Tag: nostalgia

Posted on

The Magic of the Games

628x471I went ice skating once, a long time ago, and I did it because of peer pressure. I mean, everyone else was doing it, so I tried it too. When we got to the rink it reminded me of bowling because I had to rent skates, and the pressure was intense when they didn’t know if they would be able to find them in my size. Luckily for me there was one pair that wasn’t going to totally crush my feet, so I put them on and went out on the ice. And promptly fell flat on my butt.

But in my mind I was a world-class skater who never fell, who skated figure eights with the utmost of ease, and who didn’t need the wall just to hold me up. It was at times like those when reality somehow put a dent in my self-image, reminding me that while there might be some thing I’m good at, there are countless others that I should probably just leave alone. Unless I was absolutely committed to getting better at them and becoming something special. Otherwise, it would be best to live vicariously through others who were gifted or who put in the years of training to be as good as they were in a sport I wished I had in my back pocket.

So, in that summer of 1996 I made up my mind to learn as much as I could about international sports, to soak in the feel of victory and the agony of defeat, and to feel as alive as I could, as energetic as those people I watched on the screen who could do so much. And as luck would have it, the Olympics were occurring that very summer in Atlanta. I didn’t miss one second of them. I scrambled to watch every event, to cheer on each athlete, and to revel in the cultural aspects that make the Olympics second to none when it comes to sporting events.

I loved watching the parade of nations on that first night, seeing the gaudy costumes, the big hair, and the stunning surroundings. For two weeks I was mesmerized. I even tried once again to do some of those physical activities —  I hurt my back trying to do a flip like Shannon Miller. And by the time the fortnight was over, my absolute love of Olympic competition had been forged, despite the bomb, despite the poor showing of some of my favorite Olympians, and even with the lack of ice skating (I would have to wait another two years to see that in Nagano). I was hooked. Continue reading “The Magic of the Games”

Posted on

Crush Crush Crush

117091062_4b64ec9547“If you want to play it like a game, well, come on. Let’s play. ‘Cause I’d rather waste my life pretending than have to forget you for one whole minute.” -Paramore

She was perfect. Her skin was a smooth, dark chocolate, mocha maybe, her lips a contrasting pink. Every time I saw her my heart literally skipped a beat (seriously, check with my doctor), but to her I was always just a friend. Maybe to her I was even “little brother” material because she sure enough treated me like it, even when I went out of my way to remind her that we weren’t related, that she could and should see me in a different light.

We met at church, like a lot of people do, when we were both just out of the cradle, it seemed. Perhaps that’s where the “brother” feelings originated for her. I don’t think I’ll ever really know, if she herself even knows. I hadn’t seen her as a possible love interest then either. It wasn’t love at first sight, but there was always something about her that was ethereal, transcendent even. I think I knew even when we were little kids that there was a spark there I would like to explore later. That set us apart.

It was always more than just a crush, too. Now, I’m not saying that I knew what love was way back then, but I did know that I wanted more than what friends had. I was probably around 10 when I first realized I wanted to be more than friends. I began writing about her daily in my journal, thinking about her more and more as time went by, and finding excuses to spend more time with her both in and out of church. I even joined several groups just to be near her.

But I never once told her how I felt. I think maybe I was just too shy to approach anything like that with her. Or perhaps I was just deathly afraid of rejection. Maybe I figured it was better to be a well-respected friend than to possibly mess things up if she didn’t say she felt the same. It’s always awkward after that. Continue reading “Crush Crush Crush”

Posted on

Growing Up Seventh-Day Adventist: Going Home

“There is no past. Only present. And future.” -Theodicus

There’s a saying that you can never go home again, and I believe wholeheartedly in it. Not that you can’t go back to the physical place, but that you can’t go back to how you used to fit into that space. That’s important for a world of reasons, but the biggest one is that there is something to be said for nostalgia, once that distance has been forged, that connects us back to that time period, and to who we were at the time.

So many people have memories of their childhoods, be they good or bad, that they come back to in one way or another. For me that childhood was a solid mix of the good and the bad. But whichever sentiment clouds my memories, it’s safe to say that every single one of those thoughts involves my religious upbringing. In fact, just today I was singing “Jesus Loves Me” while at work, and I didn’t even realize I was doing it until I was on the second verse.

My mother used to always ask me to go to church with her every single time I went back to Philadelphia for a visit. I could hear it in her voice, too, that emotion that said I was doing a horrible thing saying no, but there was also that feeling of sadness. And I knew that she wasn’t just asking me to go to church. She was wondering where she went wrong, that I would so fully abandon the church that pretty much raised me nearly as much as she herself did.

But what I wanted to tell her was that it was never her, that she hadn’t done anything wrong. Continue reading “Growing Up Seventh-Day Adventist: Going Home”

Posted on

Twenty-Six

I told someone I was 26 the other day. She’s probably still laughing now. Funny how perspective shifts. Back when I was 18 and telling people I was 26 they laughed for an entirely different reason. And when I was actually 26 I swore I was 21 instead. I recently celebrated my 37th birthday and … Continue reading Twenty-Six

Posted on

I Remember

I remember… Phillies’ games on school afternoons the smell of popcorn at my first movie a time when tapes were king long walks up and down South Street paddle boating in Baltimore asking Kareema Perkins to go steady wishing for rain in summer dreaming of sheep in order to sleep blushing but no one noticing … Continue reading I Remember