I've had a hard time thinking of new things to write about, so I've decided to reflect on my first few weeks of post-graduation life and give a few recommendations on how to become an out-of-college, out-of-work, single 22 year-old who seems destined to move back in to his old high school bedroom. Trust me, it's much cooler than it sounds.
1. Stay in Shape
While I've never been the face of men's health, endless amounts of pickup basketball has allowed my body to stay in a form that looks relatively human. Now that pickup games in The Woodlands are seemingly non-existent and I'm not allowed in the Texas A&M rec center post-graduation, I've had to improvise. (I have officially retired the USA Starburys. My new bball shoes--another patriotic pair of red, white, and blue Nikes, have sat in the backseat of my car unused for about a month). I don't think I'll ever turn into the ultrarunner than Christopher McDougall's book Born to Run inspires me to be, but a little bit of running every day has allowed me to keep my sanity, not to mention prevent me from looking like Tommy Boy. Plus, one of the best things about the town is the scenery, which I'll take over treadmilling every time.
2. Pick Up a New Show
While I continue to look for a job, I've had some free time to start up the show Chuck. Contrary to my friend Janisch's minority belief, this show is absolutely in the top three hour-long shows currently airing (along with Justified and Dexter). Now, when I say I've had some free time, I should admit that I watched the first three seasons in two weeks. (But it should be noted that my roommates and I actually started this show during finals week. What can I say...my finals didn't really count towards my final grade so I kinda stopped caring. BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT MEN DO.)
3. Reconnect with High School Friends
It's inevitable to come back to my hometown during holidays and summers without running into a myriad of people that went to my high school. I used to dread going to bars here because I figured there was a reason why I didn't stay in touch with them over the years. That being said, I have reconnected with some old high school friends in the past few weeks where it feels like we have barely parted from the halls of College Park High. After going through separate but similar experiences in the past four years, it's refreshing to catch up with old acquaintances and hear about their successes. (One thing I'd recommend: if you are going to talk to someone, at least feign interest in them. Recently I had someone whom I've kept in relatively decent touch with over the years, someone whom I've even seen multiple times in the past six months, literally ask me why I was wearing a class ring and what college I graduated from. Now I know I've been to a few schools...but seriously? Very cool. Needless to say, I don't think she's one of the six people reading this blog.)
4. Groom Yourself
Gone are the days where I could grow facial hair for fun (unless I fulfill my lifelong dream of becoming Ernest Hemingway...minus the alcoholism). Even long hair doesn't feel as cool as it once did and I'm considering buzzing my head just like the old days. (Somewhere my sister is ecstatic.)
5. Become a Vagabond
Between my duplex in College Station and my parent's place in The Woodlands, I have no permanent home right now. I feel like a drifter from an old western, sliding from town to town with no end in sight. I am not a big fan of making plans...or as my friend Cale recently put it last week, "My summer plans end tomorrow morning when I return my Uhaul." Minus the job hunt, I'm right there with him.
6. Get a Record Player
My dad is a music aficionado. He grew up listening to some of the greatest music of all-time: The Beatles, The Grass Roots, Three Dog Night, Wilson Pickett, Gladys Knight, The Doors, The Turtles, etc. I recently found his old vinyl records and was immediately transported back to 60s and 70s. Over 300 albums, you name it, he had it. After finding his record player, I spend most of my free time (I've caught up with Chuck, after all) listening to the old records in my room while wearing a v-neck and red Toms-knockoff shoes. You don't have to tell me...I am so cool and don't look like a tool at all! (Speaking of the shoes, my friend Alya recently said "You know what they say about red shoes: only children and prostitutes wear them." Well, I graduated college....so I'm not a child.
7. Catch Up on Reading
As an English major, I have been forced to read some mundane books over the years against my will. No I would not like to read a tenth consecutive book about racial inequality. Yes, I realize it is a very important topic and that white people are the devil, but reading literally nothing but books of that genre eventually takes its toll on a person. Now that I am done with college, I am free to read all the Animorph and Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark books that I want. (Kidding...I just said I wasn't a child.)
