Cutter's Log - Special Entry
I am realizing that my arrogance is pushing me closer to self-destruction.
Self-destruction is something that certain people wish upon me.
I'm starting to get the feeling that there are people that don't want me doing what I do. They know what I'm capable of, and are trying to do everything in their power to stop me. Because they feel that my advancement halts their own advancement. I'm young, and this is what happens.
You either love me, or you hate me. There is no gray area.
Why am I writing these words?
High school sports is my only connection with the outside world. Most of the friends that I have are within the high school sports scene. If you try to take away my passion for high school sports, you therefore destroy what little social connections I have left. You don't want to know what comes after that. You don't.
The two worst moments of my journalism career came within a month from each other. Right now I am at my lowest point.
I can't help but think of why this has happened.
The following is something that I rarely share. I need to go back to August of 2004 for a moment ...
***
I was on the path to the career that I always wanted. I was a part-time writer for Sauk Valley Media. During the summer I was assigned to cover most of the little league stuff. At that time, covering state little league tournaments was a bold move - "opening a can of worms" was the phrase. Because I was familiar with Rock Falls Softball and its little league success, I was tapped to coordinate all of that.
That was also the summer of the Gazette's 150th Anniversary work. I still remember the sports staff meeting we had. We each had to pick a great prep sports team and write about it. I chose 1985 Newman Wrestling, the team that won state. I was also assigned to write about the origins of high school football in the area, and how the Gazette covered it.
Our sports editor wanted this to be a masterpiece. So I didn't want to let him down.
I spent countless hours on the microfilm machine looking for history for both stories. I spent countless hours tracking down the whereabouts of the wrestlers. I spent countless hours putting the story together. I spent countless hours editing and chopping both stories - which were around 75 inches when all was said and done.
Countless, countless hours. Some days I would spend more than 12 hours in the office working on these stories. I put in a lot of work. I did so because this was a special edition.
Along the way, I did something that I should not have done. I wasn't aware of it at the time, but when it was said and done it ended up being costly.
I wasn't supposed to be paid for all of those hours of research and phone calls. I wrote them down on the sheet, but technically I wasn't supposed to. I didn't know that, and it was an honest mistake.
One of those long days was when the RF little league junior girls won the Central Region in South Bend and were the first RF team to advance to the World Series. I remember the head of the local little league walking into the office in celebration. He walks over to the sports cubicles, where I'm all by myself doing more research. Both of the news editors follow him. The guy hands me his cell phone and I'm taking down information about the World Series pairings and such.
This was wonderful news for our area! Since I was already in the office, I embarked on trying to form something together for this. The first thing I had to do was call my sports editor and tell him the news.
He was extremely upset.
????????????
He complained about the fact that now we had to send someone over to Delaware to cover them to save our asses from complaints - right in the middle of football tab season. I heard cuss words. I couldn't quite understand why he was so upset. I was happy. I hold true to a line for a column I once read: A longtime Rockford sportswriter once wrote that we can't root for teams, but we can certainly wish them well.
Pictures were coming back from South Bend later that night. When I got the call that they were 15 minutes away, I waited by the door. One of my co-workers had this bouncy ball and I took it with me to bounce off the wall while waiting for them.
Back to the pay sheets.
My editors were made aware of my "overblown" pay sheet and confronted me about it. My sports editor took me to a meeting room where we talked one-on-one about this.
I was 18 years old and frightened by what had just happened.
I was confronted about playing with the bouncy ball, and how I was "on the clock" when I was doing all of that.
My mind unraveled after that. The scared me went off trying to defend myself.
When it came to the many hours working on the anniversary stories, I declared my dedication to the project. He wanted it to be a masterpiece, and I wasn't letting him down. Then he said that it didn't take anyone else that long to put something together.
That's when I blew a fuse.
I don't remember the exact words I said. But frightened little me said something to the tune of "Maybe it's because I am more dedicated than you guys!"
We went straight from the meeting room to HR after that. My dreams were dashed. "Creative differences" is how I consider it, and how I write it on my resume.
I didn't know how to counter all of the things he was saying to me. The only thing I could do was get angry. Perhaps I got too angry. There was nothing I could to do change it. My dad even talked to him to no avail. So I spent the next few weeks trying to figure out how to move on from this suffocation.
I started Northern Illinois Sports Beat.
Technically, I've been a free agent from the print world since August of 2004, and have always wanted to get on somewhere. My biggest shot was last year at a three-day-a-week paper in the area, but was passed over.
I am still looking for that opening, and looking for all of the right pieces to fall in place.
***
That is the story of why I am not working for the Gazette anymore. Even 8 years after getting fired, people ask me if I'm still working there.
The guy that replaced me is the current sports editor.
***
Because I still considered myself a writer, and loved doing what I do, I needed to find a way to survive in this profession without the guidance that a newspaper gives you. (I am still going by a 2004 AP Stylebook for crying out loud).
Surviving on your own is tough, and I needed to be innovative with the website. At first I was doing well, but then I met my match: the new sports editor at the Gazette.
He was GOOD! Because of his talents, I struggled to find a way to keep up with him. I was angry. Did he have flaws? Certainly. And I let him know about it in my anger.
It was then when I became the root of all evil within those sports cubicles.
The "young kid" argument was null, according to them, because I was already an established presence in the northern Illinois prep sports scene. I questioned the way things were run (in particular the "awards" arguments), and this editor took it seriously.
During the grudge match, I didn't want to "be" him. I wanted to "beat" him. I ran the first few years of NISB as an angry son-of-a-bitch. That developed this "I want to be the very best" reputation that I've have had in me for all these years. All of a sudden I didn't want to beat just him. I wanted to beat everyone.
So much for that race. He is now one of the assistant SE's at the Trib.
That bridge was burned before it was even built. His "hello"s to me at State events are a mumble anymore.
Speaking of burning bridges ...
The day I was fired from the newspaper, the first co-worker to hear about it was the assistant sports editor. A nerve must have struck in him because he and I have not seen eye-to-eye to this day. My constant rattling at this editor made things worse. We even had a shouting match during an event.
While relations have improved in the past two sports editorships, I feel that the thing that's holding me back in this profession are the things that I may have done to make my former co-worker angry.
I don't know if saying "sorry" is going to help. I don't know what it's going to take.
***
This sports year has been extremely rocky, and I have had a lot to think about when it comes to running a website, and being a sportswriter.
I'm at a crossroads at the moment. But I know where I'm going. I have spent a decade doing this, and I have no plans to hang it up.
I could come up with new ideas to improve coverage of area high school sports, as there are still things on my workshop shelf. But I am very reluctant to use them right now, because I think it'll only lead to more bitterness and disaster - not to mention a nuclear war.
People would think of me more as a jerk than an inventor.
But I've spent the past half of that decade as a jerk. I know sportswriters say that about me behind my back, and thus I have developed this negative reputation. This "office rat" wants to change that.
I have heard of "Born Again Christians." I wonder if there are "Born Again Sportswriters"?
I don't want to be that jerk anymore.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Friday, December 28, 2012
How Bi-County Made It Possible For Me
Cutter's Log - Stardate 2102.82.21
Current Song - Take Me To The River (Talking Heads)
In April 1990, I was referred to the University of Wisconsin's Waisman Center by my doctor to study what was going on with my speech delays and unusual behaviors. I was four years old at the time.
The result of four months of work turned out to be my diagnosis of a "mild" form of Autism.
The professionals at Madison referred me to the Bi-County Special Education Cooperative, headquartered at Wallace School.
All of this was confusing for four-year-old me. To me, it was just this new experience called "school." I took two years of preschool.
My mom cried on my first day of school, in August 1990. I was bussed in one of those really, really old conversion-van type buses that was made to look like a school bus. The bus driver's name was Joyce, I think. I think most of the Wallace kids were on the same bus. One of them was Whitney, who I had a locker next to many years later in high school.
Our bus dropped us off in front of the Wallace School gymnasium. We were told to walk up the ramp (one of those handicapped ramps that went right then left) to the gym door. We had to walk straight past the gym floor, along the stage cushioning, to the hallway.
Not too far off of the gym door was Room 4. That was my preschool room. Julia, Tammy, and Diane.
I am told that on my first day of school, I was so nervous that I hid under the teacher's desk. I don't directly recall this, but thought it was interesting to share.
