"In the next installment (I promise will come in a much more prompt fashion) I hope to finish up seventh grade and delve into my eighth grade year." - Nick Bendeck, May 15, 2013. What a crock.
It has been damn near two years since I left you chomping on the proverbial bit. I've apologized on here a few times for absences and untimely posting, and then gone right back on those words and stomped on them. There's really no reason for you to still have an interest, and even if you do, you have earned the right to be skeptical.
My only excuses are fear and lethargy. When I had originally jumped into this storytelling adventure, I thought it would be neat to explore my past experiences and share them with, honestly, anyone. But once I got past the easy-going formative years, I remembered how real life started to get, and how I had handled most it; I hid. Just like I hid from talking about it in this format. I got to the beginning portion of sharing my feelings about a girl, and I just straight up stopped out of fear. Fear of what? I do not know.
I want to do my best to keep this mostly light-hearted, but if I'm honest with myself, that's just not how some of these things shook out. Please, don't misinterpret this as a pity party or an "Oh, his life was sooo tough," story, because that is not my intent. I do want you to know that for the majority of my brief existence on this lovely planet, I have always done my best to be a listening ear when someone had a problem or needed to share something that was bothering them. But I have never been one to share my feelings. I keep them to myself; always have. Burdening others with my "problems" just seemed unfair, probably because they seemed insignificant in my mind when I compared them to the things people had shared with me.
So, what am I saying? I'm saying that, this is going to get difficult for me. I am going to have to dig down into some things that I had previously thought "off-limits." But, I believe deep down, that was the intent of this project from the very beginning. Now, I won't promise you that I'll post every week and I'll be right on top of this thing, but I will say that I am going to give this more thought and energy. I started out on this journey to share my life with you, and even though I've had issues with quitting before, I truly do intend to finish.
Let's leave with this, the very first blog that I posted almost two years ago:
"Honesty. That's what this whole thing is about. Life. Friends. Family. All of them require that one simple word, to hold them together. I haven't been completely honest with the people in my life, or myself, for a long time now. I want to use this as a tool to tell my true story. My real life through my mind. I'll try to keep identities secret, for now, out of respect. Some of this stuff might actually be a little brutal. Honestly, I'm not quite sure what all I'm going to include yet, but it's only fair to myself that I get everything off my chest eventually. This blog will not be about spreading dirt about friends or discrediting people. It will strictly be about telling a story and expressing real emotions. I'd love to have some friends for this journey, so if you want to tune in and talk to me, I'm all for that. I live for communication and interaction. This post is mostly just to get some info out there as to my intentions for the blog. In my next post I'll have a little bit more bio on me and then we'll get started. I'm going to end each post with a little life fact just as a present for your attention. If you've read this, thank you. If you read no more than this, thank you just the same." - Nick Bendeck, April 15, 2013
Today's note: "The same boiling water that softens the potato, hardens the egg. Life isn't about the circumstances you are in, but, rather, what you are made of." A new friend of mine shared this quote with me, and it stuck in my head for months. Life truly is just a constant game of how you respond and react to the situations you are put in. What you're made of and how you were raised, those are the factors that grant you passage through life's toughest tests.
Sunday, February 22, 2015
Middle School
To tell my full story with the most accuracy, I feel it is pertinent to split each level of my life into multiple blogs. I would have to skip too many events if I was to condense everything into four or five posts. The most integral details are found in the relationships I had with friends and teachers, and the band room, so my posts will mostly focus on those things. My story truly begins in the hallowed halls of John Sevier Middle School.
The summer before my first year at JSMS I was taken to the instrument placement event at the middle school. Each student who wanted to play in the concert band had to test a few instruments to see where their talents would best be utilized. Almost all of the boys wanted to play drums, as it would be the easiest instrument to parlay into a career as a rockstar. I fit right into that stigma. I had taken a few lessons from friends and was sure I would nail the audition. And nail it I did.
Among the notes taken were, "Excellent rhythm and ability to follow tempo changes. Overall: 9.5/10." Needless to say I was ecstatic. It was the first instrument I auditioned on and I had crushed it. But, we were required to try instruments in each family, so I had to waste more time on things I wouldn't be as successful on. The woodwind family auditions will receive no more attention than me telling you they was horrid and embarrassing. The brass family would lead to more of the same, or so I thought.
The late Ron Wilcox, took me into one of the classrooms where he had the instruments and mouthpieces all laid out neatly. We shared some pleasantries, then began the trials. He handed me a trumpet mouthpiece and I scoffed (in my head, mind you). It was way too small for my voluptuous lips. I tried to buzz into it, but was not successful. The french horn and trombone mouthpieces yielded more of the same results. Then I had a break through, sort of.