8. Sneak into Movies
Just because I am supposed to be a grown up, keeping myself well-kempt and well-dressed, doesn't mean that the audacious movie prices in The Woodlands are okay. Over $10 for a Friday night movie ticket? Would you like my firstborn child as well? If you're making me pay $7 for a matinee to see the awful movie Priest, you better believe my friends and I are going to sneak into a few other movies, 7th grade-style. Tip: Be confident... act like you know what you're doing and no one will ask questions. (Yes, I just gave a tip on how to sneak into a movie theater...this is happening...)
9. Come Up With a New Catch-Phrase
Sadly, I can't take full credit for this. Janisch and I were hanging by the pool one day and we came up with a slightly uncreative but effective catch phrase: "slide." You can use it at any point in any conversation. Examples: 1) Hey what time do you want me to slide over? 2) I can slide with that. 3) We're just sliding right now. (If you can't tell, I'm slowly sliding into insanity.)
10. Plan a Cross Country Road Trip
It's in the early stages, but it's gonnnnna happen.
I hope everyone's summers are off to a good start. Good luck as you may be beginning the next stage of your life. And thank you for spending a few minutes inside my frenzied mind.
-PB
Showing posts with label Graduation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Graduation. Show all posts
Friday, June 3, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Glory Road House
Last Friday I received my Aggie Ring. For those of you not familiar with Texas A&M tradition, it is a milestone and it signifies the looming end to the college undergrad experience. (I'm sure it means more than that, but I am a 2%er.) After three schools in four years, I truly cannot be more blessed that I am able to wear it and that I am on track to graduate on time in May 2011. However, graduation has taken a seat on the back burner a bit to one last hurrah with the sport I've always loved. To top it off, I've found myself trying to live up to my dad's 1960's intramural basketball fame with a team named after a classic '80s movie starring my mom's old boyfriend. What does it all mean? I'm not sure, but I feel like there's a story here.
Basketball has been in my blood ever since I saw Hakeem and the Rockets take out Ewing and the Knicks for the '94 championship when I was less than six years old. Granted, I was too young to really know what was going on (I am pretty sure I spent most of the game playing Sonic the Hedgehog 2), but that didn't stop me from going out to Dillard's with my family the morning after to pick up a hilariously over-sized championship shirt. After my parents got me a basketball hoop the following Christmas and Houston repeated the following season as NBA champions, my life and basketball were destined to intertwine. As I briefly mentioned in an earlier post, I used to cry every single time the Houston Rockets lost from about age seven to nine. What can I say, I've always been a pretty passionate guy. (I still hate you, Utah Jazz and Derek Fisher.) Basketball was the common factor with all of my friends growing up as well as over half of my game when it came to impressing girls (which still probably put me at a disadvantage).
In high school I was lucky enough to be named on the All-District and All-County team my junior year, despite being a key part to a terrible team. A team so terrible, in fact, that the coaches began to hype up kids the next season that weren't even old enough to take high school algebra yet. Nearly overnight, I went from team MVP to team scrub, and if TLC taught me anything, I was a "guy that couldn't get no love" from anyone. So what did I do? If you read my last post, you can probably guess that I played the tragic hero card and stubbornly quit the team rather than be a drone on the bench. I lost a lot of love for basketball after that. I barely played my first two years in college.
Arriving in College Station changed all of that. It was here that I reconnected with an old friend from high school named Ken Baer. Ken played with me growing up, but it wasn't until he started doing Aggie yells that he had a ridiculous growth spurt that transformed him from a 5'10'' undersized post to a 6'5'' behemoth down low. He introduced me to Tyler Whittington and Cam Glass, two guys from his organization One Army, and together we formed a very formidable quartet our junior year. After spending most of the summer playing basketball with Ty and Cam (not to mention watching the 2010 NBA Finals together with the aid of some Beach Bums), we had more team chemistry than the characters from Weird Science. For the first time in years, it was actually fun to play basketball.