Here were a bunch of other kids, all around my age, that were all in the same boat. As far as I was concerned, here were some more toys to enjoy.
Trying to exhaust every pre-school memory is now difficult for me, because it has now passed the typical 20-year window of memory. But here goes:
*I had no idea what the word "preschool" meant. I did know what "school" meant. So any time a kid would misbehave, the ladies would say something to the tune of "we do not do that in preschool." I had to hesitate a bit because of this extra syllable before "school." I didn't know what it meant.
*The ominous sound of the Mill whistles would find its way into the room, and were louder than what I could hear back home on the east side of town. I can still hear those today.
*I can still visualize our classroom, and its light-blue walls and polished wood bookshelves in the back. I went back to Room 4 once or twice after graduating pre-school and remembered that the arrangement was the same as it was back then. The set of teachers desks were at the corner directly opposite of the classroom door, with the carpet area in between. Near the chalkboard was this tackboard covered with paper. It had all of the kids's birthdays on it, all on little paper birthday cakes.
*There was this song that would always play as we gathered around in a circle in the carpet area. I remember part of the rhythm and only one word, which was "rainbow." It was all on vinyl.
*I had these speech classes, and they were held in this small classroom addition. That's all I know about that.
*The advanced memory part of me had to have started with the lesson on knowing where we lived. There were these little cut-up houses from colored construction paper, and they were laminated with our addresses written on them. I think the lesson here was to remember where we lived in case we got lost, and we'd have our address somewhere in our memory to recall later. Julia would show us each "house" and ask "who lives on ..." It got to the point where I knew where people lived before they did.
*We were all in the same boat, but there was one kid whose Autism was severe. He was really the first kid that we knew was a kid, but was just so much different from all of us. It was through our interactions with him that we got to respect those who were far different than us. That kid was Jimmy, who could only moan and groan. But a very nice kid.
*My favorite toys were the clear-colored plastic tiles. They had slits on the corners where you could connect the tiles to create something. I didn't know what they were at first until someone showed me.
*Another toy that really stood out was the toy school bus. The room had a mix of carpet and solid floor, and they just happened to be lined up where I could picture the connecting rectangle shapes of floor (diagrammed at 90 degrees) as two-way streets. The only other toys I sort of liked were these large brick-like shoe boxes.
*My first tote bag was this cheap dark blue bag with the thin handles. In large lettering on the bag was my mother's handwriting: "Cody Cutter"
*We all got our individual pictures taken one day in the gym. The pics are still somewhere in the family photo tin. The background was a bunch of slaps of paint, and I had to stand with one foot on a stool holding a paint brush. I had this ugly red and olive green shirt on, and white shoes with these larger than life tongues.
*Someone either my dad knew, or my grandparents knew, taught in the next room over.
*Most of the memories are personal, meaning I have extremely little, or no, recollection of playing with other people. Five of the kids that stood out the most were Jimmy, Whitney, this bigger kid named Danny, Dennis was someone I went to school with later on in Rock Falls, and the other I'll mention later.
*Preschool was where I was first introduced to the computer. They were those little Apple Macs, and they were in the computer lab on the second floor. Going to the second floor was something different. Wallace had ceased to be a grade school in the late 1980s and most of the rooms were vacant. The only other thing I remember being up there was the JTPA. Anyway, my only memory with the computers were that they didn't have a mouse, or something. I recall the keys "I," "J," "K," and "M." The "I" was to move up, the "J" was to move left, "the "K" was to move right, and the "M" was to move down.
*I was invited to participate in the pre-kindergarten class just down the hallway at times. One of the kids in that class was my friend Evan's older sister. Evan was my first real friend, and we lived on the same block. I don't have any other personal recollections of these moments.
*There were a couple of times we took mini field trips not too far away from Wallace. We all walked over the the old Dairy Queen for some ice cream. Then on another occasion we went over to the Kastle for some ice cream. On our way back to Wallace from there, we walked by Fell's Barber Shop. He gave us all these little hard strawberry candies. Both the Kastle and Fell's were demolished for County Market property nearly a year later.
*Our final day of preschool was capped by a graduation ceremony. We had recieved preschool diplomas.
*My first crush was in preschool. I wrote about her in a previous Blog entry:
You read that right, I had a crush on someone in pre-school. I don't think boys know this thing called love at age 5. I did for some reason. Usually the first sign of love in someone is a psychological trait in all little kids through “I love my mommy,” and was extended by showing of love from my aunt and from my grandmother. I think this carried over to television cartoon characters such as Eureeka from “Eureeka's Castle” and Penny from “Inspector Gadget.”
I will never forget one scene from Eureeka's Castle when Eureeka was sleepy and wanted to take a nap. She yawned and spoke very softly in her high-pitched voice. It was probably the first minor sexual thrill I ever had. How that led to that, I just don't know. After that, it became solidified in my head that girls were very likeable, unless they provoke me. When we lived in Sterling (the first time) there was a girl my age that lived next door, and a couple more kitty-corner from that girl's house. All three provoked me in some way.
When I went to preschool for the first time, I was around quite a few girls that were my age. They didn't seem as bad as these three that lived near me. This solidified my belief, brought upon by Eureeka, that girls aren't so bad after all. They were better if they looked more like Cinderella and had the bright hair that Eureeka had.
Enter my first crush. Nevermind the fact that she had to get around with a cane. She was pretty. That's all I remember of her, however. I cannot remember any memories of interaction. Perhaps my preschool teachers know.
Her name's Malorie.
***
Julia always kept a close watch on me, even in the many years AFTER preschool. As I mentioned before, she wrote a letter to me right around the time I graduated from high school. In the letter was a copy of the attendance sheet. Of the 12 kids in my second year, 10 of them were from Sterling.
Here were some of her memories of me:
"When you were 5, Diane (my aide) was reading a type written report and you came up behind her and started reading it to her!"
"You used to say to me: one "C" one "O" one "D" and one "Y" instead of saying Cody. When I told your dad that he didn't know what I was talking about so you must have just done it at school!"
"You wrote down all of the radio stations in the area on the chalkboard and made me promise not to let the other children read it. (None of the children could read, it was a safe bet!)"
"You were never [the word 'never' is underlined] a behavior problem but when you were in your last semester of preschool, you visited Mrs. Estrem's kindergarten class for a certain amount of time a week. One day you came back and you were very [the word 'very' is underlined twice] angry and said "Julia, I am not putting my head down!!" I never asked you to do that, so I talked to Mrs. Estrem and it turned out that a little boy in the class did [underlined] have to do that!"
"One day we took a walking field trip and we made a list of words that began with "C" for twenty minutes!"
"On our field trip to Deer Park, you read all of the signs but didn't really like the deer!"
***
Yesterday, nearly 21 years after walking through that Wallace gym for the first time, I was saddened to hear that Sterling Schools was ending its partnership with Bi-County. Sterling's kids today will not be able to experience the same things I had experienced through its preschool program.
The thing that apalls me is that Sterling's financial woes are that bad to where the ceasing of the partnership was a money-saving tool. None of the other districts discussed ceasing.
I will forever be grateful for Bi-County for laying the foundation for the rest of my life in education. Where most kids simply began during kindergarten, this two-year head start of sorts prepared me for what turned out to be a great kindergarten AND AN EVEN BETTER GRADE SCHOOL EXPERIENCE!
Today - outside of working at a gas station - people know who I am all throughout northern Illinois through my work with high school sports.
Current Song - Take Me To The River (Talking Heads)
In April 1990, I was referred to the University of Wisconsin's Waisman Center by my doctor to study what was going on with my speech delays and unusual behaviors. I was four years old at the time.
The result of four months of work turned out to be my diagnosis of a "mild" form of Autism.
The professionals at Madison referred me to the Bi-County Special Education Cooperative, headquartered at Wallace School.
All of this was confusing for four-year-old me. To me, it was just this new experience called "school." I took two years of preschool.
My mom cried on my first day of school, in August 1990. I was bussed in one of those really, really old conversion-van type buses that was made to look like a school bus. The bus driver's name was Joyce, I think. I think most of the Wallace kids were on the same bus. One of them was Whitney, who I had a locker next to many years later in high school.
Our bus dropped us off in front of the Wallace School gymnasium. We were told to walk up the ramp (one of those handicapped ramps that went right then left) to the gym door. We had to walk straight past the gym floor, along the stage cushioning, to the hallway.
