Graham, Texas

In my last blog I gave a little bit of background about where I come form and how I grew up. I tell everyone that I am from Graham, Texas, A small town about an hour and a half west of Fort Worth. That is all true and I am proud of where I am from, but I haven’t always lived my life there. After I finished the fifth grade we moved from Lubbock, Texas to Graham and I wasn’t too excited about it.

I had spent most of my life in Lubbock, at least since I started school. We had family close and that’s where my mother had gone to school and all of my friends were there. My mother had always talked about moving out in the country somewhere where we could have our horses and she could get back into rodeo. I had always thought this was just talk and maybe something she would do when I left for college or when she retired, I had no idea that she was so serious about it. I think after my grandmother died, who lived in Lubbock, there was nothing really keeping my mother there anymore. We had a lake house at Possum Kingdom Lake, close to Graham, so we began looking for a house in that area. I was less than trilled during this whole process, I had always considered myself a city kid and really didn’t have any interest in living on a ranch with horses and participating in rodeos. However, my voted did not constitute a majority in this decision so I was out of Luck. My mother found a nice house in Graham, and we decided to move the summer after my fifth grade year.

It was a big adjustment moving from a college town of nearly 250,000 to Graham with a population barely over 8,000. I thought I was trapped in the middle of nowhere with nothing exciting to do. I didn’t like living on a ranch and I didn’t like all the work that came with it. I started the sixth grade that fall and began making friends easy enough, and to my surprise these people were pretty normal. I wasn’t sure what to expect going in, especially since my graduating class was less than half of what mine was in Lubbock. It became apparent that I would know everyone in my class, and most of the people in the classes above and below me. As my school years progressed I formed many close relationships with these people. There is nothing quite like going to school in a small town. It forces you to be close to a lot of people, and more than anything it makes you appreciate the small things in life. In Graham there wasn’t a whole lot to do except hang out with people, which is what I spend a lot of my time doing. Going to school in Graham also allowed me to do many things, such as play multiple sports, be involved in many club and organizations, and participate in the theatere program. There weren’t any cliques in Graham because everyone knew everyone and everyone interacted.

Looking back I can’t imagine growing up any better way. I had so many experiences that I wouldn’t have been able to have living in a big city. There is just something about small town life that is classic Americana. Sometimes I feel as if I grew up in one of those movies you see about how life used to be, and I think that’s awesome. I also made many close friends in Graham and plan to have those friends for the rest of my life. Living in a small town forges stronger bonds between people, because that’s all you have, and honestly it’s the same people you see all the time. While I am excited to be at TCU and in Fort Worth I love going back to Graham, and I’m proud to be able to call it home.

Pets

My house has always been like a bit of a zoo. When I was twelve we moved to our ranch in Graham, Texas. The whole reason for our moving there was about being closer to our horses and being able to ride them more. I was not used to having to take care of all the animals full time so it was quite an adjustment for me. There were times when I had to get up at six in the morning to get all the horses fed before I went to school. At one point we had twenty horses, among various other animals, and that was more responsibility than I really wanted to deal with.

Most people think horses are so much fun and they dream of living on a ranch with horses. The part they seem to leave out is all the responsibility that horses bring. Horses seem like a lot of fun in your head, but when you have fifteen to twenty of them to deal with on a daily basis things change real fast. Horses aren’t the most cooperative creatures either; they’re actually quite frustrating and difficult to deal with. Oh, and they never get along with each other, its like having a bunch of little kids running around, except they weigh close to 1000 pounds and don’t even consider listening to you.

All this isn’t to say that I didn’t enjoy having horses, because I did, its just that I think of the work before I think of the fun. I participated in my fair share of rodeos and won money, and belt buckles just like people imagine, except probably much less glorified. I made a lot of friends at these rodeos and it was always something fun to do on the weekends. Plus having horses is nice because a lot of your friends a envious and want to come ride. Just like anything else that takes skill its fun to watch those friends who don’t know how to ride horses attempt to do so, especially if they talk like they can ride. So don’t let my first impressions set the tone of this blog, I do enjoy living on a ranch with horses.

What’s strange is that I live in small town Texas and people still are surprised when I tell them that I own horses. I mean its Texas; people do still ride horses here. Of course at the opposite end of the spectrum you have those people who assume that everyone in Texas rides horses and still fight Indians and have gunfights in the streets. Either way it usually provides an interesting conversation.

So although horses can be a lot of work I think that I'm better for growing up on a ranch. It has taught me responsibility and more than anything patience. When I take that into consideration along with the fun that having horses does provide I realize that it wasn’t so bad after all. However, I don’t know that I could live on a ranch with horses later in life; I guess I’ll just have to see.