"The Rule of Three": I learned early at Texas A&M that you should never attempt to play pickup basketball unless you have at group of at least three players with you. There are too many selfish ballers out there and anything less than three will leave you feeling bitter and angry. With three, you can monopolize the team to your liking. (And that, my friends, does not make me a selfish baller.)
Ronnie "Red" Smith and the "Junior Farcity"
My dad may be the greatest storyteller that I know. Ever since I was a kid, he has told me the story of his intramural basketball team at the University of Texas, creatively named the Junior Farcity (The team was named after his friend claimed "it would be a farce if we won the whole thing!" Hearing that only confirms my suspicions that I am living in the wrong era). The team went on to have some miraculous feats, including being the first team in UT intramural history to score 100 pts in a game against the likes of Elgin Taylor and Little Kenny Ferguson. They made it to the championship game as a motley crew of freshmen. These stories have stayed with me my entire life and subconsciously I always knew I wanted to try and match him. However, it wasn't until my senior year before I finally was able to assemble the team to take on the new generation of Little Kenny Fergusons.
The Team: Road House
As I mentioned before, my mom dated Patrick Swayze when she was young. They even went to prom together, not to mention the University of Houston. It's always fun watching people's reactions when I reveal this information, but truthfully I really have no interest in the situation; my dad is much cooler (not to mention much more alive) and he doesn't have to rip out a guy's throat or become a ghost to prove it. My mom could not have picked a better husband. That being said, Road House is an incredible movie and a well-deserved moniker for the greatest team I have ever played on.
The roster:
-Cam "The Little General" Glass - Road House's Kyle Lowry. Also known as The Post Up King.
-Tyler "The False Prophet" Whittington - The heart and soul of the team. A complete glue guy, does everything it takes to win.
-Ken "Papa" Baer - The man in the middle. May have the coolest post passes I have ever seen.
-Sam "Slytherin" Brenner - The wildcard. Mysteriously drains dagger 3s.
-Chris "Swat Team" Selle - the lockdown defender. In the words of T.Whitt-"A high school coach's wet dream."
-Joe "Houdini" Bailey - My roommate at The Orchid. Has a sick running jumper.
-David "Detention" Hall - an unsung hero (partially bc he missed a few games), can do a little bit of everything.
-Ryan Smith - I'd like to consider myself a much more selfish, much more turnover-prone intramural version of Steve Nash. I don't know...just don't call me Matt Maloney.
What else is needed? Sometimes a little extra help from the worst pair of basketball shoes in history doesn't hurt.
The Kicks: The Gentleman's Starbury
I am a fairly superstitious guy. Mainly on stupid things. For instance, I recently tricked a pretty legit girl into being interested in me. When I first met her I was wearing glasses and had a decent amount of facial hair. For some ridiculous reason, I refused to be clean shaven or cut my hair while we were hanging out. I even went out of the way to wear my ridiculously dorky glasses for a while until she said something nice about my eyes. What the hell is wrong with me? (Things did start to unravel almost immediately after I cut my hair and went clean shaven, so maybe I'm not crazy. But I wouldn't put money on that. Then again, I was the only that was really cared about anything, so that may have played a small part.)
Anyways, back to the Starburys. If you don't know anything about the maker of the shoes, Stephon Marbury, this next sentence will sum him up: He tattooed his logo onto the side of his head, was paid over $20 million to stay away from his team, and ate Vasoline on a 24/7 webcam show he put online. Hilariously psychotic. So of course my Oklahoma roommate and friend Cale bought a pair on Amazon for $12 and somehow ended up with two extra pairs a few years back. It was like he drew a Monopoly community chest and had a bank error in his favor, except this was "Ridiculous-Amazon-User-Selling-Mass-Amounts-of-Starburys-Error in your favor." He handed me a free pair and I never looked back.