Not too far off of the gym door was Room 4. That was my preschool room. Julia, Tammy, and Diane.
I am told that on my first day of school, I was so nervous that I hid under the teacher's desk. I don't directly recall this, but thought it was interesting to share.
Here were a bunch of other kids, all around my age, that were all in the same boat. As far as I was concerned, here were some more toys to enjoy.
Trying to exhaust every pre-school memory is now difficult for me, because it has now passed the typical 20-year window of memory. But here goes:
*I had no idea what the word "preschool" meant. I did know what "school" meant. So any time a kid would misbehave, the ladies would say something to the tune of "we do not do that in preschool." I had to hesitate a bit because of this extra syllable before "school." I didn't know what it meant.
*The ominous sound of the Mill whistles would find its way into the room, and were louder than what I could hear back home on the east side of town. I can still hear those today.
*I can still visualize our classroom, and its light-blue walls and polished wood bookshelves in the back. I went back to Room 4 once or twice after graduating pre-school and remembered that the arrangement was the same as it was back then. The set of teachers desks were at the corner directly opposite of the classroom door, with the carpet area in between. Near the chalkboard was this tackboard covered with paper. It had all of the kids's birthdays on it, all on little paper birthday cakes.
*There was this song that would always play as we gathered around in a circle in the carpet area. I remember part of the rhythm and only one word, which was "rainbow." It was all on vinyl.
*I had these speech classes, and they were held in this small classroom addition. That's all I know about that.
*The advanced memory part of me had to have started with the lesson on knowing where we lived. There were these little cut-up houses from colored construction paper, and they were laminated with our addresses written on them. I think the lesson here was to remember where we lived in case we got lost, and we'd have our address somewhere in our memory to recall later. Julia would show us each "house" and ask "who lives on ..." It got to the point where I knew where people lived before they did.
*We were all in the same boat, but there was one kid whose Autism was severe. He was really the first kid that we knew was a kid, but was just so much different from all of us. It was through our interactions with him that we got to respect those who were far different than us. That kid was Jimmy, who could only moan and groan. But a very nice kid.
*My favorite toys were the clear-colored plastic tiles. They had slits on the corners where you could connect the tiles to create something. I didn't know what they were at first until someone showed me.
*Another toy that really stood out was the toy school bus. The room had a mix of carpet and solid floor, and they just happened to be lined up where I could picture the connecting rectangle shapes of floor (diagrammed at 90 degrees) as two-way streets. The only other toys I sort of liked were these large brick-like shoe boxes.
*My first tote bag was this cheap dark blue bag with the thin handles. In large lettering on the bag was my mother's handwriting: "Cody Cutter"
*We all got our individual pictures taken one day in the gym. The pics are still somewhere in the family photo tin. The background was a bunch of slaps of paint, and I had to stand with one foot on a stool holding a paint brush. I had this ugly red and olive green shirt on, and white shoes with these larger than life tongues.
*Someone either my dad knew, or my grandparents knew, taught in the next room over.
*Most of the memories are personal, meaning I have extremely little, or no, recollection of playing with other people. Five of the kids that stood out the most were Jimmy, Whitney, this bigger kid named Danny, Dennis was someone I went to school with later on in Rock Falls, and the other I'll mention later.
*Preschool was where I was first introduced to the computer. They were those little Apple Macs, and they were in the computer lab on the second floor. Going to the second floor was something different. Wallace had ceased to be a grade school in the late 1980s and most of the rooms were vacant. The only other thing I remember being up there was the JTPA. Anyway, my only memory with the computers were that they didn't have a mouse, or something. I recall the keys "I," "J," "K," and "M." The "I" was to move up, the "J" was to move left, "the "K" was to move right, and the "M" was to move down.
*I was invited to participate in the pre-kindergarten class just down the hallway at times. One of the kids in that class was my friend Evan's older sister. Evan was my first real friend, and we lived on the same block. I don't have any other personal recollections of these moments.
*There were a couple of times we took mini field trips not too far away from Wallace. We all walked over the the old Dairy Queen for some ice cream. Then on another occasion we went over to the Kastle for some ice cream. On our way back to Wallace from there, we walked by Fell's Barber Shop. He gave us all these little hard strawberry candies. Both the Kastle and Fell's were demolished for County Market property nearly a year later.
*Our final day of preschool was capped by a graduation ceremony. We had recieved preschool diplomas.
*My first crush was in preschool. I wrote about her in a previous Blog entry:
You read that right, I had a crush on someone in pre-school. I don't think boys know this thing called love at age 5. I did for some reason. Usually the first sign of love in someone is a psychological trait in all little kids through “I love my mommy,” and was extended by showing of love from my aunt and from my grandmother. I think this carried over to television cartoon characters such as Eureeka from “Eureeka's Castle” and Penny from “Inspector Gadget.”
I will never forget one scene from Eureeka's Castle when Eureeka was sleepy and wanted to take a nap. She yawned and spoke very softly in her high-pitched voice. It was probably the first minor sexual thrill I ever had. How that led to that, I just don't know. After that, it became solidified in my head that girls were very likeable, unless they provoke me. When we lived in Sterling (the first time) there was a girl my age that lived next door, and a couple more kitty-corner from that girl's house. All three provoked me in some way.
When I went to preschool for the first time, I was around quite a few girls that were my age. They didn't seem as bad as these three that lived near me. This solidified my belief, brought upon by Eureeka, that girls aren't so bad after all. They were better if they looked more like Cinderella and had the bright hair that Eureeka had.
Enter my first crush. Nevermind the fact that she had to get around with a cane. She was pretty. That's all I remember of her, however. I cannot remember any memories of interaction. Perhaps my preschool teachers know.
Her name's Malorie.
***
Julia always kept a close watch on me, even in the many years AFTER preschool. As I mentioned before, she wrote a letter to me right around the time I graduated from high school. In the letter was a copy of the attendance sheet. Of the 12 kids in my second year, 10 of them were from Sterling.
Here were some of her memories of me:
"When you were 5, Diane (my aide) was reading a type written report and you came up behind her and started reading it to her!"
"You used to say to me: one "C" one "O" one "D" and one "Y" instead of saying Cody. When I told your dad that he didn't know what I was talking about so you must have just done it at school!"
"You wrote down all of the radio stations in the area on the chalkboard and made me promise not to let the other children read it. (None of the children could read, it was a safe bet!)"
"You were never [the word 'never' is underlined] a behavior problem but when you were in your last semester of preschool, you visited Mrs. Estrem's kindergarten class for a certain amount of time a week. One day you came back and you were very [the word 'very' is underlined twice] angry and said "Julia, I am not putting my head down!!" I never asked you to do that, so I talked to Mrs. Estrem and it turned out that a little boy in the class did [underlined] have to do that!"
"One day we took a walking field trip and we made a list of words that began with "C" for twenty minutes!"
"On our field trip to Deer Park, you read all of the signs but didn't really like the deer!"
***
Yesterday, nearly 21 years after walking through that Wallace gym for the first time, I was saddened to hear that Sterling Schools was ending its partnership with Bi-County. Sterling's kids today will not be able to experience the same things I had experienced through its preschool program.
The thing that apalls me is that Sterling's financial woes are that bad to where the ceasing of the partnership was a money-saving tool. None of the other districts discussed ceasing.
I will forever be grateful for Bi-County for laying the foundation for the rest of my life in education. Where most kids simply began during kindergarten, this two-year head start of sorts prepared me for what turned out to be a great kindergarten AND AN EVEN BETTER GRADE SCHOOL EXPERIENCE!
Today - outside of working at a gas station - people know who I am all throughout northern Illinois through my work with high school sports.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Bike Riding, a Childhood Story
Cutter's Log - Stardate 2102.72.21
Current Song - Green Hill Zone (from Sonic 1)
My bike riding stories are not limited to Geneseo.
Perhaps the thing that led up to that was the fact that I loved to ride my bike ... a lot!
My first bike was a little red Huffy with training wheels, as a 5th birthday present. Then I graduated to a bright hazard-orange Huffy Megamud, which was apparently the second-coolest bike in the west side of Rock Falls at the time (first was Geoff's motorcycle-looking bike).
Like many young children, I had my boundaries. We lived on 3rd Avenue in Rock Falls at the time, a block away from Merrill School. The river was to the north, First Avenue was to the east, 12th Avenue was to the west and Route 30 was to the south.