In Mr.Wilcox's infinite knowledge, he skipped the fourth mouthpiece and grabbed the largest one in the room. He told me to flap my lips and pretend I was blowing out a candle at the same time. It was a very awkward exercise, but when I placed the metal monster to my lips, it produced a sound. I wasn't familiar with the sound, but Mr.Wilcox assured me that I had done well. Among his notes was the comment, "Something special. Overall: 7/10." I asked him what the last one was, and he told me it was a tuba mouthpiece. After a firm hand shake, he escorted me out. That was it. I had done it. Bring on the ladies. I was going to be the next percussionist in the JSMS Concert Band. Or so I thought.
When I had finished with the auditions and the paperwork, I was sent to have a conference with the man in charge, Richard Brown. He had been the director of the band for quite some time and was the final authority on who was placed on what instrument. I handed him my sheet with a beaming smile on my face, and sat back with anticipation. He looked over it carefully, then placed it on his desk under his interlocked fingers.
"Well, you had a couple great auditions here. What would you like to do?"
"I'd like to play the drums," I said.
"That seems to be pretty popular. We already have 10 new percussionists. Is there anything else you'd like to play?" He was stonewalling me. I couldn't believe it.
I blanked. "I don't know, sir."
"It looks like you did pretty well with the tuba. We only have four tuba players. How about that?"
I was weak. "Sure."
"Excellent. Go check one out and I'll look forward to working with you this year." His smile and enthusiasm were oddly infectious.
I left the school in a whirlwind of confusion, with a giant black tuba case rolling behind me. I had never even seen the instrument before that day, but I would be attempting to master it over the next year. Even though I was frustrated and angry then, little did I know, the decision Mr.Brown had made that day would shape the course of the rest of my life.
Today's note: Try to do things for other people just because they're nice to do, not because you want them to owe you a favor. It will always feel better and, in the end, reap better rewards. Karma.
The summer before my first year at JSMS I was taken to the instrument placement event at the middle school. Each student who wanted to play in the concert band had to test a few instruments to see where their talents would best be utilized. Almost all of the boys wanted to play drums, as it would be the easiest instrument to parlay into a career as a rockstar. I fit right into that stigma. I had taken a few lessons from friends and was sure I would nail the audition. And nail it I did.
Among the notes taken were, "Excellent rhythm and ability to follow tempo changes. Overall: 9.5/10." Needless to say I was ecstatic. It was the first instrument I auditioned on and I had crushed it. But, we were required to try instruments in each family, so I had to waste more time on things I wouldn't be as successful on. The woodwind family auditions will receive no more attention than me telling you they was horrid and embarrassing. The brass family would lead to more of the same, or so I thought.
The late Ron Wilcox, took me into one of the classrooms where he had the instruments and mouthpieces all laid out neatly. We shared some pleasantries, then began the trials. He handed me a trumpet mouthpiece and I scoffed (in my head, mind you). It was way too small for my voluptuous lips. I tried to buzz into it, but was not successful. The french horn and trombone mouthpieces yielded more of the same results. Then I had a break through, sort of.
In Mr.Wilcox's infinite knowledge, he skipped the fourth mouthpiece and grabbed the largest one in the room. He told me to flap my lips and pretend I was blowing out a candle at the same time. It was a very awkward exercise, but when I placed the metal monster to my lips, it produced a sound. I wasn't familiar with the sound, but Mr.Wilcox assured me that I had done well. Among his notes was the comment, "Something special. Overall: 7/10." I asked him what the last one was, and he told me it was a tuba mouthpiece. After a firm hand shake, he escorted me out. That was it. I had done it. Bring on the ladies. I was going to be the next percussionist in the JSMS Concert Band. Or so I thought.
When I had finished with the auditions and the paperwork, I was sent to have a conference with the man in charge, Richard Brown. He had been the director of the band for quite some time and was the final authority on who was placed on what instrument. I handed him my sheet with a beaming smile on my face, and sat back with anticipation. He looked over it carefully, then placed it on his desk under his interlocked fingers.
"Well, you had a couple great auditions here. What would you like to do?"
"I'd like to play the drums," I said.
"That seems to be pretty popular. We already have 10 new percussionists. Is there anything else you'd like to play?" He was stonewalling me. I couldn't believe it.
I blanked. "I don't know, sir."
"It looks like you did pretty well with the tuba. We only have four tuba players. How about that?"
I was weak. "Sure."
"Excellent. Go check one out and I'll look forward to working with you this year." His smile and enthusiasm were oddly infectious.
I left the school in a whirlwind of confusion, with a giant black tuba case rolling behind me. I had never even seen the instrument before that day, but I would be attempting to master it over the next year. Even though I was frustrated and angry then, little did I know, the decision Mr.Brown had made that day would shape the course of the rest of my life.
Today's note: Try to do things for other people just because they're nice to do, not because you want them to owe you a favor. It will always feel better and, in the end, reap better rewards. Karma.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
So I Digressed... But I Was Inspired
Wow...if anyone is still here, I greatly appreciate you. I also apologize for my absence. I got to a point where I felt as if I wasn't doing my own life justice with its retelling with this blog. Mistakes have been pointed out and I've remembered, post-post, important facts that I had left out. So I decided that it was best to take a step back and collect my thoughts. Now, this post is going to be something completely different.