Okay, maybe that is a slight lie: I did buy a pair that were better (the inside souls to the Starburys eroded over a year ago), but I ended up wearing the Starburys for the first game this season as a joke. After a miraculous comeback win where I drained a few clutch long-range 3s, the superstitious side in me decided to ride the Starburys till the end, no shoe souls included. In the least, they are a great conversation piece on the court.
"Hey, look at Captain America over there." (I've heard this on more than one occasion, said to me both jokingly and hatefully.)
The Last Stand
The next part of the story should be the part where we heroically run the tables on the rest of the students at Texas A&M, the part where you are given fulfillment on reading this far into an overall ridiculous post. It's the part where I finally can hang my hat on advancing past the Junior Farcity and live the rest of my life in the glory of knowing we were the best. However, it didn't happen. Like many other things in my life, Road House ended in complicated heartbreak. However, we did not go quietly into the night.
After rolling through the first four months of the season rather painlessly, beating teams like "Trees & Threes", "White & Slow", "The Nerdlocks" and "Erf, Wind, and Fire", we found ourselves in the Final Four. We were set to play "Beer 30", and it was clear from the start that the two superior teams in the league were playing a game too early. Led by two talented guards, Beer 30 led the game by 7 with 2:30 left in the game. Never knowing a shot I didn't like (something that had hurt us for much of the game), I drained two 3s back to back to put us down 1. On the second shot, the painfully inexperienced referee crew called a foul on the other team underneath the basket as the ball went through the hoop. Now, most of the players were aware that the rule is an "And 1" for our player who was fouled. However, the painfully inexperienced crew decided that with 2 minutes left in the game and with momentum on our side that they should hold the game up for literally ten minutes while they looked to the rulebook for the correct answer.
Ten minutes pass and one referee awards our team the free throw, which we make to tie the game. However, he is overruled by the other painfully inexperienced referees who are not ready to call it official. A few more minutes pass and the ruling is confirmed. By then our team has as much momentum as Vanilla Ice had with the rest of his career after Ice, Ice, Baby died out. After our first made free throw is called off, we miss our second chance, keeping us down 1. With one minute left we are forced to foul, putting us down 3. After Selle comes up with a huge "And 1" with 30 seconds left, we are tied. We lock down their two best players, leaving the ball in the hands of a player who hadn't scored all game. He pulls up inside the three-point line and drains a jumper at the buzzer. Road House dies. Beer 30 goes on to win the championship in a much easier game, and I experience another tragic ending to something I care a little too much about.
The End
It dawned on me that this may be the last time I would be playing for something that meant anything, albeit something small. No more community league games where I can end the season by taking home cheap trophies, no more games where my roommates and I can half-jokingly draw out the tournament on a blackboard, no more games where I can legitimately get away with writing such an unnecessarily drawn out post. This was it. I can always play in adult league games, but that's not the same. Graduation is in less than a month and after that there won't be time for me to call up my friends and ask them to meet me at the Rec Center on a Tuesday afternoon. I think I am more disappointed in the idea that my basketball career may finally be over than I am that I won't be able to live the life of a college student anymore.
However, what's important to me is the relationships I've been blessed with from the game of basketball. Several players on Road House will be my lifelong friends and although we may not have the chance to meet up and play any time we want like we used to, the knowledge that I've made friends with upstanding people is the most important thing to me; much more important than that elusive championship. As for Road House vs. Junior Farcity, we'll never know who was truly better. I feel pretty comfortable taking it to my grave that we would have taken them out, just as my dad would probably say the same. At the end of the day, though, I am truly grateful for my family and friends. It makes things like receiving my Aggie Ring that much more special.
So thanks, guys. Road House.
