Today, I wrote for my first, real-world publication, and it was entirely exhilarating.
After working on my high school publication, The Wildcat Tales, our school’s publication department got a phone call from The Lone Star Gridiron, a local high school football publication. So, my adviser pulls me into her office and hands me the phone.
But you, my fellow reader, do not know that I am not an avid sports writer. I’m more of a news/feature writer who wishes she could write a splendid A&E review. I’ve only written one or two sports story in addition to an accidental sports feature. (That’s an entirely different story.)
Yet for some reason, that didn’t keep me from fully accepting a story assignment at around 11:30 a.m. that I would need done by that evening. It was a real assignment in the midst of a school day. I was going to live a taste of the life I want in the future. Of course I said yes. I was only thinking about how exciting it would be.
So from there, I frantically dropped everything to grab a camera and track down people wearing purple shirts. I thought it’d be easy to spot the people wearing the domestic violence awareness shirts, but I was mistaken. I could’ve sworn that I saw at least fifty-thousand purple shirts before the phone call, but when I went to look they had all mysteriously disappeared.
Because of this, by the time I found someone, I immediately started chasing them instead of continuing my way to class. Then by the time I got to class, I left to conduct an interview. It felt as though I was all over the place. IT WAS AMAZING. I hate roller coasters, but I imagine that the feeling is the same. It was thrilling to track down and meet people and feel the heat of a true deadline. I don’t think I ever type faster than when I know time is running out.
I can’t wait to learn more and write more and edit more. I can’t wait to grow in my craft. I just thought I would share that sentiment for any aspiring journalists out there or for anyone pursuing something that they are dogged on for. Just because the field can be difficult to be successful in or it doesn’t make a six figure salary doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go for it. If that’s what you really want, if that’s what thrills you and challenges you, go for it. Reach for it. Work for it. I believe in you, if that counts for anything.
(If you are interested in reading my story, you can find it at http://lonestargridiron.com/ at 7 a.m. tomorrow.)
“Get out! Get out of here! You are not my wife! How dare you sleep in this bed! I don’t know where she is or when she’ll get back, but get out! I don’t know you! Get out! Get out!”
All I had on was a slip with my hair still in rollers. I could hear his feet shuffling towards his baseball bat, so I threw some underwear, a polka-dot dress, loafers, and my wallet into a grocery bag before running out the door.
“Don’t come back here! I have a wife you know! Don’t come causing an old man trouble!” he yelled hoarsely while slamming the door behind me.
319. Three one nine Cardinal Drive. 319. When you’re little, your parents do their best to make sure you remember the important things: addresses, phone numbers, the works. But then you can’t forget it. It takes forever to erase the little things, the little pains of memory. And it sucks because I don’t have forever left. I’m 84, and I’m not losing my marbles like every other old lady on the block. Specifically the block I live on. 319 Cardinal Drive. 319. 319.
Some of them make me laugh. I know it’s bad to laugh at old ladies for not being able to remember much, but I can’t help it. It’s like laughing at crying babies. I can’t help that either. But there’s this one lady named Cecilia, and she went nuts when I told her about Stan’s oncoming Alzheimer’s. She went ballistic, going on about how sorry she was and how she wanted to bake me casserole. The gesture was sweet and all, but when I went to say hello the next week I had to tell her the story of Stan’s Alzheimer’s again. She gave the same reaction. I don’t know if that means I should’ve gotten two casseroles or one. I got none. Then again, she’s getting old. I don’t think she has Alzheimer’s. She’s just always been a bit forgetful from time to time.
I live at 319 Cardinal Drive. Sometimes when I’m addressing envelopes in the return section, I’ll write Dr. instead of writing out Drive. I bought the house with Stan a long time ago. I don’t remember what year because it was never one of the things I learned to memorize, but I can remember the important things. Sometimes I’d sign it Mr. & Mrs. Stan Levanson, a lot of times actually. I didn’t mind taking up his name because it meant we were joined together. I can’t say forever because he just kicked me out. He kicked me out of the house that we bought together some number of years ago which is located at 319 Cardinal Drive. 319 Cardinal Dr. 319. I don’t understand why somethings last forever while other things don’t get the chance. I’d trade my memory for Stan any day. Then, I could fall in love with him over and over again until we both died. I wonder if he wished for that. I better knock on wood.
I change my mind. I wouldn’t trade my memory for the love of my life because Alzheimer’s is a blunt dagger to the gut. It’s not like the movies where you get to fall in love over and over again. Even if it was, it would still suck. There would be no more reminiscing over old times or enjoying each other’s silence. Instead, they’d be asking you the same questions over and over again. It’d be like repeating a first date until you died. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my first date with Stan, but I think I’d murder him if he asked me what my favorite color was every day until death do us part. Eventually, I’d grow to pity him and pity myself. I’d have to watch his eyes light up like a puppy and care for him like a puppy. Then someday I’d realize that falling in love everyday is only fun for the one that forgets. It’s not that I don’t love him. Old people just get tired.
As of right now, I write for the newspaper, dance for the Planoettes, play violin in orchestra, volunteer for National Honors Society, work at IHOP, maintain this blog occasionally, visit friends, and uphold a relationship with my family. On top of that, I have school to deal with, as if everything else wasn’t enough. I love everything that I do, but, to be honest, it gets exhausting. There’s the pressure to get good grades, produce interesting articles, remember all my dances, and talk to the people I love. However, I have to make sure I still sleep enough so that I’m well rested for volunteering events and work on the weekends. Only after all of that can I begin to think about my blog, something I wish I had more time for.
The problem isn’t that I’m not smart enough to schedule everything to the T. It’s that I see my schedule as a piece of paper that doesn’t control my life. The days that I follow my planner are always successful, but the second that I’m a minute off, everything goes downhill. Unfortunately, the days that I don’t follow my schedule happen often. In fact, the amount of days that I don’t even touch my planner have increased drastically.
I love the feeling of not knowing what’s going to happen next. The unpredictable days are always full of surprises, something I can’t get enough of. It’s just something I can’t afford to have, especially during the school year, if I want to be successful in everything that I love to do. I should probably work on being more organized… after summer is over.
Out of all the people in the world, you inspire me the most to be the best person I can be. You’re the only person I know that has been able to go through multiple hells and come out stronger than ever. I wouldn’t want to learn how to life from anyone else.
Watching you grow in your English and knowledge of modern culture has awed me over the years. You’ve gone from calling pork ‘mark’ to writing English essays in your college classes in 20 years, three more years than what I’ve had. You’ve gone from never hearing the word iPod to being able to fully operate a smart phone. You know more about computers than I do sometimes.
Not only have you grown in knowledge, but you’ve grown in ambition. Currently, you happen to be the only person I know to have gone from college dropout to a wannabe college professor. You have these amazing dreams that I know you’ll make your reality because you put in the hard work.
This applies to both your career and your personal life. It’s unlikely to hear from other kids that their mom’s goal is to be able to run and do jumping jacks even though I hear it from you all the time. Then again, not all moms played soccer with their kids in the backyard when they were little and tore their ACL.
No matter what life has thrown at you, you’ve become so much more than your past ills and injuries. You strive to carve your own path in life because you don’t ever accept mediocre. Instead, you prove to the world that single, minority, silly, intelligent, and caring women have a high place in society and in the eyes of all bystanders in your wake.
I’m the luckiest daughter alive because I’m pretty sure you’re the only mom that will head butt their child for the sake of a Finding Nemo handshake. Please stay weird, strong, and beautiful, Mom. I’m rooting for you.
All my love and then some,
Your favorite daughter because you know the evil one would never do this 😉