As you may or may not know, the University of Tennessee has resumed classes for the fall semester. So here I am, back at school with a new apartment, new roommate and old friends, and I find myself strangely excited. But why are we here, in this blog? Well, while I was walking to my first class yesterday, I saw multiple students just breaking down into heaps of paper and tears because they either missed their first class or they showed up late or they miss their parents. This post is for them.
I know what you've been through. This will be my third year of college education, so believe me when I say, I've been exactly where you are. I napped in a bathroom stall my freshman year because I didn't know anyone and I was early for my class. I missed that class. This post will be aimed at giving you some tips that I've picked up over the years to help you get through your first year away from home. To be fair, these tips can be used by people of any experience level, they are simply meant to make lives easier and to strip away the frightening exterior of "big bad college". Let's begin.
PRE-FIRST WEEK OF CLASSES
THE FIRST WEEK OF CLASSES
As you may or may not know, the University of Tennessee has resumed classes for the fall semester. So here I am, back at school with a new apartment, new roommate and old friends, and I find myself strangely excited. But why are we here, in this blog? Well, while I was walking to my first class yesterday, I saw multiple students just breaking down into heaps of paper and tears because they either missed their first class or they showed up late or they miss their parents. This post is for them.
I know what you've been through. This will be my third year of college education, so believe me when I say, I've been exactly where you are. I napped in a bathroom stall my freshman year because I didn't know anyone and I was early for my class. I missed that class. This post will be aimed at giving you some tips that I've picked up over the years to help you get through your first year away from home. To be fair, these tips can be used by people of any experience level, they are simply meant to make lives easier and to strip away the frightening exterior of "big bad college". Let's begin.
PRE-FIRST WEEK OF CLASSES
- A few days before your semester starts, take the time to go down to campus and FIND THE BUILDINGS AND CLASSROOMS YOU'LL BE IN. This will save you so much time and trouble in your first week and relieve the stress of not knowing where to go.
- On your little trip down to find your classes, TIME YOURSELF. Know how long it takes to get to your first class of each day, then plan accordingly. This gives you a timeframe for the latest you can leave from where ever you live without showing up late.
- Before classes begin, look at your schedule and FIGURE OUT WHEN YOU CAN EAT LUNCH. This is pretty important, especially if you have a heavy course load. Stay fueled and don't try to go through the day without eating. It's dumb. You're not tough. It will put you in a worse mood.
THE FIRST WEEK OF CLASSES
- If you did not make it down to campus to give yourself a better idea of where your classes are, LEAVE FOR CLASS EARLY. This is very important in your first week. If you have a 9 a.m. class, and you're not 110% certain where it is, then give yourself 40 minutes. No, I'm not joking. I missed my first classes at UT because I thought I knew where they were and ended up completely lost.
- Do not rely only on the information given to you by friends. Your friends will tell you they know exactly where your classes are and give you a set of directions. YOU WILL NOT REMEMBER THEM. They mean well, but if you are not familiar with campus or perhaps just a specific building, do not solely rely on your friends. This goes back to the first rule. Find your classes early and on your own.
- If by chance you do get lost, DO NOT PANIC. This happens to everyone. Stop, take a breath and find the nearest building. Go inside, find a faculty member and ask them where you need to go. The best piece of advice I can give is to not be afraid of adults and asking for help. What is dumber? You wandering around with no clue where to go, and eventually stumbling into your class late or missing it all together. OR Asking an adult for help and finding your class. Think about it.
- Buy sunglasses. Self-explanatory.
- DO NOT BUY YOUR BOOKS BEFORE THE FIRST DAY OF CLASS. Most teachers will go over their syllabi the first day of class. They will also mention whether or not you need the textbook for the class. Or you can ask them after class for an alternative source for book materials. This can save you hundreds of dollars per semester.
- GREET YOUR PROFESSORS. Introduce yourself. This small act can save you later in the class. If you develop a rapport with your teachers, they will be more likely to be lenient with due dates and things like that. (This is not fact, but, in my experience, this works.) Professors are not evil people. They are, in fact, just people.
I think this will do for now. Hopefully, at least one of these tips can help you avoid being one of those heaps that I saw on my first day. When we come back, I'll try to add some more tips to help make your years more smooth while you are at school. Remember: It doesn't have to be scary.
Today's Note: Fear is the world's strongest motivator. "We have nothing to fear but fear itself." I don't prescribe to that axiom. Instead, welcome the fear and use it as fuel to overcome challenges in your life. Strive to be a stronger person.