I know several of my friends have young boys almost getting to the age where they begin to wonder what's out there in the great beyond. These are my experiences, and I hope they help make sense of it all down the road.
By second grade I had explored what there was already to explore. My favorite street at that time was West 2nd Street, west of downtown (another story for another time :) ). The little orange bike was riding down the same streets over and over again. So one day I decided to cross a boundary.
Crossing boundaries were nothing new to me. Before I moved to Rock Falls, I lived on East 11th Street in Sterling. I wasn't allowed to cross 6th Avenue. So one day I did. I rode one block along 7th Avenue before crossing back. I was six years old at the time.
This particular adventure involved crossing First Avenue. This was when it was still Route 88. The safest way to do this was to go on the crosswalk at Dixon Avenue's stoplight. So I did that and went back down toward the old White Hen and onto 5th Street toward Thome School.
I had crossed First Avenue and was so excited that there was this whole new world to explore, as long as I didn't get caught.
I made my way along 5th Street and crossed Avenue A and the old railroad bank. As I approached Thome School, there was this ambulance (not on call) driving toward me. I peered in the Ambulance and my Uncle Greg was drving it. He waved to me and I waved to him.
Only a few moments later did I realize ... I probably shouldn't have waved. He was going eventually going to tell my parents where I was at, which was not good. Sure enough, he did and I was grounded.
Some time had passed and I was finally given the other side of First Avenue to cross - but not Route 30. And not across the river, of course.
One of my childhood friends during that time was a kid named Dustin. Along with the usual Nintendo games and such, him and I would sometimes ride our bikes around town. One day he asked me if I wanted to go to Sterling.
Going into Sterling? This was very daring for age 8. Something forced me not to say no, so I went along. We went behind Rock Falls High School and made our way to the first part of the bridge. I had never crossed a river outside of a car before (I guess he had) and slowly made my way along the sidewalk.
While I was riding on the bridge for the first time, my shoes somehow got untied. The string got wrapped around the pedal bar, and I couldn't move my leg.
Already on my first adventure over the bridge was I doomed. Dustin and I made our way over to the Lawrence Park Pool - he walked, I hopped. Hopping down that hill was a pain in the butt. I sat along the sidewalk outside of the Pool entrance while he went on and got some help. He got this young lady out to help me unravel my shoe string.
At the same time I'm hoping this lady doesn't ask where we are from and what we're doing. Or, even worse, ask us who we are.
I was already frightened by this experience, but Dustin persuaded me to continue on. 12th Avenue Bridge is actually this series of four bridges: two across water, one across the mill and one across railroad tracks. We had already made it through one in disaster, and now we had to go on the other three. While we were doing so, I kept looking down on that shoe, hoping it wouldn't come loose again.
Sure enough, we saw Aldi's and knew we made it into Sterling. The feeling was so great, knowing that I was a whole city away from my own house - by myself pretty much.
Now what?
Dustin and I rode along West 3rd Street, meandering our way around the sidewalk obstacles at first. The bricks are still there, and they are still overgrown.
At the same time I had kept worrying that someone was going to see me and I was going to get into trouble again. I kept telling Dustin to ride faster, as I wanted to hurry up and get the heck out of here. I already made it to Sterling, now let's go back. It took a while to get him going, but we eventually pedaled as hard as we could past the Temple, Neal's office and the pool bar, and then onto Locust around National Mfg.
We were back at First Avenue, and that was where the most cars were. So obviously I'm nervous trying to hope no familiar cars were seeing me.
Sure enough, right when we get underneath the railroad tracks, here comes this ambulance heading into Sterling. I'm nervous at first, and my first reaction was to see whether Uncle Greg or Aunt Conni were driving it. Yep, Greg was behind the wheel.
I'm freaking out and yelling at Dustin, LET'S GET OUT OF HERE! I didn't want to get in trouble again, so we pushed and pushed across First Avenue Bridge. The old bridge was more scary to cross than 12th Avenue because it was narrow with many cars driving by.
I never heard from my parents about this bikeride. That's because I don't think Greg saw me. (Or maybe he did).
***
First Avenue? Check. Sterling? Check.
Route 30 was perhaps more dangerous to cross because there were a lot of semi-trucks, and my parents were worried about me getting hit by one of them. They dreaded me crossing Route 30 most of all.
But that was the only other boundary that was left to cross.
As a little kid, crossing it was a huge pain in the butt. That was back when it had those old crumbling medians. But I really wanted to see what was out there, despite the fact that I had two close calls.
During my bikerides, I would keep an eye for any familiar cars. My parents drove a red Ford Taurus. My grandparents drove a brown Oldsmobile 88. My mom's mom drove a black Chevy Cavalier. And of course, I was on the lookout for any CGH ambulances.
There were just too many cars on Route 30, and the fear of someone finding me was just too great. Then I came up with a plan.
The only way I was going to cross Route 30 was to go under it.
I had to make my way to Centennial Park first, and get on the canal path. I then casually rode my way under Route 30. That was simple.
I discovered a small walking bridge behind the Ramada hotel that went off of the canal path. I made my way on the other side of the trees and onto the hotel parking lot. At that time, Workman's hadn't been built yet (they were at the current Beverage Store location), nor was Culver's. It was an open field, and I walked parallel to it onto Wal-Mart.
I was thirsty and had a quarter in my pocket, and got one of those Sam's Choice cans of pop from the machine. Then I went back to the canal and parked my bike under the Route 30 bridge and hung out there for a while.
When I got back home I was so excited about my plan that I ended up telling my mom that I indeed went to Wal-Mart. She was very upset that I had crossed Route 30. I had to keep telling her that, no I went UNDER it.
At first she thought I went in a sewer tunnel.
Technically I didn't CROSS Route 30. I went UNDER it.
Years later, this ended up being a cute story.
This is a story that comes up at family gatherings when the subject of riding bikes come up.
***
I loved that orange bike. Many of my rides wound up being by friends's houses, hoping we see each other and would play.
It had brakes that were through the pedals, and not by hand grips. Jared had one of those bikes where the brake was by a hand-grip. We were riding by Grummert's one day and decided to switch bikes. I had trouble riding his, and he had trouble riding mine.
That bike went everywhere. Except when it was raining. One day it poured during the middle of a bike ride. I was on West 6th Street near P-Town road. As I made my way along 6th Street, the rain kept getting harder and harder, and eventually I was crying. Back then, Geoff and Emily lived across the street from each other near there and I was riding my bike crying as I crossed that intersection. In the back of my head I hoped they didn't see me and tell me about it the next day at school.
The bike survived pilfering attempts by Danny Schick and Justin Reyes.
Eventually that orange bike broke down on a trek toward Coleta. I had to be driven home by a farmer. I told him to drop me off at SuperAmerica because I didn't want my parents to see me.
After that came a chrome-green colored bike. Then it was my Uncle Scott's old Schwinn. Then the dark blue bike that made it to Geneseo.
Current Song - Green Hill Zone (from Sonic 1)
My bike riding stories are not limited to Geneseo.
Perhaps the thing that led up to that was the fact that I loved to ride my bike ... a lot!
My first bike was a little red Huffy with training wheels, as a 5th birthday present. Then I graduated to a bright hazard-orange Huffy Megamud, which was apparently the second-coolest bike in the west side of Rock Falls at the time (first was Geoff's motorcycle-looking bike).
Like many young children, I had my boundaries. We lived on 3rd Avenue in Rock Falls at the time, a block away from Merrill School. The river was to the north, First Avenue was to the east, 12th Avenue was to the west and Route 30 was to the south.
I know several of my friends have young boys almost getting to the age where they begin to wonder what's out there in the great beyond. These are my experiences, and I hope they help make sense of it all down the road.
By second grade I had explored what there was already to explore. My favorite street at that time was West 2nd Street, west of downtown (another story for another time :) ). The little orange bike was riding down the same streets over and over again. So one day I decided to cross a boundary.
Crossing boundaries were nothing new to me. Before I moved to Rock Falls, I lived on East 11th Street in Sterling. I wasn't allowed to cross 6th Avenue. So one day I did. I rode one block along 7th Avenue before crossing back. I was six years old at the time.
This particular adventure involved crossing First Avenue. This was when it was still Route 88. The safest way to do this was to go on the crosswalk at Dixon Avenue's stoplight. So I did that and went back down toward the old White Hen and onto 5th Street toward Thome School.