A Time I was Injured (by myself)

Last year in Milton Daniel hall I incurred a injury that will be with me for the rest of my life. Its actually pretty funny, something that myself and those who were there still get a laugh out of today. At least I left my mark on Milton as it left its mark on me.

It all started on a Thursday night, the week before Easter if I recall and we were all hanging out in the basement of Milton, doing homework and talking. I'm not sure how it came about, but for some reason we, or maybe just me decided to try and jump up and touch my head on the ceiling. After a few close attempts I decided that it was because I didn’t want to hit my head too hard on the wood panel ceiling in the basement. So someone suggested that we go into the hallway where the drop-down ceiling would give if I did hit my head on it. This seemed like a logical solution so we proceeded to the hallway to attempt the feat there. After more attempts I decided that it would be beneficial for me to get a running start in order to get more height. So I stepped back and took a running jump at the ceiling. I’m not sure who designed that ceiling but I question their decision to this day. There is about a 3 or 4 inch lip where the drop-down ceiling meets the wooden ceiling. Needless to say I did accomplish my goal, I touched my head on the ceiling, but I also hit the lip. When I landed I just thought I had bumped my head on the lip, but then people were staring and I felt something drip down my face.

There was much debate of whether I should go to the hospital or not, I was opposed to going, but some people thought it would be a good idea. So, at midnight I arrived at JPS hospital and took a spot in the ER. By this time I had stopped bleeding heavily so I didn’t think I had any reason for being there. They put me in a neck brace, which was more frustrating than useful. I was then ushered back to some other area where they were treating patients. No one knew what to make of my story, which is understandable. Anyway, I eventually saw the doctor and he informed me that I would need two stitches in my forehead. And of course the night wouldn’t be complete without people taking pictures of me getting a shot and stitches in my head. I finally left the hospital at about 1:30 AM feeling pretty dumb, but oh well.

I still have that scar today and I still don’t know exactly why I decided to hit my head on the ceiling. It was definitely a poor life choice and one that I regret making. But there is nothing I can do about it now so I just embrace my stupidity and go on with the rest of my life until I find some other dumb thing to do.

The Oldest Person I Know

The oldest person I have ever met is my own grandmother. She turn 99 years old just a few weeks ago. Its amazing to think that she’s almost to 100 years old, quite a milestone in anyone’s life, assuming they even get there. I can remember when we were celebrating her 80s birthdays and even then it was pretty impressive.

For a woman of 99 my grandmother is pretty sharp. The years have taken a toll on her body just as they would on anyone else, she can still walk, feed herself, and perform most basic functions, just at a much slower pace. She has lived on her own up until about five years ago. Her mind though doesn’t seem to have aged nearly as much. She and my father will spend hours recalling people, places, and events from their past, and she usually remembers anything my father will bring up. Of course, she has her good days and her bad days, but even on those bad days she never fails to impress me with her memory.

I can’t even begin to imagine all the things she has seen. The changes and innovations she has witnessed must have been incredible. If you do the math, she was born in 1913; this means she witnessed World War I, the roaring 20s, the great depression, World War II, John F. Kennedy, The Vietnam war, the space race, the fall of the Soviet Union, television, the evolution of transportation, computers and those are just some of the things that come to mind. It must have been amazing to see the future actually come about, especially in an era where change was so rapid. Not many people have had this kind of opportunity. This is why I try and take advantage of this and listen to the stories she has to tell. Most of them are filled with humor, which she still has a great appreciation for.

I just hope that I will get a fraction of that experience that she has been given. I have already seen many amazing things in my short life and there is no telling what the future may hold. In the mean time I will continue to cherish the gift that is my grandmother and I hope she will live many more years and who knows, maybe even set a record.

Ladies' Home Journal 1958

Today I read an article from the March, 1958 issue of “Ladies’ Home Journal”. The piece was about drug addiction in America’s youth and I was curious to see how this would be different from today’s opinions and stories. The article also contained one personal account from a young Hispanic boy living in New York city who was addicted to heroine.

The article starts off by explaining that drug addiction in teens is a fairly new principle. It seems that typical drug abusers used to be adults in the latter parts of their lives. The article makes a point that drugs are a “big-city problem” and that most teen users come from poor neighborhoods, however that doesn’t mean that all youth in poor neighborhoods use drugs. An interesting point that the piece makes is that drug abusers aren’t usually related to gangs, which we would now, and maybe even then say isn’t true. Especially given the drug manufacturing and trafficking nature of many gangs. At any rate the article suggested that teens in gangs who abused drugs would often lose favor of the elder members, or even lose leadership positions because of their addiction. Back in the good old days when gangs had values and morals, or not. Overall the article seems to point out the problem, but then try and suggest that it isn’t really that big of a deal.