My friend has also started a blog that's about whatever he wants it to be about. Check it out. He's a funny guy. buckie92.blogspot.com
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Back From The Dead
Life is a crazy game we all play, willingly or not. Unfortunately for all of you, I was dragged through a particularly rough patch that kept me from sharing with you for quite some time. I mentioned Makenzie Lilley at the end of my last post so, it's only right that I pick back up at the onset of that attraction. I apologize for the hiatus, and will now get back on track.
My seventh grade year had begun to progress pretty normally. I was doing well in my classes and meeting new people, but something was different. I was thinking a lot more about girls. Most of my guy friends were dating girls that I knew, so the intrigue was pretty constant for me. I couldn't escape the allure of the opposite sex. It was all around me. In band, at the basketball games even in boring classes. My attention was particularly drawn to Makenzie (Kenzie for short).
She was a very athletic brunette that I had known for a few years. We went to Lincoln Elementary together and were in Mrs. Alvis's class for a few weeks. I hadn't paid too much extra attention to her other than to note that it was good to pick her for kickball. She was not afraid of the ball, so she was an excellent asset to have. She was pretty funny and definitely intelligent and she laughed at my jokes, so that's always a plus.
Now that we were older though, I had started to think about other things. We mostly interacted at sporting functions, but she noticed that I had started to come pretty religiously. I was not a shy fan by any means. Whether it was Basketball or Softball, she dominated both, I was very vocal in my support. After one of her basketball games, she came over to me and thanked me for coming and then something interesting happened.
She asked me how I thought she played. Most people would've just said she had done well, but not me. I was raised by my amazing parents to think critically. I told her something like she needed to drive the lane more and put more arc on her deep shots. I think she probably thought that I was a prick at first, but once she realized that it was innocent criticism from a kind hearted fellow, she warmed up a little bit. That was the beginning of our multiple year friendship.
We eventually moved into talking about things other than sports, as we grew more comfortable with each other. I've always had a knack for giving people advice when they got into sticky situations, and I loved to help my friends, so naturally, if she was ever in any sort of conundrum, I was the one she talked to. It was a great friendship. Mostly though, we would chat about sports and the like. She was a diehard North Carolina basketball fan (UNC), but I didn't hold that against her.
As the year rolled on, we grew closer and learned more about each other. She was a sweet girl who loved her family and dedicated herself fully to whatever she did. We were very similar in those respects. I liked being around her and I like to think she enjoyed my company. I told her about my soccer life and how much I loved that (I may have inflated my skills a tiny bit in an attempt to impress her) and she genuinely took interest in tracking our progress as well.
What I'm really trying to say is, we were great friends that just...clicked. I don't know what it was about us, but we just worked. It was a very natural friendship, and one that I relish to this day. Those certainly, were more innocent times, but every time we were together somewhere, it was just a fun time to be me. There was no tension or confusion, just two people who enjoyed each other's company.
In the next installment (I promise will come in a much more prompt fashion) I hope to finish up seventh grade and delve into my eighth grade year. This is a big one, because I meet one of the most influential people in my life. Stay tuned!
Today's Note: Take time to really appreciate the people in your life, current and past. Not just a surface appreciation, but really think about the impact they had on your life. Perhaps you'll stumble upon someone who really deserves a bit of thanks from you.
My seventh grade year had begun to progress pretty normally. I was doing well in my classes and meeting new people, but something was different. I was thinking a lot more about girls. Most of my guy friends were dating girls that I knew, so the intrigue was pretty constant for me. I couldn't escape the allure of the opposite sex. It was all around me. In band, at the basketball games even in boring classes. My attention was particularly drawn to Makenzie (Kenzie for short).
She was a very athletic brunette that I had known for a few years. We went to Lincoln Elementary together and were in Mrs. Alvis's class for a few weeks. I hadn't paid too much extra attention to her other than to note that it was good to pick her for kickball. She was not afraid of the ball, so she was an excellent asset to have. She was pretty funny and definitely intelligent and she laughed at my jokes, so that's always a plus.
Now that we were older though, I had started to think about other things. We mostly interacted at sporting functions, but she noticed that I had started to come pretty religiously. I was not a shy fan by any means. Whether it was Basketball or Softball, she dominated both, I was very vocal in my support. After one of her basketball games, she came over to me and thanked me for coming and then something interesting happened.
She asked me how I thought she played. Most people would've just said she had done well, but not me. I was raised by my amazing parents to think critically. I told her something like she needed to drive the lane more and put more arc on her deep shots. I think she probably thought that I was a prick at first, but once she realized that it was innocent criticism from a kind hearted fellow, she warmed up a little bit. That was the beginning of our multiple year friendship.
We eventually moved into talking about things other than sports, as we grew more comfortable with each other. I've always had a knack for giving people advice when they got into sticky situations, and I loved to help my friends, so naturally, if she was ever in any sort of conundrum, I was the one she talked to. It was a great friendship. Mostly though, we would chat about sports and the like. She was a diehard North Carolina basketball fan (UNC), but I didn't hold that against her.