-PB (thanks to my brother Denver for the song)
Road House
(Crouching From Left: Cam Glass, Chris Selle
(Crouching From Left: Cam Glass, Chris Selle
Semi-Crouching Like a Fool: Ryan Smith
Back From Left: Ken Baer, Joe Bailey, David Hall, Sam Brenner, Tyler Whittington)
Basketball has been in my blood ever since I saw Hakeem and the Rockets take out Ewing and the Knicks for the '94 championship when I was less than six years old. Granted, I was too young to really know what was going on (I am pretty sure I spent most of the game playing Sonic the Hedgehog 2), but that didn't stop me from going out to Dillard's with my family the morning after to pick up a hilariously over-sized championship shirt. After my parents got me a basketball hoop the following Christmas and Houston repeated the following season as NBA champions, my life and basketball were destined to intertwine. As I briefly mentioned in an earlier post, I used to cry every single time the Houston Rockets lost from about age seven to nine. What can I say, I've always been a pretty passionate guy. (I still hate you, Utah Jazz and Derek Fisher.) Basketball was the common factor with all of my friends growing up as well as over half of my game when it came to impressing girls (which still probably put me at a disadvantage).
In high school I was lucky enough to be named on the All-District and All-County team my junior year, despite being a key part to a terrible team. A team so terrible, in fact, that the coaches began to hype up kids the next season that weren't even old enough to take high school algebra yet. Nearly overnight, I went from team MVP to team scrub, and if TLC taught me anything, I was a "guy that couldn't get no love" from anyone. So what did I do? If you read my last post, you can probably guess that I played the tragic hero card and stubbornly quit the team rather than be a drone on the bench. I lost a lot of love for basketball after that. I barely played my first two years in college.
Arriving in College Station changed all of that. It was here that I reconnected with an old friend from high school named Ken Baer. Ken played with me growing up, but it wasn't until he started doing Aggie yells that he had a ridiculous growth spurt that transformed him from a 5'10'' undersized post to a 6'5'' behemoth down low. He introduced me to Tyler Whittington and Cam Glass, two guys from his organization One Army, and together we formed a very formidable quartet our junior year. After spending most of the summer playing basketball with Ty and Cam (not to mention watching the 2010 NBA Finals together with the aid of some Beach Bums), we had more team chemistry than the characters from Weird Science. For the first time in years, it was actually fun to play basketball.
"The Rule of Three": I learned early at Texas A&M that you should never attempt to play pickup basketball unless you have at group of at least three players with you. There are too many selfish ballers out there and anything less than three will leave you feeling bitter and angry. With three, you can monopolize the team to your liking. (And that, my friends, does not make me a selfish baller.)
Ronnie "Red" Smith and the "Junior Farcity"
(This picture, amazing on so many levels, still hangs in Gregory Gym at the University of Texas. My dad is second from right in the back.)
My dad may be the greatest storyteller that I know. Ever since I was a kid, he has told me the story of his intramural basketball team at the University of Texas, creatively named the Junior Farcity (The team was named after his friend claimed "it would be a farce if we won the whole thing!" Hearing that only confirms my suspicions that I am living in the wrong era). The team went on to have some miraculous feats, including being the first team in UT intramural history to score 100 pts in a game against the likes of Elgin Taylor and Little Kenny Ferguson. They made it to the championship game as a motley crew of freshmen. These stories have stayed with me my entire life and subconsciously I always knew I wanted to try and match him. However, it wasn't until my senior year before I finally was able to assemble the team to take on the new generation of Little Kenny Fergusons.
The Team: Road House
As I mentioned before, my mom dated Patrick Swayze when she was young. They even went to prom together, not to mention the University of Houston. It's always fun watching people's reactions when I reveal this information, but truthfully I really have no interest in the situation; my dad is much cooler (not to mention much more alive) and he doesn't have to rip out a guy's throat or become a ghost to prove it. My mom could not have picked a better husband. That being said, Road House is an incredible movie and a well-deserved moniker for the greatest team I have ever played on.
The roster:
-Cam "The Little General" Glass - Road House's Kyle Lowry. Also known as The Post Up King.
-Tyler "The False Prophet" Whittington - The heart and soul of the team. A complete glue guy, does everything it takes to win.
