Saying goodbye
I went to the dentist yesterday and had a great time.
That’s not the typical experience, but, you see, I’ve got a pretty special dental hygienist. Her name is Mary and she’s awesome. From the moment our eyes meet we’re laughing and talking. There’s something about her that puts me at ease, which is good when your mouth is forced open for an hour straight. We talked about California and craigslist and I gave her tips for how to get a good deal. I learned about her other jobs (she works two!) and how she took care of her mom before she died. I felt like she was a friend. A friend I see every 6 months. Not really a friend at all, but someone I could be friends with, and that’s saying a lot. You don’t meet too many Marys.
So when I was getting ready to go, the goodbye was kinda tricky. I wanted to say ‘see you next time,’ but there’s not gonna be a next time. So I said goodbye. We hugged. It was sweet, if not strange for the people waiting in lobby.
And it all got me thinking about starting over. Moving to California is going to be good for me, but it’s still going to be hard. It means saying goodbye to everyone I know now and finding new people to fill my life with. Sure, I’ll have friends when I get there (those are kind of built into the deal), but will I meet another Mary? And if there’s the chance that I do, how long will take to find her?
All the “periphery” people who fill up my life here in Philly (the dry cleaner who knows my phone number by heart, the hair stylist who knows my mom’s name) are going to be gone. When I get to California, I’ll be looking to replace them, but I never really will. I’ll miss them. As weird as it sounds, I’ll miss them.
So imagine how hard it will be to say goodbye to the real friends – the ones who drive me to work everyday and dance with me in the morning at school and tell me jokes while I’m teaching and make pottery with me and run with me.
It’s going to be harder than I’m making it out to be. I need to accept that or else saying goodbye is going to be a messy affair. At least I’ve already said goodbye to Mary. That was a first step. Like practice. Who’s next?
- Jeff
This is it
And it’s not going to be much. Or very deep. And I’m not explaining why I’ve been absent for so long. You’ll understand soon enough.
For now, I just spent my first day of the year in shambles.
Cut to 5:40 am and Andrew nudges me awake. My flight, as planned, departs at 6 am from SFO. Twenty minutes, give or take, just wasn’t going to be enough, no matter how hard I wished it. A bit delusional, I dressed as quick as I could (mumbling obscenities under my breath, and wondering aloud why I’m always the target of conspiracies). Interestingly enough, we were by the airport by 6:30 – a faster turnaround than expected.
The teller had an accent I couldn’t really understand. His name was Jaz. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that name. I wanted to call him Jay-Z, but I didn’t. I thought that wouldn’t help the situation. Jaz ended up getting me rerouted onto another flight just an hour later, landing me in Philadelphia just 3 hours after my original itinerary would have gotten me there. Not bad. $50 penalty fee later, I booked it to the gate.
Middle seat, damn it. But who was I to ask for anything more? I sat between two really nice and quiet Asian ladies who knew each other. Part of me wondered if they wanted to sit next to each other. I should ask, I thought to myself more than once. Then I could get an aisle or (even better) window seat. But I didn’t, mostly because I also thought that perhaps they planned it this way – to have a stranger sit between them. That would be odd, wouldn’t it? But I figured if that was the case, I’d better not force them into an uncomfortable moment, when they’d either have to bite their lips and switch seats, or say no and risk seeming estranged, or worse, just strange.
Five hours later, I landed in Newark. Almost home. I had checked my carry on bag at the gate in SFO because the plane was too full. So I waited at the tarmac stairs to pick it up until a man approached me and explained that the bag was checked to my final destination. Easy enough.
Upon arrival, however, the bag was nowhere to be found. Unfortunately I was too slow to realize it and got stuck behind a Spanish-speaking woman who also lacked her proper luggage. The language barrier wasn’t helping anyone and their slow conversation took about 30 minutes to get through. She didn’t annoy me at all. What annoyed me was my inability to help. I wanted to jump in and rattle it all out in Spanish, saving the day and getting on with our lives. Instead, I just stood there, as frustrated as her. But when it was my turn, I had the words to get what I needed in a jiffy. It wasn’t long before we figured it out that the little bag had never left California.
And by that time I wanted nothing more than to switch places with that bag. To be sitting in that airport, close to my family and friends, close to the future that is awaiting my return in five short months. I’d wait in a room full of lost luggage to have that feeling again.
But before I could give it much more thought, I remembered something. My keys. My house keys. They were in the bag, in California.
Happy New Year. And if this is it, then it’s gonna be one hell of a year.