I had crossed First Avenue and was so excited that there was this whole new world to explore, as long as I didn't get caught.
I made my way along 5th Street and crossed Avenue A and the old railroad bank. As I approached Thome School, there was this ambulance (not on call) driving toward me. I peered in the Ambulance and my Uncle Greg was drving it. He waved to me and I waved to him.
Only a few moments later did I realize ... I probably shouldn't have waved. He was going eventually going to tell my parents where I was at, which was not good. Sure enough, he did and I was grounded.
Some time had passed and I was finally given the other side of First Avenue to cross - but not Route 30. And not across the river, of course.
One of my childhood friends during that time was a kid named Dustin. Along with the usual Nintendo games and such, him and I would sometimes ride our bikes around town. One day he asked me if I wanted to go to Sterling.
Going into Sterling? This was very daring for age 8. Something forced me not to say no, so I went along. We went behind Rock Falls High School and made our way to the first part of the bridge. I had never crossed a river outside of a car before (I guess he had) and slowly made my way along the sidewalk.
While I was riding on the bridge for the first time, my shoes somehow got untied. The string got wrapped around the pedal bar, and I couldn't move my leg.
Already on my first adventure over the bridge was I doomed. Dustin and I made our way over to the Lawrence Park Pool - he walked, I hopped. Hopping down that hill was a pain in the butt. I sat along the sidewalk outside of the Pool entrance while he went on and got some help. He got this young lady out to help me unravel my shoe string.
At the same time I'm hoping this lady doesn't ask where we are from and what we're doing. Or, even worse, ask us who we are.
I was already frightened by this experience, but Dustin persuaded me to continue on. 12th Avenue Bridge is actually this series of four bridges: two across water, one across the mill and one across railroad tracks. We had already made it through one in disaster, and now we had to go on the other three. While we were doing so, I kept looking down on that shoe, hoping it wouldn't come loose again.
Sure enough, we saw Aldi's and knew we made it into Sterling. The feeling was so great, knowing that I was a whole city away from my own house - by myself pretty much.
Now what?
Dustin and I rode along West 3rd Street, meandering our way around the sidewalk obstacles at first. The bricks are still there, and they are still overgrown.
At the same time I had kept worrying that someone was going to see me and I was going to get into trouble again. I kept telling Dustin to ride faster, as I wanted to hurry up and get the heck out of here. I already made it to Sterling, now let's go back. It took a while to get him going, but we eventually pedaled as hard as we could past the Temple, Neal's office and the pool bar, and then onto Locust around National Mfg.
We were back at First Avenue, and that was where the most cars were. So obviously I'm nervous trying to hope no familiar cars were seeing me.
Sure enough, right when we get underneath the railroad tracks, here comes this ambulance heading into Sterling. I'm nervous at first, and my first reaction was to see whether Uncle Greg or Aunt Conni were driving it. Yep, Greg was behind the wheel.
I'm freaking out and yelling at Dustin, LET'S GET OUT OF HERE! I didn't want to get in trouble again, so we pushed and pushed across First Avenue Bridge. The old bridge was more scary to cross than 12th Avenue because it was narrow with many cars driving by.
I never heard from my parents about this bikeride. That's because I don't think Greg saw me. (Or maybe he did).
***
First Avenue? Check. Sterling? Check.
Route 30 was perhaps more dangerous to cross because there were a lot of semi-trucks, and my parents were worried about me getting hit by one of them. They dreaded me crossing Route 30 most of all.
But that was the only other boundary that was left to cross.
As a little kid, crossing it was a huge pain in the butt. That was back when it had those old crumbling medians. But I really wanted to see what was out there, despite the fact that I had two close calls.
During my bikerides, I would keep an eye for any familiar cars. My parents drove a red Ford Taurus. My grandparents drove a brown Oldsmobile 88. My mom's mom drove a black Chevy Cavalier. And of course, I was on the lookout for any CGH ambulances.
There were just too many cars on Route 30, and the fear of someone finding me was just too great. Then I came up with a plan.
The only way I was going to cross Route 30 was to go under it.
I had to make my way to Centennial Park first, and get on the canal path. I then casually rode my way under Route 30. That was simple.
I discovered a small walking bridge behind the Ramada hotel that went off of the canal path. I made my way on the other side of the trees and onto the hotel parking lot. At that time, Workman's hadn't been built yet (they were at the current Beverage Store location), nor was Culver's. It was an open field, and I walked parallel to it onto Wal-Mart.
I was thirsty and had a quarter in my pocket, and got one of those Sam's Choice cans of pop from the machine. Then I went back to the canal and parked my bike under the Route 30 bridge and hung out there for a while.
When I got back home I was so excited about my plan that I ended up telling my mom that I indeed went to Wal-Mart. She was very upset that I had crossed Route 30. I had to keep telling her that, no I went UNDER it.
At first she thought I went in a sewer tunnel.
Technically I didn't CROSS Route 30. I went UNDER it.
Years later, this ended up being a cute story.
This is a story that comes up at family gatherings when the subject of riding bikes come up.
***
I loved that orange bike. Many of my rides wound up being by friends's houses, hoping we see each other and would play.
It had brakes that were through the pedals, and not by hand grips. Jared had one of those bikes where the brake was by a hand-grip. We were riding by Grummert's one day and decided to switch bikes. I had trouble riding his, and he had trouble riding mine.
That bike went everywhere. Except when it was raining. One day it poured during the middle of a bike ride. I was on West 6th Street near P-Town road. As I made my way along 6th Street, the rain kept getting harder and harder, and eventually I was crying. Back then, Geoff and Emily lived across the street from each other near there and I was riding my bike crying as I crossed that intersection. In the back of my head I hoped they didn't see me and tell me about it the next day at school.
The bike survived pilfering attempts by Danny Schick and Justin Reyes.
Eventually that orange bike broke down on a trek toward Coleta. I had to be driven home by a farmer. I told him to drop me off at SuperAmerica because I didn't want my parents to see me.
After that came a chrome-green colored bike. Then it was my Uncle Scott's old Schwinn. Then the dark blue bike that made it to Geneseo.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
My 2012 Year In Review
Cutter's Log - Stardate 2102.91.21
Current Song - Ladies Night (Kool and The Gang)
In January I was broke, jobless, and living with my parents. Now I am not-so-broke, got my old job back, and living on my own.
While 2012 started out dreadful, it looks as if 2013 may be a good year.
I did NOT have a good 2011! My first talk with my sister, on NYD, was a disaster because she thought I was someone named Tony. An underage tobbaco sale in February. An underage alcohol sale in September that got me fired. The deaths of two great uncles, a great aunt (the three were all siblings) and a great-granduncle. The death of a favorite regular customer. Winnebago hated me. Exhaustion at both the large school softball state finals, as well as the state football finals. A very bad website decision. Crashing into a fence in Normal. The first major rift between my and my brothers. Finally, the insults about my well-being.
Things got worse in the first three months of 2012: In February I was involved in a car accident on my way to a sectional final basketball game at Varna Midland. In March I broke off a friendship with one of my better sports buddies. I was horribly reeling until mid-April.
That's when Shell took me back. That moment lifted me up so well. I felt like I had regained a sportswriting touch that had been missing. The joy in conversation at my comeback at Shell helped me improve my conversation abilities somewhat. In May I wrote about the 10th Anniversary of my Bikeride to Geneseo, which was great for all involved. I felt great, and the momentum continued. And then it stopped.
The next move was an ambitious one - one which nearly cost me another friend in the sports world. I decided to scale back on website stuff to improve my personal life. So far, this has worked out. Not only did that work out, but also my work with the website was changing somewhat to the point of improvment - as I did different things.
My finances were being reconstructed well. However, my personal life wasn't going all that great. I needed to rid myself of some things.
In August, I started thinking about all of the girls that I loved. There were three girls left - Amber, Emily, and Jennifer - that I couldn't get my mind off of after all these years when it came to love. I really needed to, and I was able to "let go" if you will. The reconstruction process of finding that girl of mine is in the works.
In September, I was given an opportunity to move into my grandparents' rental property. I moved in on November 1. To this day, I am enjoying the learning process of what it's like to be on my own two feet.
