, and about high school coming to an end. My dad though, kept insisting I needed to talk to the football coaches at the Air Force Academy to help my application get through. The Academy receives a lot of applicants, some 14,000 when they only let in 1,300, so they try to medically disqualify everyone they can. I had a skin problem when I was a kid, excema, which had largely evaporated as an adult (as it usually does), but I was originally medically disqualified because of it. My parents and I had to talk to many doctors and ask them to sign releases for me, trying to get a waiver for a skin condition I no longer had. So while I had the nomination to the Academy from my Senator (Don Nickles), I had to work much longer to be accepted. My dad insisted that if I would just talk to the football coaches, they would be able to help me out. You wouldn't have to play, he said, it would just help you get in. That didn't make sense to me. Why would they help me if I wasn't going to play? If I needed their help, it wasn't worth going to the Academy.
After a month or two of my dad pressuring me, he came up with a packet he wanted me to sign. He told me it didn't mean much of anything, it would just be another track, a way of clearing the medical disqualification, but it didn't mean I would have to play football. And yet, it had to do with football. I told him no, that I wasn't playing football, that I wasn't signing it, that it wasn't worth it. He got my Mother in on the pressure, and both of them, for two weeks, daily told me how important it was that I sign the paper. I held out, I said I wouldn't do it, I knew it couldn't be a good thing. I was naive. I was hopeful. I was torn. Once again, my dad had me. I wanted to believe him. I wanted all the things my brother had told me about my dad to be false, all the ways that he had tortured my brother when we were younger, because my brother fought him. I wanted to believe my Mother, too. I wanted them to be so right because how do you honor and obey your parents if they're wrong?
My religion wasn't about reason; it wasn't about questions and answers; it was about faith. Blind faith of this wonderful God way up there who was so big and powerful and yet somehow still loving. I hoped that if I loved my dad enough, if I trusted him enough, he would become the man that I saw in him. I hoped that if I truly believed in him, he would see how much I loved him and would actually change in order to be the person that he projected, and that I wanted to believe he was. He had given me so much; he had treated me so much better than my brother. i thought it was because I behaved better, obeyed him better. I signed it. I put my faith in him again, hoping that he knew better, hoping that he had made a good choice for me, that maybe i just could'nt see what he was getting at.
I forgot about it, continued having my great semester. When football's spring practice came around in April, I laughed at it. The team was starting practice on the field in between the track we warmed up on, and we ran around them. That first day of their practice, I laughed harder than I have ever laughed in my life. I laughed because I couldn't have been happier that finally, here was this sport that had dogged me for so long, and it was over. Over. My track teammates looked at me very strangely, although they were aware that I would crack up laughing over nothing they saw, and weren't too surprised. But I laughed the best laugh I've ever had.
I got accepted to the Air Force Academy eventually. I got a phone call from my parents while lifting weights in the track gym. They told me there was something in the mail that they weren't opening, but I should come home soon and open it. Of course, I knew what it was, and so did they. i rushed off home, so excited, and sure enough, I had been accepted. I had spent the past year and a half filling out forms and sending off applications to reach this. I had wanted it so badly, and it was so good to see it. The next day, i remember talking to my friend Carrie about it, how happy I was. But especially, that I had proven my dad wrong. He had told me I couldn't get an academic scholarship, that I would have to play football. But now there were two colleges, two good colleges, offering me a full-ride to come and study (the Academy is free if you get in), both without me playing football. It really was over.
My dad still had the last laugh. The second week of basic training at the Academy, we had signed up for intramurals. The cadre had told us we wouldn't necessarily get our first pick becuase they had to fill up teams. i signed up for soccer and was surprised but not too upset to see my name on the list for weight traning. That hadn't even been one of the choices, but oh well, I can lift weights. Marching down to the athletic arena, Cadet Edwards asked, "is anyone here not been recruited for hockey or for football?" I raised my hand, but Edwards said, no, you're on the list for football. They had been football recruitment papers, the packet my dad had me sign. I panicked. Would I have to play football? Could they make me now? If I didn't play, would they kick me out? Was this all a sham, was I really not good enough to get into the Academy, was it only because I was recruited for football? Had my dad hid the real acceptance paperwork? If I told them no, what would happen? I'll have to leave, I'll have to give this up, all the work to get in and I'll have to leave. Maybe, maybe I can get my scholarship back for OU, maybe I can live with my brother because i can't see my dad again. How can i ever talk to him again? he must have known I was recruited, he must have talked to the coaches himself. he must have. he must have. My brother will help me, he always has. Maybe I'll get to go to his wedding now, his wedding that I'm skipping because I'm in basic training and can't get out. Maybe i can live with him and never see my parents again. He must have known, and he didn't tell me.
I wasn't going to play, it didn't matter if I was sent home, if I had to give this up. I wasn't going to play. I knew that in the first five minutes, those minutes I'll never forget walking down to the gym, I can see Edwards asking us, me raising my hand, and then my memory is blank, it's all questions, fears, and more panic than I've ever had. He had pulled the plug of my faith, and all of it, my faith in him, my faith in myself, my faith in God trickled down the drain. I talked to the coach, had to force myself, to tell him I didn't want to play. I was expecting him to be angry, to, I don't know, I was too scared to think about it. He was nice, and said fine, don't play. If you don't want to play, don't play. I didn't play, and they didn't kick me out. It went away. But my transcript still says it, recruited athelete, football.
10:37 AM
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