The more personal story is that of a teenage boy named Manuel who is growing up in the various neighborhoods of New York city when he becomes addicted to first marijuana, and then heroine. It all starts when he is smoking pot in the club with his friends and cousins who are all in a gang together. This quickly escalates to using heroine and then eventually cutting it with sugar and redistributing it to fund his habit. After being put in rehab for the first time Manuel realizes that he has a problem and wants to stop using and marry his girlfriend. Unfortunately, like so many addicts he is back on heroine weeks after he leaves rehab. He will ultimately battle with his addiction for several years and revisit rehab many times as well as be arrested for selling to an officer. The article never concludes what happens to Manuel in the end, but one certainly hopes he has learned his lesson and comes clean. Hopefully all of this has been a coming of age for Manuel and he is now ready to face the world as an adult.

It’s interesting taking a step back in time and reading something from over half a century ago. The writing style, the word choice, and the overall content is very different from publications today. There were several instances in which I laughed because they had to explain to readers that “down means ready for anything” or when Manuel talks about buying diddybop clothes, which I still have no idea what that means. Its weird to imagine what an entire world of this would be like, but that probably explains a lot about why my parents are so strange. 

The House on Mango Street

I knew almost immediately that I wouldn’t like The House on Mango Street I read the introduction and that was all I needed to tell that this would not be a work that I would have fond memories of. I don’t know exactly if it was the content or the structure or perhaps something else about the book that I didn’t like, but it was something. However for the purposes of this discussion I will try to put my disagreements aside and look at the book from a neutral point of view.

The House on Mango Street is a collection of short stories from the Author’s past growing up in a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood in Chicago during the 1980’s. The short stories are brief experiences from the author’s childhood and incorporate a number of characters, family and non-family, real and fictional, that had a significant impact on her life. The stories range from her experiences moving into the neighborhood, to her life at school, to games she used to play, and much more. Although there is no real plot woven through these stories the reader can see a definite pattern, that the author is not satisfied with her living conditions and ultimately wishes to have a house of her own. At first she doesn’t understand why her family lives the way they do or why many of her friends are doomed never to leave Mango Street, but in the end the reader does get some sense that she is beginning to understand that her way of thinking in not in the majority and that many of her peers have simply come to accept the life that they live and that they are destined to live.

Personally, I think the author could have done just as good a job of illustrating this point by writing a full novel with a plot and a continuous storyline. The disjointed nature of the work is one of the most frustrating factors to me as reader. It seems that she starts developing on thought in a story only to abandon it and move on to the next short story. Maybe the thought will be picked up later, or maybe not. Having said all that I can understand how this work is applicable to the coming-of-age theme that we a pursuing in this class. I discussed earlier that the author is not like the other kids in her neighborhood in that she has dreams and goals, and is not satisfied with here life. That isn’t necessarily the coming of age aspect that I see, it is the change that we see in the author from the beginning of the work to the end, which conveniently ends with almost the same narrative. The author describes Mango Street setting her free and recognizes that there are some on Mango Street that cannot leave.

All in all the work did provide examples of the coming of age theme, however I think that this goal could have been met in a more traditional way. I’m sure the author has good reason for writing the book in the style she chose, it just happens to be a style that I do not agree with. 

Food and Home

I didn’t get to meet with Nasser last week since it was cut short and we had some scheduling conflicts for our original plans, so I was looking forward to meeting with him this week. We were going to try and play tennis, but we realized that we didn’t have time so we decided to postpone tennis to a later date.

I usually try to think of some suggestions of things to do or places to go so Nasser can get the full Texas experience. These conversations usually turn into a mutual exchange of ideas since Nasser does some pretty good exploring himself. One of the first things that came up was restaurants since we both like to eat. He told me about a Mediterranean place that was just down university that he really enjoyed, so I’ll be sure and check that out. We then traded restaurants for various types of food: Steak, BBQ, Italian, Asian, etc. I think we both came away winners there, and we talked about maybe trying out one of those places for our next meeting. I didn’t bring up the food politics of our last conversation, yet I am curious to see if his views have changed or not.