As the year rolled on, we grew closer and learned more about each other. She was a sweet girl who loved her family and dedicated herself fully to whatever she did. We were very similar in those respects. I liked being around her and I like to think she enjoyed my company. I told her about my soccer life and how much I loved that (I may have inflated my skills a tiny bit in an attempt to impress her) and she genuinely took interest in tracking our progress as well.
What I'm really trying to say is, we were great friends that just...clicked. I don't know what it was about us, but we just worked. It was a very natural friendship, and one that I relish to this day. Those certainly, were more innocent times, but every time we were together somewhere, it was just a fun time to be me. There was no tension or confusion, just two people who enjoyed each other's company.
In the next installment (I promise will come in a much more prompt fashion) I hope to finish up seventh grade and delve into my eighth grade year. This is a big one, because I meet one of the most influential people in my life. Stay tuned!
Today's Note: Take time to really appreciate the people in your life, current and past. Not just a surface appreciation, but really think about the impact they had on your life. Perhaps you'll stumble upon someone who really deserves a bit of thanks from you.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Futball and Females
I'd be willing to bet my lunch money that you guys want to know how I did at the math competition. Let's just jump right in, shall we?
The Monday after the competition, I was asked to stay after my pre algebra class once again. I told Mrs. Light about the difficulty I had with the test, and how I had been assisgned to doodling during the group portion. She wasn't necessarily pleased with either piece of information, yet she still had a coy smile on her face.
I apologized for letting her down and waited for her words or disappointment. Instead of berating me, she handed me a thin yellow slip of paper. Confused, I unfolded it to find my name and the number 72. I finished approximately 36th out of about 80 kids that competed in my age group.
"Was it out of 100?" I asked reluctantly.
"Well, no. It was out of 125, but this is still very good news."
"How could that be good news? That's basically failing. I knew I wasn't cut out for it."
"Nick, you had the ninth highest score from our area! This math is meant for sophomores and juniors in high school. You've done incredibly well."
She went on to explain how she knew I was just as smart as my friends from the higher class and how the competition was just more proof. Once her lesson sunk in, uh I got up and gave her a classic Nick hug. I never forgot that conference or Mrs. Light. She was the newest addition to what would become a long line of extremely influential teachers in my scholastic career. So with the scholastic year wrapped up, my mind could finally shift full focus to soccer.
Throughout the year, practices had become increasingly more intense. We had competed in a few tournaments with relatively decent success but, the summer tournaments were going to be our real test.
When the decision was made to move up an age group, sadly, we lost a few of our teammates, due to personal circumstances. Our morale took a hit, but we had to push forward. A few additions to the coaching staff were made, however. Dustin Deal and Eric Delphs were brought on to help us at practice and occasionally coach any games Rodney couldn't make. They had coached at higher levels before, so they were more than equipped to help us.
We trained harder than ever before and Rodney rode us like mules. A few of the guys, myself included, had become increasingly fond of our new coaches. Dustin was an easily approachable man with a mind for the game that would make Stephen Hawking envious. And Eric was an easy going fellow who taught us to be confident and responsible. They both pushed us in directions we needed to go, but with the right amount of force. I worked some with Eric, separately from the team, on exercises just for goalie training. My skill drastically improved, and it had to.
The teams we faced were, for the most part, fierce. But with a year of intense training and strategic coaching from Dustin, we managed to capture some #1 finishes and a few runner up performances. North Carolina, Virginia and Georgia were the states we traveled to and we quickly realized that, the farther outside of our little East Tennessee bubble we travelled, the more difficult the competition became. We lost some games here and there but, for the most part, we were very successful.
The summers I spent traveling and playing soccer, were some of the fondest I remember. The victories were great, but the time spent in between games is what I remember the most. At the hotels, we would terrorize the breakfast buffets, crash the pools, and most definitely play some soccer against the walls. These were the things that stuck with me most from those days.
Most definitely worth mentioning, is the amazing support system we had from our parents. They were absolutely invaluable and dedicated. Providing snacks, cheering enthusiastically, and occasionally coaching from the sidelines. They were absolutely incredible, and I grew to know many of them on a more personal level. I'm still very fond of many of them, to this day.
The summers I spent traveling and playing soccer, were some of the fondest I remember. The victories were great, but the time spent in between games is what I remember the most. At the hotels, we would terrorize the breakfast buffets, crash the pools, and most definitely play some soccer against the walls. These were the things that stuck with me most from those days.
Most definitely worth mentioning, is the amazing support system we had from our parents. They were absolutely invaluable and dedicated. Providing snacks, cheering enthusiastically, and occasionally coaching from the sidelines. They were absolutely incredible, and I grew to know many of them on a more personal level. I'm still very fond of many of them, to this day.