Things got bad in November, professionally. I was just out of it at the State Football finals that I left at halftime of the first game I was supposed to cover. That's when the batteries got recharged in the form of my health. After the football finals, I started my crusade to lose weight and improve myself. So far I have lost 20 pounds. I have receipts taped to my fridge for my last fast food purchase and my last pizza order. I went back to the gym.
However, I am ending 2012 a bit down. My car needs fixed, probably a new cadalyic converter. Therefore, my New Years' Eve plans in Chicago were scrapped. In addition, a job opportunity I thought was going to work for me was not in the cards. That really disappointed me.
My 2013 New Year's Resolution? Can I be bold and try for the two-point conversion?
1. Lose 50 pounds.
2. Girlfriend.
Current Song - Ladies Night (Kool and The Gang)
In January I was broke, jobless, and living with my parents. Now I am not-so-broke, got my old job back, and living on my own.
While 2012 started out dreadful, it looks as if 2013 may be a good year.
I did NOT have a good 2011! My first talk with my sister, on NYD, was a disaster because she thought I was someone named Tony. An underage tobbaco sale in February. An underage alcohol sale in September that got me fired. The deaths of two great uncles, a great aunt (the three were all siblings) and a great-granduncle. The death of a favorite regular customer. Winnebago hated me. Exhaustion at both the large school softball state finals, as well as the state football finals. A very bad website decision. Crashing into a fence in Normal. The first major rift between my and my brothers. Finally, the insults about my well-being.
Things got worse in the first three months of 2012: In February I was involved in a car accident on my way to a sectional final basketball game at Varna Midland. In March I broke off a friendship with one of my better sports buddies. I was horribly reeling until mid-April.
That's when Shell took me back. That moment lifted me up so well. I felt like I had regained a sportswriting touch that had been missing. The joy in conversation at my comeback at Shell helped me improve my conversation abilities somewhat. In May I wrote about the 10th Anniversary of my Bikeride to Geneseo, which was great for all involved. I felt great, and the momentum continued. And then it stopped.
The next move was an ambitious one - one which nearly cost me another friend in the sports world. I decided to scale back on website stuff to improve my personal life. So far, this has worked out. Not only did that work out, but also my work with the website was changing somewhat to the point of improvment - as I did different things.
My finances were being reconstructed well. However, my personal life wasn't going all that great. I needed to rid myself of some things.
In August, I started thinking about all of the girls that I loved. There were three girls left - Amber, Emily, and Jennifer - that I couldn't get my mind off of after all these years when it came to love. I really needed to, and I was able to "let go" if you will. The reconstruction process of finding that girl of mine is in the works.
In September, I was given an opportunity to move into my grandparents' rental property. I moved in on November 1. To this day, I am enjoying the learning process of what it's like to be on my own two feet.
Things got bad in November, professionally. I was just out of it at the State Football finals that I left at halftime of the first game I was supposed to cover. That's when the batteries got recharged in the form of my health. After the football finals, I started my crusade to lose weight and improve myself. So far I have lost 20 pounds. I have receipts taped to my fridge for my last fast food purchase and my last pizza order. I went back to the gym.
However, I am ending 2012 a bit down. My car needs fixed, probably a new cadalyic converter. Therefore, my New Years' Eve plans in Chicago were scrapped. In addition, a job opportunity I thought was going to work for me was not in the cards. That really disappointed me.
My 2013 New Year's Resolution? Can I be bold and try for the two-point conversion?
1. Lose 50 pounds.
2. Girlfriend.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
New Year's Eve Plans
Cutter's Log - Stardate 2102.81.21
Current Song - Tony, Toni, Tone (Let's Get Down)
Monday is my usual work night. I'm hoping to get that switched to where I can work during the afternoon. I want to do something about boredom, so I'm hoping to go back to Chicago and ring in 2013 there.
I rang in 2011 at Houlihan's on East Wacker in Chicago. It was not my first choice - it actually was the Billy Goat Tavern, however they closed early for some reason.
Read about my 2011 adventure HERE
Why the Billy Goat? I have only been there twice, and first heard about it in the legendary Saturday Night Live skit. Only after the first visit did I find out about it being a Chicago media hangout. I'm just a high school sportswriter, I know, but this automatically made it a "must-go-to" every time I am in the Loop. I told myself that I wanted my picture up on that Wall of Fame alongside Rick Telander and Mike Royko. Yeah, we'll see about that ...
Unfortunately, work means I'll have to be at Elburn at 8:25 to catch the No. 516 train into Chicago at 9:50. (NEVER, EVER drive into Chicago for such an occasion!)
I'll be alone, meaning I'll be wandering around trying to find something to do, and a place to be at when midnight strikes. On my first trip, I didn't know there were special gatherings all over the place - and the admission of $100 to get into these places. Not for me, yet.
I'm hoping the BG is open and available. If not, I'm sure another plan will be hatched. I have a whole two weeks to think about it.
The BG has this new "Home Run" Cheeseburger: four patties between the bun. If I do get there, I'll try it. I even thought about challenging for the new cheeseburger record of 17 patties, just to say I had a ton of fun on the night, but that would go against this entire weight loss crusade of mine (there are followers on NISB who thought I was rushed to a hospital recently because of chest pains - rumors not true). Don't get me wrong: I can burn off a four-patty burger over the course of a day or two.
Either way, I'll be Downtown near 10 p.m. and hopefully make it back in time for the last 1:15 train to Elburn. If not, no big deal - just another exciting adventure of survival in the big city of Chicago in the overnight hours.
Current Song - Tony, Toni, Tone (Let's Get Down)
Monday is my usual work night. I'm hoping to get that switched to where I can work during the afternoon. I want to do something about boredom, so I'm hoping to go back to Chicago and ring in 2013 there.
I rang in 2011 at Houlihan's on East Wacker in Chicago. It was not my first choice - it actually was the Billy Goat Tavern, however they closed early for some reason.
Read about my 2011 adventure HERE
Why the Billy Goat? I have only been there twice, and first heard about it in the legendary Saturday Night Live skit. Only after the first visit did I find out about it being a Chicago media hangout. I'm just a high school sportswriter, I know, but this automatically made it a "must-go-to" every time I am in the Loop. I told myself that I wanted my picture up on that Wall of Fame alongside Rick Telander and Mike Royko. Yeah, we'll see about that ...
Unfortunately, work means I'll have to be at Elburn at 8:25 to catch the No. 516 train into Chicago at 9:50. (NEVER, EVER drive into Chicago for such an occasion!)
I'll be alone, meaning I'll be wandering around trying to find something to do, and a place to be at when midnight strikes. On my first trip, I didn't know there were special gatherings all over the place - and the admission of $100 to get into these places. Not for me, yet.
I'm hoping the BG is open and available. If not, I'm sure another plan will be hatched. I have a whole two weeks to think about it.
The BG has this new "Home Run" Cheeseburger: four patties between the bun. If I do get there, I'll try it. I even thought about challenging for the new cheeseburger record of 17 patties, just to say I had a ton of fun on the night, but that would go against this entire weight loss crusade of mine (there are followers on NISB who thought I was rushed to a hospital recently because of chest pains - rumors not true). Don't get me wrong: I can burn off a four-patty burger over the course of a day or two.
Either way, I'll be Downtown near 10 p.m. and hopefully make it back in time for the last 1:15 train to Elburn. If not, no big deal - just another exciting adventure of survival in the big city of Chicago in the overnight hours.
Monday, December 17, 2012
The Graveyard of Tears
Cutter's Log - Stardate 2102.71.21
Current Song - Baby Hold On (Eddie Money)
With that ribbon of love - girls I liked at all - fading off to the distance, I wanted to take some time to orbit it a little bit.
Going around it, I spotted a dark void just below it. I knew what this was.
This was the resting place of those I never even looked back at. Those that tried and yearned for my attention all these years. Those girls that I ignored.
I looked at this dark area for a moment, and I had to toss and rip my hair out of my head. I tried to prevent myself from the painful admission that my own desires for those I had crushes on ultimately killed the efforts of those who did like me to make a connection with me. I wanted to prevent this from happening because it meant those I had crushes on were liable for these failures of theirs. I wanted to slap them in the face and say "how dare you hurt them!"
Finally, I had to scream it out ...
"I'M SORRY!!!!"
Knowing full well that those I had admired are now going to turn on me.
I traveled into this dark void to see the damage I had caused and left behind.