Might as well write it all down.
- Jeff
Self help
I have a bad habit. More than a bad habit, it’s an ugly habit.
Some people bite their nails. Others can’t stop shaking their legs sitting down.
I do this to my thumbs. (and yes, that is me)
It’s a combination of picking your cuticles and biting your nails. I’ve been unable to kick the habit since the 6th grade. I actually remember the day it started. I was showing off some weird hand trick with my fingers and a group of kids started making fun of me. And at that moment, I retreated and it began.
Over the years, it started to actually feel good – a repetitious movement that could both distract me from something nerve racking and provide a sense of control when I was out of it. Sometimes it gets so bad I bleed. Pale skinned band aids are my hallmark product. I’ve probably worn out thousands since middle school.
But as embarrassing and annoying as it is, I still do it. I’ve tried to stop so, so many times. I’ve filed the rough edges of my skin, carried around lotion to keep things smooth, used band aids and gels to cover them, and tried to develop other, less harmful habits to take its place. I even made it a challenge for one of my students to catch and stop me in the act. Nothing has worked.
For 12 years, half my life, I’ve been doing this to myself. I want to stop. I need to stop. And I’m coming to you here for some help. While I welcome any advice and tips you have, by simply making it public I’m hoping to face it like I never have before. My thumbs are usually shy around others – you won’t catch a glimpse unless you’re really looking. But hiding isn’t giving me any inspiration to stop.
So, there it is. I said it and I showed it. And while you might be a little disgusted, I hope you can take part in helping me overcome whatever it is that’s causing me to do this. If you’re a friend, bring it up. If your a stranger, check in with me. I’ll be posting updates every now and then through the summer in an effort to stay conscious and work toward breaking the habit.
If this is sounding like a cry for help, it is.
- Jeff
I graduated
I’m looking forward to, for the first time in a long time, not being a student.
It won’t last long, I’m sure.
- Jeff
White board sledding
Those who have been reading lately might be getting a little jealous. I haven’t had school since Tuesday, and with the Monday holiday, won’t be back until next Tuesday. It’s been a 6-day weekend and the fun has just begun.
It’s well known in Philadelphia that after it snows, people head for the steps of the renowned Philadelphia Art Museum – made famous by the movie Rocky (as seen here). People grab whatever household items that will slide down the snow-covered steps. From garbage can lids to cardboard, little kids and adults rush the steps and sled their way to the bottom.
We grabbed some plastic folders, cardboard box lids and a whiteboard and headed for the Museum.
And this is what we saw:
And this is what we did:
This fantasy is sure to come to an end eventually. Just not yet.
- Jeff
Another 14 inches
I woke up this morning, looked out my window and saw this:
And, after a day of staying cozy indoors, ventured out to play in the snow. The snow is so thick now, it’s like the ground is covered with a giant pillow. Our new favorite pass time:
With another 14 inches on top of our previous storm, the snow piles are getting ridiculous. I just couldn’t resist:
And to top it all off, we found an adorable puppy running around in the snow on our street:
Yes, I threw a snow ball at it. And yes, we have yet another snow day tomorrow.
- Jeff
28.5 inches of snow
It’s a beautiful thing. The entire city was blanketed with thick, fluffy white snow. In the days before the snow turns to gray slush, I can barely contain myself as I walk down the sidewalk. You’ll usually find me walking just to the side of the cleared paths – I prefer the crunching sound of walking on snow. Instead of running for the nearest hill or making snow angels in the backyard, Erika and I made our way to the neighborhood playground and had us some snow fun. The pictures speak for themselves, and snow days on a playground come highly recommended. Climbing up and sliding down play things is just more fun when they’re covered in snow.
Exhibit A
- Jeff
Listen up
As a history teacher, I’m always telling my kids about the importance of using primary sources in their learning. And when I teach about them, I usually reference things like diaries, photos and documents as places to look for information about the past. In my slavery unit this past month, I taught about the experience of slaves on Southern plantations using interviews of former slaves that were taped and transcribed for the Federal Writer’s Project in the 1930′s. They are amazing resources for my students to get insight into the daily lives of these important historical figures, but this type of rich and (practically) unfiltered primary source is rare.
During one of these lessons, all this talk about primary sources got one of my students thinking about the primary sources that we’ll be leaving behind. In other words, he wanted to know what the people of the future will be using to understand our history. It’s a fun thought experiment to consider – what are you leaving behind that will be around for someone to sift through, dust off and make conclusions about how you lived your life or what you thought? For me, it’s this blog, a few knick-knacks I’ve left around and probably some news articles that have quoted me. Not much, really – and probably more than most.