Now, I teased you with the prospect of a female, at the end of my last post, so it's only fair that I deliver. As the summer came to a close and the new school year started, I was attracted to some of the athletic events at JSMS. My best friend from my childhood, Tucker Foster had made the basketball team, so I attended a few of the games and sat with a girl I had known from elementary school, Makenzie Lilley. She was in my grade and played on the lady's basketball team. She asked me to come to one of her games, and as a friend I obliged. That decision turned out to be way more influential on my life than I could've imagined, at the time.
Today's note: When your flaws are stitched together with good intentions, you can create a beautiful quilt of uniqueness. Don't let them control you, let them become you.
My friend DJ Turner is a fantastic human being. He participates in Drum and Bugle Corps or, more commonly, DCI. He is a cancer survivor who is still going to participate in this activity. Go to his site and check him out. The activity isn't free and he could use a little help. You don't have to donate, but you could at least share his story. That's 100% free.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Apologies and Arithmetic
I would be remiss, if I didn't begin with an apology. Some of the information I gave in the last post was inaccurate. The details surrounding Junior clinic, for the most part, were correct, minus one fact. The clinic didn't take place until 7th grade. So, the time line is a bit screwy, but the people and events were all real. Apologies for any confusion.
Now, I need to wrap up some of the final events of the end of my 6th grade year.
I had been doing pretty well in all of my classes, especially pre algebra. Mrs. Light usually asked me to do the bonus questions from our homework on the board during class. At the time, I wasn't sure why she had singled me out, but I did them accurately and without much struggle. My other classes were the run of the mill standards, not very noteworthy. I remember, about two weeks before the end of classes, Mrs. Light asked me to stay after class for a moment.
I was pretty sure she was going to discipline me for talking too much during class. (That was a "grievance" that almost every teacher I had, shared. Sorry guys and gals.) Instead, she asked me to take a seat.
"Have you given the math competition any more thought?"
"Not really. If you really wanted me to, I guess I could do it?"
"I do. Honestly, I think it would be a waste for you not to."
We talked for a little while longer, and her sage words finally settled in my mind. She had such a confidence in me, that I couldn't help but accept the challenge. I was going to be a mathlete.
When the day finally arrived for the competition, I travelled to the local University and met up with my teammates. The competition consisted of an individual test and a team challenge. Up first was the individual test. The first few pages, I handled with relative ease but, as I flipped through the test, the material became more and more foreign, until finally I was reading mandarin Chinese. The timer went off and my test looked pretty miserable. A few of the final pages were incomplete, but I had done the best I could. I had to shift my focus, quickly, to the group challenge.
Our team grouped up and received our test. Some of the smart brains took the lead on the assignment which, as far as I could tell, was just another of the individual tests with more difficult questions. I peered over shoulders as they worked furiously, wondering what I was supposed to be doing. One of the girls asked me politely to start working on one of the problems, so I did. After about 10 words, I realized there was no way I could possibly even attempt to get the problem started. I panicked and told her I couldn't do it, and for the remainder of the time I was resigned to doodling on my scratch paper.
The proctor came by, thanked us , and took up our test and that was that. We were free to go. My mind had been thoroughly boggled and, all the while, I couldn't help but think about why Mrs. Light had told me I could hang with those geniuses. My parents, being the über supportive force they were, promised me I had done well and took me out for a celebratory dinner. One of the best features my parents have, is there ability to fully jump in and support any wild endeavor we had as children. Whether it was karate or gymnastics or soccer or band, they were right there paying for lessons and going with us to competitions.
The next week at school was the spring concert for the sixth grade band, and I was pretty excited. I hadn't performed on a stage in front of a crowd since I was the mayor of the OK Corral in the third grade Christmas play, but I was ready. We played our tunes and the crowd ate it up. Mr. Brown had a flair in his programs that kept the kids and parents very entertained. He was absolutely excellent at his job. That night after I had packed away my uniform and my tuba, and mother had taken her 3480573048570 pictures, I realized that I was in love with making music.
For tonight, I'll leave off here, but on Monday I will finish this year of my life and move into seventh grade. Spoiler alert: I become interested in girls. Stay tuned!
Today's note: "A goal without a plan, is a wish."- Herm Edwards
You have to set up steps for success, or you will find it very difficult to reach your goals.
Now, I need to wrap up some of the final events of the end of my 6th grade year.
I had been doing pretty well in all of my classes, especially pre algebra. Mrs. Light usually asked me to do the bonus questions from our homework on the board during class. At the time, I wasn't sure why she had singled me out, but I did them accurately and without much struggle. My other classes were the run of the mill standards, not very noteworthy. I remember, about two weeks before the end of classes, Mrs. Light asked me to stay after class for a moment.
I was pretty sure she was going to discipline me for talking too much during class. (That was a "grievance" that almost every teacher I had, shared. Sorry guys and gals.) Instead, she asked me to take a seat.
"Have you given the math competition any more thought?"
"Not really. If you really wanted me to, I guess I could do it?"
"I do. Honestly, I think it would be a waste for you not to."