The entrance was a black iron gate, similar to a graveyard. It was indeed a graveyard.
I walked in and recognized the names on the stones. With each name, I was able to determine who I may have had my eyes set on otherwise.
The first stone I stopped at and stared at for a long time was the girl that kissed me on the cheek three times in fifth grade (S.C.). No girl had ever kissed me more than once. I didn't see her love because I was blinded by someone else. At that point, I wondered what would have happened if I had gone through with this. I remember making a joke about "a life-or-death decision" during lunch. She had displayed feelings for me, while my mind was on someone else. This girl eventually faded away from my memory as she moved across the river and eventually into the land of "whereabouts unknown."
Next to this stone was another (A.M.). She had been real kind to me in 6th grade, the beginning of one of the darkest times of my school days. She simply fell short of the one I liked at the time. While the passion eventually died out, she still finds it within herself to try to make conversation when we see each other, which is a rare occurance.
Moving on to the next one, this one made my mind go blank for a long time. This was the only time anger had been inflicted toward me in my refusal to look back (A.C.). I simply did not see it coming when word spread of my then-crush announcement. This eventually caused many more people to become angry at me for not taking advantage of this opportunity. Even the girls that I had loved before were angry at me. I did see her crying at one point. All of a sudden there was this fork in the road, and, perhaps, like an idiot, I went the other way. I learned more about this episode many years later, and I think we are both understanding about what happened back then.
One large stone was in the back. I knew who it was. Before visiting it, there was one more.
The final small stone was one that eventually led to my fall from grace in my sophomore year (if the previous occurance hadn't already). I was pushed into starting a relationship with someone who both I didn't know, and didn't really like (A.R.). We just happened to be in the same working capacity at the school. She had just entered the district. My refusal for her, because my eyes were dead set on this one particular girl, had ticked off one too many people. One thing led to another, which led to the ripping of my heart during my junior year. As for this particular girl, I don't think she lasted the year in Sterling and moved away into the land of "whereabouts unknown."
This was the moment that brought me to the darkest time of my life, and eventually how I was able to recover with a little help from my softball friends.
That led me to the largest stone in the yard.
A.L.
She was the only girl that took a chance on me. And I failed to react to it.
***
The support for the "softball" girls wasn't limited to softball. Most of them played basketball, and I attended some of their games during their freshman year. I had mainly gone there in support of the people I knew, but eventually got to know more girls on this basketball team as the season progressed.
There was this "B" team player, Alicia, that I didn't know anything about. At that time, I had a personal webpage (as was the fad back then) with a guestbook. Her name had appeared in my guestbook with quite a few statements about how she loved me and such. Her love for me had become known to my softball friends on the team. They had asked me if I was going to do something about this. I kept sleeping on it, and sleeping on it, and sleeping on it.
During one of the RF boys basketball games I attended, I was introduced to this new thing called ICQ. I think it was Joi that told me about it. Sure, I'd try it. I downloaded it onto my computer, and right away my first ICQ friends were Alicia, Emily, Joi and Jen. I was frightened at first at the "whoo-hoo" noise that signaled a message. It was Alicia, trying to message me. I didn't quite know how to send a message back. I typed it in the box and hit the "enter" key. Then she kept wondering why I wasn't responding back to her. Emily messaged me too, and I didn't know how to respond. After a while I closed out of it, and the next day I found out you had to hit the "send" button to reply to a message. Doh!
It was through ICQ that her interest in me began to grow. I had this stretch of time where I wasn't able to see any of the freshman girls' games, so I wasn't able to see her. I was too nervous to. After a while on ICQ came our first phone conversation. I have little memory of these conversations.
Then one day she closed out a conversation with a surprise request, and then immediately went offline: "Will you go out with me?"
I was startled the rest of the night. No one had ever asked me before. I didn't really know this girl all that well. It was be a shame to say no. I debated this throughout the night, and even asked a couple of my friends thru ICQ what I should do. They overwhelmingly and enthusastically said YES.
She must have told this to someone, who then proceeded to hound me with "WELL?!?!?!!?"
Alright. I'll do it. I can't remember if I did this through ICQ or by phone.
There, for the first time, existed a relationship that had Cody Cutter involved in it. I wound up telling a few more friends on ICQ that I had "finally" had a girlfriend. It was like the apocolypse had arrived.
I was to meet her at one of the RF home games. She sat in her usual seat in the student section, while I was toward the front, behind the lead Rowdies. We didn't even sit next to each other, as I didn't know if she was really even there.
"Cody, she's over there!" yelled softball girl after softball girl after softball girl.
I was slow to cross that threshold.
The game had ended, and we didn't see each other. As I made my way out of to the lobby, the girls mobbed me and told me she was over there. I saw her. I smiled. I waved. She waved back. And I made my way out the door.
My nerves had exploded and collapsed at that moment in failure. I walked out to my truck along Grace Avenue and chided myself for this sudden loss of feeling. I parked over at the Lower Dam for the rest of the night, trying to find a way to not let this failure EVER happen again. Slowly, I tried to piece together ways to make this "relationship" work.
While I was unhappy about not making this work, I bet that she was extremely angry that I chickened out.
And for some reason - unknown to me to this day - this also made Joi extremely angry.
The next night I had an ICQ message waiting for me from Joi. In it, that's how I heard of the news that Alicia wanted to break up with me. It wasn't Alicia that told me. Joi told me. And she also wrote to me about how she was angry that I chickened out on Alicia.
I think after a while Alicia and I were both understanding why it didn't work out. I was riding my bike on Emmons Avenue one night when she spotted me. We crossed paths not knowing who each other were before I heard her scream "CODY CUTTER?????"
We stared at each other in surprise for a few minutes, and talked a while. After that moment, I never saw her for the rest of my high school days. We have only crossed paths once or twice as a customer at BP. A lot of time had passed that she didn't remember who I was. I made no attempt to let her know. By that time, she was married. To this day, I don't know how to reach her.
Well, there it it. My only "success" - and an absolute failure at that. I never came anywhere close after Alicia.
Over the years I kept private about this "relationship." It was an embarassing moment that I wanted to put behind me. I couldn't help but think of the damage this failure had caused. It certainly hurt my chances with any RF girl, as they were the only ones that really know about it.
The more I think back to Alicia, something didn't seem right. Here she was, out of the blue, when my mind was on someone else she knew. There were times I told myself I was being tricked into this relationship as a distraction.
Something just didn't seem right.
I think I know the answer, which is something not to tell about on here.
***
As I wiped my tears away, I saw a large and empty field off to the side.
However, the field wasn't empty. I could feel the presences of people floating in this field, but am unable to identify who they are. These are the people that liked me and never told me.
Who could these people possibly be? The thought pained me for a while.
Then someone popped in my mind. I kinda liked her, but didn't want to reveal a hint of this to save myself. But my mind kept firm at the girl I really liked. The rest of the boys all thought she was ugly. I didn't think so. She was one of those types that was heavily into academics.
If it is indeed this girl who I'm thinking of ... this is where I start over again.
It's going to take a lot. And a miracle.
Current Song - Baby Hold On (Eddie Money)
With that ribbon of love - girls I liked at all - fading off to the distance, I wanted to take some time to orbit it a little bit.
Going around it, I spotted a dark void just below it. I knew what this was.
This was the resting place of those I never even looked back at. Those that tried and yearned for my attention all these years. Those girls that I ignored.
I looked at this dark area for a moment, and I had to toss and rip my hair out of my head. I tried to prevent myself from the painful admission that my own desires for those I had crushes on ultimately killed the efforts of those who did like me to make a connection with me. I wanted to prevent this from happening because it meant those I had crushes on were liable for these failures of theirs. I wanted to slap them in the face and say "how dare you hurt them!"
Finally, I had to scream it out ...
"I'M SORRY!!!!"
Knowing full well that those I had admired are now going to turn on me.
I traveled into this dark void to see the damage I had caused and left behind.
The entrance was a black iron gate, similar to a graveyard. It was indeed a graveyard.
I walked in and recognized the names on the stones. With each name, I was able to determine who I may have had my eyes set on otherwise.
The first stone I stopped at and stared at for a long time was the girl that kissed me on the cheek three times in fifth grade (S.C.). No girl had ever kissed me more than once. I didn't see her love because I was blinded by someone else. At that point, I wondered what would have happened if I had gone through with this. I remember making a joke about "a life-or-death decision" during lunch. She had displayed feelings for me, while my mind was on someone else. This girl eventually faded away from my memory as she moved across the river and eventually into the land of "whereabouts unknown."