I asked Nasser if they finish their English program when we finish school, but he said he wasn’t sure when they would finish up. I told him that I was excited for the end of the semester so I could get a break from school. I thought he might be going home to visit over the summer, but he told me that he probably wouldn’t be going back for another seven months or so.  I can’t imagine what it would be like to live half a world away from in a completely different culture and then only be able to go home once a year. Luckily Nasser has his sister and his brother-in-law here with him so he does some family to be with. Even then I'm sure it would be difficult to do though.

I think Nasser has adjusted well to life here, and even though he admitted to wondering how he would manage when he first got here I think he is feeling more at home. I can imagine the difference in coming to American from Saudi Arabia, but then on top of that you come to Texas. I will have to ask Nasser what he thought Texas would be like before he got here. I know there are still people in this world that think we ride horses and chase around Indians. Not that I think Nasser would make those presumptions, but I am just curious to see exactly what he had in his head.

I am disappointed that my visits with Nasser are coming to an end, but fortunately he isn’t going anywhere and neither am I for the most part so we should be able to stay in touch. As always, I look forward to meeting with him next week.

My Favorite Teacher

My favorite teacher is someone that I am a still close friend with today. He had a large impact in my life during school and continued to do so after he left the school and after I graduated. His name is Michael Carmichael and he was the drama teacher at Graham high School.

It’s interesting that we became such close friends considering that our first meeting wasn’t exactly a friendly exchange. I enrolled in one of his technical theatre classes as a freshman in high school, a class that he didn’t want freshman in for one reason or another. Needless to say, when he found out that I was a freshman and that I was in his class he almost sent me to the office to change my schedule. However, he never actually did, and eventually throughout the class I showed him that I was not only capable of being in his class, but also could do well in it. Anyway, throughout the course of that year we became pretty good friends and I reenrolled in that class for the next year.

Over the next year he would assign me to new projects and often even give me the responsibility to take the lead as he grew to trust my judgment and abilities. I was in charge of one of the main fund-raisers for the drama department, and was also the head technician for the One-Act Play competition that UIL Texas holds every year. We almost made it to state that year, not nearly because of anything I did, but it was a great experience that brought not only all the students together, but also Mr. Carmichael and the other teachers involved. Sadly, at the end of year he announced that he was retiring from teaching school and that he and his wife had bought a local photography studio.

During the time that he was teaching high school I worked part-time for him along with some other students on his bird-farm. (This is another subject altogether, so just take it for what it is) So when he announced his retirement I would still work for him on the farm during the summer or when I wasn’t in school. He also asked me to help him out with some of the technological needs in the photography business, which I gladly agreed to do.

Throughout this whole experience we grew very close and his family was like a second family to me. I would have dinner with them, help coach his kids in their little league sports and work on special projects with him on the farm and in the studio. Since my parents are divorced and my father lives in Dallas, Mr. Carmichael became something of a father figure to me. I still stay in regular contact with him and try and visit him every time I go back home. If the weather is nice we try to go play golf or do something to catch up on what’s happening in our lives. The truth is Michael Carmichael started off as a favorite teacher, but ended up being much more, a mentor, a father figure, and a friend.

To Kill a Mockingbird

It’s been roughly six years since I last read Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird.  Some of the details I remembered as if I had just finished reading it for the first time, like the judge chewing on his cigar, or Boo Radley saving Scout from the attack of Mr. Ewell, but mostly I just remember vague instances or the general plot line. Its like many movies, the more you watch/read the work the more you understand, especially considering my understanding then and my understanding now.

For some reason I had it in my head that Atticus won his trial with Tom Robinson when he made the point that it was seemingly impossible that Tom could have beat up Mayella, which was a very sound defense. After re-reading the book I realized that my assumption was wrong and that that scene was just one more example of the blatant racism of the time. The book is full of other themes and motifs that I'm sure were explained to me at the time of the first reading but that I either didn’t comprehend or simply forgot, most likely the latter. This book is one that I believe makes the best case of the “coming of age” theme of our class. Although all the works we have read have been made relevant I think this piece does the best job of portraying the change. The reader can see the progression of Jem from boyhood into manhood as he loses patience with Scout and takes more interest in his father’s work and the affairs of the town. But most poignant is the change that occurs in Scout at the end of the novel, when she realized that Boo Radley is a person, just like her. He isn’t some giant with blood stained hands that eats cats and squirrels and terrorizes the neighborhood, but is almost the exact opposite, a protector of the neighborhood in some ways.

What is interesting to me is the fact that Harper Lee never again published any of her work. I find it strange that after such widespread success of her work that she didn’t continue her writing career. Maybe she knew the value of going out on top. Regardless the work has no doubt had a large impact on a great many readers and will forever go down in history as a great American novel.