-Ken "Papa" Baer - The man in the middle. May have the coolest post passes I have ever seen.
-Sam "Slytherin" Brenner - The wildcard. Mysteriously drains dagger 3s.
-Chris "Swat Team" Selle - the lockdown defender. In the words of T.Whitt-"A high school coach's wet dream."
-Joe "Houdini" Bailey - My roommate at The Orchid. Has a sick running jumper.
-David "Detention" Hall - an unsung hero (partially bc he missed a few games), can do a little bit of everything.
-Ryan Smith - I'd like to consider myself a much more selfish, much more turnover-prone intramural version of Steve Nash. I don't know...just don't call me Matt Maloney.
What else is needed? Sometimes a little extra help from the worst pair of basketball shoes in history doesn't hurt.
The Kicks: The Gentleman's Starbury
Anyways, back to the Starburys. If you don't know anything about the maker of the shoes, Stephon Marbury, this next sentence will sum him up: He tattooed his logo onto the side of his head, was paid over $20 million to stay away from his team, and ate Vasoline on a 24/7 webcam show he put online. Hilariously psychotic. So of course my Oklahoma roommate and friend Cale bought a pair on Amazon for $12 and somehow ended up with two extra pairs a few years back. It was like he drew a Monopoly community chest and had a bank error in his favor, except this was "Ridiculous-Amazon-User-Selling-Mass-Amounts-of-Starburys-Error in your favor." He handed me a free pair and I never looked back.
Okay, maybe that is a slight lie: I did buy a pair that were better (the inside souls to the Starburys eroded over a year ago), but I ended up wearing the Starburys for the first game this season as a joke. After a miraculous comeback win where I drained a few clutch long-range 3s, the superstitious side in me decided to ride the Starburys till the end, no shoe souls included. In the least, they are a great conversation piece on the court.
"Hey, look at Captain America over there." (I've heard this on more than one occasion, said to me both jokingly and hatefully.)
The Last Stand
The next part of the story should be the part where we heroically run the tables on the rest of the students at Texas A&M, the part where you are given fulfillment on reading this far into an overall ridiculous post. It's the part where I finally can hang my hat on advancing past the Junior Farcity and live the rest of my life in the glory of knowing we were the best. However, it didn't happen. Like many other things in my life, Road House ended in complicated heartbreak. However, we did not go quietly into the night.
After rolling through the first four months of the season rather painlessly, beating teams like "Trees & Threes", "White & Slow", "The Nerdlocks" and "Erf, Wind, and Fire", we found ourselves in the Final Four. We were set to play "Beer 30", and it was clear from the start that the two superior teams in the league were playing a game too early. Led by two talented guards, Beer 30 led the game by 7 with 2:30 left in the game. Never knowing a shot I didn't like (something that had hurt us for much of the game), I drained two 3s back to back to put us down 1. On the second shot, the painfully inexperienced referee crew called a foul on the other team underneath the basket as the ball went through the hoop. Now, most of the players were aware that the rule is an "And 1" for our player who was fouled. However, the painfully inexperienced crew decided that with 2 minutes left in the game and with momentum on our side that they should hold the game up for literally ten minutes while they looked to the rulebook for the correct answer.
Ten minutes pass and one referee awards our team the free throw, which we make to tie the game. However, he is overruled by the other painfully inexperienced referees who are not ready to call it official. A few more minutes pass and the ruling is confirmed. By then our team has as much momentum as Vanilla Ice had with the rest of his career after Ice, Ice, Baby died out. After our first made free throw is called off, we miss our second chance, keeping us down 1. With one minute left we are forced to foul, putting us down 3. After Selle comes up with a huge "And 1" with 30 seconds left, we are tied. We lock down their two best players, leaving the ball in the hands of a player who hadn't scored all game. He pulls up inside the three-point line and drains a jumper at the buzzer. Road House dies. Beer 30 goes on to win the championship in a much easier game, and I experience another tragic ending to something I care a little too much about.