We talked for a little while longer, and her sage words finally settled in my mind. She had such a confidence in me, that I couldn't help but accept the challenge. I was going to be a mathlete.
When the day finally arrived for the competition, I travelled to the local University and met up with my teammates. The competition consisted of an individual test and a team challenge. Up first was the individual test. The first few pages, I handled with relative ease but, as I flipped through the test, the material became more and more foreign, until finally I was reading mandarin Chinese. The timer went off and my test looked pretty miserable. A few of the final pages were incomplete, but I had done the best I could. I had to shift my focus, quickly, to the group challenge.
Our team grouped up and received our test. Some of the smart brains took the lead on the assignment which, as far as I could tell, was just another of the individual tests with more difficult questions. I peered over shoulders as they worked furiously, wondering what I was supposed to be doing. One of the girls asked me politely to start working on one of the problems, so I did. After about 10 words, I realized there was no way I could possibly even attempt to get the problem started. I panicked and told her I couldn't do it, and for the remainder of the time I was resigned to doodling on my scratch paper.
The proctor came by, thanked us , and took up our test and that was that. We were free to go. My mind had been thoroughly boggled and, all the while, I couldn't help but think about why Mrs. Light had told me I could hang with those geniuses. My parents, being the über supportive force they were, promised me I had done well and took me out for a celebratory dinner. One of the best features my parents have, is there ability to fully jump in and support any wild endeavor we had as children. Whether it was karate or gymnastics or soccer or band, they were right there paying for lessons and going with us to competitions.
The next week at school was the spring concert for the sixth grade band, and I was pretty excited. I hadn't performed on a stage in front of a crowd since I was the mayor of the OK Corral in the third grade Christmas play, but I was ready. We played our tunes and the crowd ate it up. Mr. Brown had a flair in his programs that kept the kids and parents very entertained. He was absolutely excellent at his job. That night after I had packed away my uniform and my tuba, and mother had taken her 3480573048570 pictures, I realized that I was in love with making music.
For tonight, I'll leave off here, but on Monday I will finish this year of my life and move into seventh grade. Spoiler alert: I become interested in girls. Stay tuned!
Today's note: "A goal without a plan, is a wish."- Herm Edwards
You have to set up steps for success, or you will find it very difficult to reach your goals.
My friend DJ Turner is a fantastic human being. He participates in Drum and Bugle Corps or, more commonly, DCI. He is a cancer survivor who is still going to participate in this activity. Go to his site and check him out. The activity isn't free and he could use a little help. You don't have to donate, but you could at least share his story. That's 100% free.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Roots of My Current Being
What a hefty title. To clarify, I just mean for this post to show how the people in my life, starting even before middle school, really began to shape and mold the path of my life. In this post, I'll hit on some of the big moments in my sixth grade year.
As I started my journey, I realized a few things very quickly. I had to come to terms with being lost for the first few weeks. Even with all of the warnings about the labyrinth-like maze that is the levels and halls of JSMS, I was sure I'd be able to find things in plenty of time. Wrong. I was late to my first 3 classes. Eventually I gave up hope and went to the front office, where I asked for directions (how gender inappropriate).
After the first few days of acclimation, I began to settle in. My classes weren't too difficult, and I grew fond of many of my instructors. One, in particular, left quite an impression on me. Mrs. Light was my pre-algebra teacher. At the end of fifth grade, all of the students were required to take a math placement test. I was only a few points off the mark needed to be placed in the highest tier. I had always been pretty solid with numbers, and all subjects for the most part, so when I didn't quite make the cut, my confidence took a hit.
I had decided that I was no longer good at math, and I resigned to do the bare minimum. She, however, would not allow me to do so. Mrs. Light sat me down after school one day, and talked shop with me. She had very kind words about my respectfulness and manners, but when she got to business, she was very stern. My grade cards from elementary school were on her desk, and she talked to me about them. When she had finished telling me about my potential, she handed me a flyer for a math competition that was generally reserved for the kids in the upper class, at the end of the year. It was already filled out, including my parents' signatures. At the time, I was fairly upset. I decided that I just wouldn't show up.
As the year rolled on, I learned to love the tuba. Mr. Brown was (and still is) an incredible inspiration. His enthusiasm was infectious and his methods were efficient. Going to band class was definitely the highlight of my days. Slowly, I became very obsessed with trying to get better and better at the instrument and the music. My parents signed me up for private lessons and I practiced a little bit at home. Mr. Brown told us about Junior Band Clinic auditions, at which kids from all over the city would try out and be selected for a joint concert. The prospect was exciting, but I was incredibly apprehensive. I was not very confident in my ability, at the time. The last time I had auditioned for anything was in the third grade for a Christmas play (I wish I had kept the childhood ability to feel no shame).