Even before I was a history teacher, and got on tangents about primary sources, I was interested in leaving behind something more. And I’m not the only one with this instinct. StoryCorps started as a small non-profit venture that set out to record the everyday stories of Americans from across the country. They wanted to capture the folklore of our day and cement it in the Library of Congress for all of posterity. I thought it was a fun idea, and I especially loved the idea of sharing our personal narratives with someone else. Check out the website for more information about how it works, but it really is quite simple. The website even gives little snippets of select interviews, like this one.
What started as a stationary booth in NYC has blossomed into a mobile listening booth that travels around the US and a second and third booth in DC and SF. They have expanded their mission and have collected tens of thousands of stories. And of those stories, I account for three. I’ve interviewed my closest of friends Diana and Gina, my grandparents Ed and Helen and my dad Mike. Over the last three years, I’ve gone to all three booths in NYC and SF and just recently interviewed my dad during the holiday. He wasn’t nervous at first, but I could tell the pressure was on – especially when I asked about his first kiss. The point of the interviews aren’t to role play Oprah or Dr. Phil – it’s more about revealing than revelations. I want to leave something behind that explains where my family came from and the people they were. My interview questions range form childhood memories to life regrets, and my partner can take it as deep or shallow as they want. If you are in any of the cities StoryCorps visits, I recommend making an appointment (hurry – they run out quick!) and picking a friend or loved one who you want to interview. It’s a great experience for both – and they give you a copy of the interview to take home – something you’ll have forever.
I just imagine the school kids of the future, listening in on these interviews, learning about our lives and the ways we thought and interacted. And the teacher who so eagerly uses the stories we told to teach his students about the past, a little more knowledgeable because of we left something behind.
- Jeff
Bridesgroomsman
I’ve been in weddings before, but it’s always been traditional. I’ve done the role of the groomsman, and it was fun and all. But now, I want to be a bridesmaid. Totally strange to write. Probably stranger to read. I get it. But to be honest, I’m a lot closer to Diana than Harry, so why can’t I stand on her side of the aisle? Thankfully, Diana agrees.
But if I’m going to be in the wedding, standing with Diana, what should I be called? Originally, we called it a bridesgroom, only to find later on that the bridesgroom is the name of the groom (that would be Harry). I am certainly not the groom, so bridesgroom is out. Upon closer inspection, we discovered that I’m officially the “bridesman.” My spellcheck is currently underlining all of the above terms in bright red, informing that these are, in fact, not real words. But I’m going to just ignore that.
A bridesman, according to several sources, is a close male friend or companion of the bride and has no prior affiliation with the groom. They stand with the bride during the ceremony and participate in all of the bridal activities prior to the wedding (well, maybe not all of them). Now, I know what you’re thinking. Totally non-traditional. But what is tradition anyway? Usually, traditions maintain their stature not because they make our lives better, or because they even make sense – but because they are accepted. I say to hell with it. When it comes to people, I want to do what feels right. And this just feels right. I’m actually pretty proud of her for not bowing to the pressure of this genderized tradition.
Ok, so spellcheck is telling me genderized is not a word, either. To hell with it – I’ll wrap this up.
And my favoriate line from the wedding planner website:
“Men who fill the role of a bridesman usually do not want to wear a bridesmaid dress.” Usually.
- Jeff
Diana’s getting married
One of my closest friends through the years just got engaged a few weeks ago, and I’m all a jitter. The story of Diana and Harry is actually quite an old one. They met nearly five years ago this summer, in a hostel in New York. Diana and I were travelling up and down the east coast during our summer of love in D.C. We were both interning at agencies and made our get away every weekend. It was a summer I’ll never forget – and one in which I learned a lot about myself. It was also the summer Harry met Diana.
Well, technically Harry met both of us at once. He was an English tourist on his leap year during college and he was tall and he had a cute little accent. I remember it all very vividly. I even remember when Diana got his email address. It was harrythepimp. And yet despite that, Diana fell in love. In the weeks that followed, they hit if off. We planned to all meet in Philadelphia for a concert, and they shared their first kiss. Then, he visited D.C. and the rest….well, the rest is history. They stayed in touch over an entire continent and ocean and maintained a transatlantic relationship for three years. An impressive couple, we all knew this day would come. Now, the fun part: a wedding in London!
Congratulations, Diana & Harry, I love you both
- Jeff
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