The End
It dawned on me that this may be the last time I would be playing for something that meant anything, albeit something small. No more community league games where I can end the season by taking home cheap trophies, no more games where my roommates and I can half-jokingly draw out the tournament on a blackboard, no more games where I can legitimately get away with writing such an unnecessarily drawn out post. This was it. I can always play in adult league games, but that's not the same. Graduation is in less than a month and after that there won't be time for me to call up my friends and ask them to meet me at the Rec Center on a Tuesday afternoon. I think I am more disappointed in the idea that my basketball career may finally be over than I am that I won't be able to live the life of a college student anymore.
Picking up my Aggie Ring
(Ken, T.Whitt's thumb, my brother-in-law George, Joe, me, my dad, my mom, as well as my nieces in nephew in the front)
(Me, my sister, and Hudson)
(Me, my sister, and Hudson)
However, what's important to me is the relationships I've been blessed with from the game of basketball. Several players on Road House will be my lifelong friends and although we may not have the chance to meet up and play any time we want like we used to, the knowledge that I've made friends with upstanding people is the most important thing to me; much more important than that elusive championship. As for Road House vs. Junior Farcity, we'll never know who was truly better. I feel pretty comfortable taking it to my grave that we would have taken them out, just as my dad would probably say the same. At the end of the day, though, I am truly grateful for my family and friends. It makes things like receiving my Aggie Ring that much more special.
So thanks, guys. Road House.
-PB (thanks to my brother Denver for the song)
Monday, March 21, 2011
The Hydra: Our Key to the Past
Spring Break 2011 came and went as quickly as Texas A&M's stint in the NCAA tournament, and as Charles Dickens once said, "it was the best of times, it was the worst of times." The best of times because for my group of friends (a hodge-podge of old high school friends and newer college buddies) Spring Break usually means a trip to the one of the greatest places on earth, my family's lake house on Lake Travis in Austin, Texas. Many of us hardly have time to keep in touch during the school year, but as soon as mid-terms are over it's almost like we never left Mrs. Waggoner's 12th grade Bio class. Regardless of what college we attend or how long it's been since we last spoke, the Hydra (our nickname for the house) serves as our safe haven from the rest of the world. Leroy, my Comm professor, would call it "hyper-reality". However, it was the worst of times not only because it felt like the end of an era with graduation looming, but also because Spring Break will always be the dark reminder of a lost friend as well.
The Hydra was built in the '50s by my Great Uncle Ralph, who left it to the rest of our family once he passed. I grew up spending most of my vacations at the house, so when my high school friends and I were looking for a "Last Hurrah" before heading out for our freshman year of college, it was a near-perfect choice (our first choice would have been Lost island, but I digress). We spent an entire week there, lounging by the lake by day and climbing the tree to the roof to gaze at the stars by night. We roasted marshmallows and played games; without a doubt a bond was formed that week at the Hydra. While we were all friends to begin with, we suddenly became inseparable. The eight or so of us, most of whom had barely even known each other in high school, were now closer than the Bluth family from Arrested Development (probably a bad reference, but that show had a lot to do with our friendships). I am fairly certain I spent over 2/3rds of my freshman year road tripping all over the state to visit my friends, making sure that we would all stick together. Attending UTSA as a frosh, I was a literal Roadrunner. We spent enough time at the Hydra that the rest of my family should have started charging rent, with possible interest(s) as well.
(From left: Janisch, Alli, Nick, Alya, Me in 2007)
One of my friends that was a part of the original trip to the lake was Alli Maloney. Without sounding too cliche, she was the sweetest girl I ever met. She hardly ever had a bad word to say about anyone and always went out of her way to show her support for me, whether it was planning a surprise birthday gathering for me, giving me relationship advice ("what were you thinking?!") or creating ridiculous "Team Smith" shirts with the rest of the group. She gave me a cross necklace for my 19th birthday and I never took it off. She was a great friend. She was particularly in love with my nieces and nephew, who were all less than two years old when she first starting showing up at the house with the rest of my friends. She always did her best to make it to the Hydra, no matter what else was going on in her life. She was a joy to be around and we were lucky to have her in the group. However, for some reason or another I began to take her for granted over time. Instead of welcoming her over whenever my sister and her kids were in town, I tried to find reasons to not call her. Her near catchphrase "When are the babies coming to town?" quickly went from cute to annoying. I became selfish to the most selfless person I knew.