Naturally, when the day finally came to audition, I was extremely nervous. I walked into the room, shaking, and sat behind the curtain. A voice told me to play my audition, and my god, did I suck. I stunk up the joint, something awful. Out of, I believe 7 or 8 kids that tried out, 5 were selected. I placed 6th. A fellow JSMS tuba brother got the final slot, but couldn't make it to the actual clinic, so I was called from the alternate list option. I sat dead last.
In first, was a boy named Cameron Buck. He went to the rival middle school in Kingsport, Ross N. Robinson, so I assumed he was a tool. What I didn't know then, was that he would become instant rivals for quite some time. There was another student who I met briefly from the same school, Evan King. He was the top cock in trumpet land, and hung around with Cameron. He would also pop back into my life later on down the line.
Speaking of people I met through band, there are a few characters in my story that I was introduced to during these times. I made friends rapidly and most of them stuck with me through many of the years ahead. They'll enter the story later, but I felt that it was worth mentioning now. I'm not forgetting about you guys, just saving you for more important events in the story.
With my first year winding down at John Sevier, I had made plenty of lasting relationships, acquired many new skills, and pushed myself to be better than mediocre. The math competition was coming up and the soccer season had hit full swing, so there are more tales to wrap up my sixth grade year in the next blog.
Today's note: Always make strides to become better at a skill you are learning. You don't have to master it right away, but practice at least once a day, and you'll notice improvement.
As I started my journey, I realized a few things very quickly. I had to come to terms with being lost for the first few weeks. Even with all of the warnings about the labyrinth-like maze that is the levels and halls of JSMS, I was sure I'd be able to find things in plenty of time. Wrong. I was late to my first 3 classes. Eventually I gave up hope and went to the front office, where I asked for directions (how gender inappropriate).
After the first few days of acclimation, I began to settle in. My classes weren't too difficult, and I grew fond of many of my instructors. One, in particular, left quite an impression on me. Mrs. Light was my pre-algebra teacher. At the end of fifth grade, all of the students were required to take a math placement test. I was only a few points off the mark needed to be placed in the highest tier. I had always been pretty solid with numbers, and all subjects for the most part, so when I didn't quite make the cut, my confidence took a hit.
I had decided that I was no longer good at math, and I resigned to do the bare minimum. She, however, would not allow me to do so. Mrs. Light sat me down after school one day, and talked shop with me. She had very kind words about my respectfulness and manners, but when she got to business, she was very stern. My grade cards from elementary school were on her desk, and she talked to me about them. When she had finished telling me about my potential, she handed me a flyer for a math competition that was generally reserved for the kids in the upper class, at the end of the year. It was already filled out, including my parents' signatures. At the time, I was fairly upset. I decided that I just wouldn't show up.
As the year rolled on, I learned to love the tuba. Mr. Brown was (and still is) an incredible inspiration. His enthusiasm was infectious and his methods were efficient. Going to band class was definitely the highlight of my days. Slowly, I became very obsessed with trying to get better and better at the instrument and the music. My parents signed me up for private lessons and I practiced a little bit at home. Mr. Brown told us about Junior Band Clinic auditions, at which kids from all over the city would try out and be selected for a joint concert. The prospect was exciting, but I was incredibly apprehensive. I was not very confident in my ability, at the time. The last time I had auditioned for anything was in the third grade for a Christmas play (I wish I had kept the childhood ability to feel no shame).
Naturally, when the day finally came to audition, I was extremely nervous. I walked into the room, shaking, and sat behind the curtain. A voice told me to play my audition, and my god, did I suck. I stunk up the joint, something awful. Out of, I believe 7 or 8 kids that tried out, 5 were selected. I placed 6th. A fellow JSMS tuba brother got the final slot, but couldn't make it to the actual clinic, so I was called from the alternate list option. I sat dead last.
In first, was a boy named Cameron Buck. He went to the rival middle school in Kingsport, Ross N. Robinson, so I assumed he was a tool. What I didn't know then, was that he would become instant rivals for quite some time. There was another student who I met briefly from the same school, Evan King. He was the top cock in trumpet land, and hung around with Cameron. He would also pop back into my life later on down the line.
Speaking of people I met through band, there are a few characters in my story that I was introduced to during these times. I made friends rapidly and most of them stuck with me through many of the years ahead. They'll enter the story later, but I felt that it was worth mentioning now. I'm not forgetting about you guys, just saving you for more important events in the story.
With my first year winding down at John Sevier, I had made plenty of lasting relationships, acquired many new skills, and pushed myself to be better than mediocre. The math competition was coming up and the soccer season had hit full swing, so there are more tales to wrap up my sixth grade year in the next blog.
Today's note: Always make strides to become better at a skill you are learning. You don't have to master it right away, but practice at least once a day, and you'll notice improvement.
My friend DJ Turner is a fantastic human being. He participates in Drum and Bugle Corps or, more commonly, DCI. He is a cancer survivor who is still going to participate in this activity. Go to his site and check him out. The activity isn't free and he could use a little help. You don't have to donate, but you could at least share his story. That's 100% free.
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