My Memoir of Writing Class #1

Saturday morning, I packed a bag lunch of turkey sandwich and Teddy Grahams (honey flavor), drove to the University campus, and attended Read Like a Writer. I joined 11 other students and an instructor, all better read than me, in that they did not scrunch up their face and shrug when the instructor mentioned someone named “Ayn” Rand. I certainly did my part to participate in the class. In business, I’ve learned if nothing else that if you’re walled in with a bunch of people around a table, saying stuff is the best way to avoid nodding off. So I offered my limited examples of book knowledge (Dirk Pitt is rad!), espoused original observations, and even made counterarguments to a few really opinionated lifelong students, which isn’t something I normally do. It was a rare time for me to engage in intellectual discourse with a group of people about things other than work or sports. I do engage my wife in intellectual discourse about once a week, but you should stay out of my business.

Several classmates expressed their desire to write memoirs; some as retirees with decades of life experiences looking to share their stories, others as people writing to write. I’ve thought about this too, and I find that the following facts about me – facts which are almost certain not to change – make the idea of my memoir quite silly:
- I was never in the military
- I was never poor
- My father was not a drunk
- My mother was not an evil taskmaster
- I did not attend Catholic school
- I am not an expert in any field
- I am not gay
- I did not have an older brother who beat the dickens out of me

And let’s be honest, facts like those are often bases for compelling and interesting memoirs. But screw it. I’m compiling a memoir-ific outline using the following facts about myself – facts which are almost certain to make you drowsy:
- I sort of skipped 3rd grade
- I once made 62 consecutive free throws
- I won the “Director’s Award” in 8th grade band, only to quit band after 9th grade
- I grew up on the rugged avenues of Hudsonville, MI
- I scored a 33 on my ACT
- I’ve sprained my ankles a combined 34 times
- I wore teeth braces for 5 years, and still made homecoming court
- My family is quite nice and I enjoy hanging out with them

My challenge is clear: figure out how to create an indulgent meal out of weak-sauce ingredients. And if there’s one story-of-my-life asterisk here, it’s that I avoid challenge at all costs (just kidding, employer!). I’m diving into this memoir full speed, tomorrow. But if it takes 31 more years to write, all the better, because by then I will have:
- Probably beaten down a few minor diseases
- Probably been married 4 or 5 times (just kidding, honey!)
- Probably developed random neuroses, like plucking hairs out of my upper arms (wait, I already do that)
- Probably punched a few hobos
- Probably figured out what I’m good at
- Probably failed as a writer...

My 31st Year: What Have I Done?

I stole that title from a previous post I wrote, and I like it because you can read it one of two ways (just in case you can't hear the inflection in my text):

"Hmm. What HAVE I done, anyway? Let's reflect..."; or,

"OH MY GOSH WHAT HAVE I DONE?!"

I'm reflecting, frantically, because next Saturday is my birthday. The big 3-1. No longer just 30 which, let's be honest, simply meant "not in my 20s anymore"--a surprisingly harsh reality that was difficult to accept, and even difficulter to get up from after crouching for any more than four or five seconds. When did a physical act as simple as "the crouch" become something you must truly question whether to attempt or not? Do I have a nearby wall with which to brace myself? Will my trick knee decide to flare up, causing me to groan inappropriately loud as I rise? Do I have enough give in the seat of my pants? Years back, the crouch was an afterthought; a simple and necessary tool for several sporting positions, also known as a "stance". My favorite was the "three point stance" in basketball. This clever device allows one the leverage to either pass, dribble, or shoot the basketball. Ha ha! You'll never know silly defender! Only they knew with me. If I was in the three point stance, one of my two signature moves was imminent: the "sit back down on the bench", or the "ankle sprain". At least then I had the will and joint lubrication to spring right back up.

Also, I don't really have a "trick knee". I just like the sound of it. Maybe if I spent 20 years workin' on the railroad I could get away with that sort of embellishment. So, sorry about that, railroadmen. I didn't mean to demean your 2nd favorite ailment behind "spike-through-hand".

I'm celebrating my 31st birthday by doing what any responsibly maturing man would: flying across the country to watch sports. And I'm dragging my wife! We'll be popping into Detroit for a Tigers game on Friday with Brad and Andrea, staying there that night, then meeting my parents in Ann Arbor for Michigan and Notre Dame. A birthday treat worthy of former president Gerald Ford and The Pope! It's been almost 3 years since I visited the Big House, and despite all the program's efforts to become a horrible football team the past two years, I'm stoked to go back, and maybe more stoked to have my wife go with me. She'll finally understand just a smidgen more of my personality and my tendency for withdrawal on fall Saturdays. I don't know that she'll understand why the Michigan Wolverines are "Champions of the West", nor why we sing the words so heartily, but then again, nobody really does. We just do it because it's college football.

This time of year always feels new because school sessions are starting. But even as a workin' man, it makes me feel I should work a little harder and "think about my future". So, in a clear sign of advancement, I'm thinking about taking a class. At a college. I considered enrolling in High School Government class just to relive the fun, but they didn't like my voting record. Instead, I'm going to take a class called "Toolbox Basics". No no, it's not a lecture on how to become a tool. I'd be in a much more advanced class than "Basics" for such a topic. It's a class to help me learn how to write. I'm not sure what I want to write yet, but at the least I'm moving closer to my goal of wearing jeans or corduroy pants and a sweater every day, not shaving, developing neurotic quirks, and having everyone accept those things for the sake of art. Wish me luck! And...I have to say it...GO BLUE!