I moved away from Texas my sophomore year and consequently my friends and I slowly began drifting apart. College life consumed us all as we began to make new friends and lost more and more time for our old ones. What used to be our bimonthly Hydra trip turned into one single trip in late February of our sophomore year. Although it was just like old times, the feeling that things were not like they used to be was thick enough to grab out of the air. I remember leaving that trip feeling that everyone was less nostalgic than ever for how close we used to be.
Then, a few weeks later, Alli died in a car accident.
It was the last weekend of Spring Break (two years ago to this day, March 21st, actually) and I remember sitting in my living room with my friend, shell-shocked and bewildered. My mind was swimming with thoughts to how I had treated her recently: How the hell could I have been so resentful towards someone who showed nothing but genuine interest in my life? How could something so horrible happen to someone so good? Why not me? I was angry with God, but really I was furious with myself for not being a better friend to her. I remember standing outside my driveway in the beautiful Texas sun, calling all of my closest friends, one by one, and telling them the heart-wrenching news. It was the worst time of my life.
My friends and I, who normally reconnected at the Hydra, found ourselves returning together for our best friend's funeral. Seeing everybody mourn her was truly haunting. She made such an impact on us without even realizing it. To that effect, the biggest tragedy in our lives made our bond stronger. I don't like to talk about what happened much, but very rarely does a day go by that I don't think about her. An avid artist, her drawing of a flower hangs on the wall of my room and the cross necklace that she gave me now hangs protectively over my rear-view mirror.
Flash forward two years and most of us are beginning to feel the pressure of the real world breathing heavily down our necks. I'll be the first to admit I have no idea what is in store for me upon graduation. It is a scary feeling that I have not been able to shake for months. We arrived at the Hydra and for the first time, it felt like time didn't stop. The real world pressures are more tangible now, with several of my friends already out with full-time jobs. No matter how much we want it to be false, the days of packing our things on a Tuesday afternoon and spending three days at the Hydra are over (one of the greatest male bonding trips of all time, BTW.)
One of the last nights during our final Spring Break Hydra trip we sat on the roof, staring at the stars just like our first time before college. The cathartic feeling that consumed my soul made me shiver in the cool night air. Although I'm not the same doe-eyed teenager from that original trip, I felt like a part of us never really left. I could almost picture Alli taking photos of the lake while we continued our four-year argument on whether that was an airplane, a shooting star, or a satellite in the sky.
I'm not the best Christian by any means. I have my struggles and my insecurities with life, but no matter how stubborn I am to try and figure life out myself, I do believe He has a plan. Two summers ago I was able to share my testimony with several hundred people in Germany during a mission trip. Despite being a terrible public speaker (the language barrier helped), I had enough confidence to talk about my friend Alli and her love for God. No matter how angry I was with myself and with God, I came to the conclusion that she did not die in vain but that she shaped countless lives while she was with us. I miss her and will always wish I had been a better friend.
As I drove back from the Hydra on Sunday, I noticed the cross necklace dangling from my car's dash, only further reminding me that although she may not be with us anymore, she is not lost.
For me, the Hydra has been the location of many of the most important events in my life. I have learned the true meaning of friendship and experienced a little bit of what love was like there. I've found out how it feels to jump off of a roof and what the inside of a sink feels like. I have watched countless bad movies there as well as experience countless shooting stars (Okay, maybe some satellites too, Alli) in the night sky. But most importantly, I've learned that no matter how old we get, we will never forget the family we made there.
-PB
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)