Next to this stone was another (A.M.). She had been real kind to me in 6th grade, the beginning of one of the darkest times of my school days. She simply fell short of the one I liked at the time. While the passion eventually died out, she still finds it within herself to try to make conversation when we see each other, which is a rare occurance.
Moving on to the next one, this one made my mind go blank for a long time. This was the only time anger had been inflicted toward me in my refusal to look back (A.C.). I simply did not see it coming when word spread of my then-crush announcement. This eventually caused many more people to become angry at me for not taking advantage of this opportunity. Even the girls that I had loved before were angry at me. I did see her crying at one point. All of a sudden there was this fork in the road, and, perhaps, like an idiot, I went the other way. I learned more about this episode many years later, and I think we are both understanding about what happened back then.
One large stone was in the back. I knew who it was. Before visiting it, there was one more.
The final small stone was one that eventually led to my fall from grace in my sophomore year (if the previous occurance hadn't already). I was pushed into starting a relationship with someone who both I didn't know, and didn't really like (A.R.). We just happened to be in the same working capacity at the school. She had just entered the district. My refusal for her, because my eyes were dead set on this one particular girl, had ticked off one too many people. One thing led to another, which led to the ripping of my heart during my junior year. As for this particular girl, I don't think she lasted the year in Sterling and moved away into the land of "whereabouts unknown."
This was the moment that brought me to the darkest time of my life, and eventually how I was able to recover with a little help from my softball friends.
That led me to the largest stone in the yard.
A.L.
She was the only girl that took a chance on me. And I failed to react to it.
***
The support for the "softball" girls wasn't limited to softball. Most of them played basketball, and I attended some of their games during their freshman year. I had mainly gone there in support of the people I knew, but eventually got to know more girls on this basketball team as the season progressed.
There was this "B" team player, Alicia, that I didn't know anything about. At that time, I had a personal webpage (as was the fad back then) with a guestbook. Her name had appeared in my guestbook with quite a few statements about how she loved me and such. Her love for me had become known to my softball friends on the team. They had asked me if I was going to do something about this. I kept sleeping on it, and sleeping on it, and sleeping on it.
During one of the RF boys basketball games I attended, I was introduced to this new thing called ICQ. I think it was Joi that told me about it. Sure, I'd try it. I downloaded it onto my computer, and right away my first ICQ friends were Alicia, Emily, Joi and Jen. I was frightened at first at the "whoo-hoo" noise that signaled a message. It was Alicia, trying to message me. I didn't quite know how to send a message back. I typed it in the box and hit the "enter" key. Then she kept wondering why I wasn't responding back to her. Emily messaged me too, and I didn't know how to respond. After a while I closed out of it, and the next day I found out you had to hit the "send" button to reply to a message. Doh!
It was through ICQ that her interest in me began to grow. I had this stretch of time where I wasn't able to see any of the freshman girls' games, so I wasn't able to see her. I was too nervous to. After a while on ICQ came our first phone conversation. I have little memory of these conversations.
Then one day she closed out a conversation with a surprise request, and then immediately went offline: "Will you go out with me?"
I was startled the rest of the night. No one had ever asked me before. I didn't really know this girl all that well. It was be a shame to say no. I debated this throughout the night, and even asked a couple of my friends thru ICQ what I should do. They overwhelmingly and enthusastically said YES.
She must have told this to someone, who then proceeded to hound me with "WELL?!?!?!!?"
Alright. I'll do it. I can't remember if I did this through ICQ or by phone.
There, for the first time, existed a relationship that had Cody Cutter involved in it. I wound up telling a few more friends on ICQ that I had "finally" had a girlfriend. It was like the apocolypse had arrived.
I was to meet her at one of the RF home games. She sat in her usual seat in the student section, while I was toward the front, behind the lead Rowdies. We didn't even sit next to each other, as I didn't know if she was really even there.
"Cody, she's over there!" yelled softball girl after softball girl after softball girl.
I was slow to cross that threshold.
The game had ended, and we didn't see each other. As I made my way out of to the lobby, the girls mobbed me and told me she was over there. I saw her. I smiled. I waved. She waved back. And I made my way out the door.
My nerves had exploded and collapsed at that moment in failure. I walked out to my truck along Grace Avenue and chided myself for this sudden loss of feeling. I parked over at the Lower Dam for the rest of the night, trying to find a way to not let this failure EVER happen again. Slowly, I tried to piece together ways to make this "relationship" work.
While I was unhappy about not making this work, I bet that she was extremely angry that I chickened out.
And for some reason - unknown to me to this day - this also made Joi extremely angry.
The next night I had an ICQ message waiting for me from Joi. In it, that's how I heard of the news that Alicia wanted to break up with me. It wasn't Alicia that told me. Joi told me. And she also wrote to me about how she was angry that I chickened out on Alicia.
I think after a while Alicia and I were both understanding why it didn't work out. I was riding my bike on Emmons Avenue one night when she spotted me. We crossed paths not knowing who each other were before I heard her scream "CODY CUTTER?????"
We stared at each other in surprise for a few minutes, and talked a while. After that moment, I never saw her for the rest of my high school days. We have only crossed paths once or twice as a customer at BP. A lot of time had passed that she didn't remember who I was. I made no attempt to let her know. By that time, she was married. To this day, I don't know how to reach her.
Well, there it it. My only "success" - and an absolute failure at that. I never came anywhere close after Alicia.
Over the years I kept private about this "relationship." It was an embarassing moment that I wanted to put behind me. I couldn't help but think of the damage this failure had caused. It certainly hurt my chances with any RF girl, as they were the only ones that really know about it.
The more I think back to Alicia, something didn't seem right. Here she was, out of the blue, when my mind was on someone else she knew. There were times I told myself I was being tricked into this relationship as a distraction.
Something just didn't seem right.
I think I know the answer, which is something not to tell about on here.
***
As I wiped my tears away, I saw a large and empty field off to the side.
However, the field wasn't empty. I could feel the presences of people floating in this field, but am unable to identify who they are. These are the people that liked me and never told me.
Who could these people possibly be? The thought pained me for a while.
Then someone popped in my mind. I kinda liked her, but didn't want to reveal a hint of this to save myself. But my mind kept firm at the girl I really liked. The rest of the boys all thought she was ugly. I didn't think so. She was one of those types that was heavily into academics.
If it is indeed this girl who I'm thinking of ... this is where I start over again.
It's going to take a lot. And a miracle.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Not Size. Not Autism. TIME!!!!
Cutter's Log - Stardate 2102.61.21
Current Song - Early In The Morning (Gap Band)
"Hi. My name is Cody Cutter, and I can't find a girlfriend."
"Hi Cody!"
"Wait, are you the same Cody Cutter that ..."
"First off, they are friends of mine. Secondly, we're in different leagues: they're the majors and I'm Double-A. And will you please shut up? That was a long time ago."
I have well-documented my struggles with finding that significant female in my life. It's not a "NEED" or a "WANT" but an "I'D LIKE TO." It's something that, for 20 years, I haven't been able to fully accomplish. I've come within the final 3 in some girls' choices maybe twice, and the closest I ever got was in 7th grade - I really liked her, she knew it; I asked her out, and she said no.
Well, I shouldn't say that's the closest. Only a few people remember the "only" girlfriend I ever had, which happened during my freshman year. I don't list this in my vast history of memories with girls because it was a situation that I was forced into by a couple of people as a distraction. I never had an interest in her. With great apologies, I do NOT recognize this as an official relationship.
There also exists a time when my shyness barriers prevented me from telling someone my true feelings.
Although I have come up short on countless occasions, I don't feel the need to travel back in time to change anything. I am content with these final results. All of the girls are living happy lives right now.
On times that I have come close, it meant pulling off a miracle in tearing down a shyness barrier and combining that with a dry sense of humor.
However, I have often wondered what made the difference in these situations.
My size? Can't be possible, as there are people bigger than me, even, that perfected romance.
My Autism? I know of many people with Asperger's Syndrome that are married.
I have not had an active crush on someone since the Spring of 2010. Since graduating high school, there have been calls to persuade me to hang it up and retire. Many friends have tried to tell me to give it all up and that I don't have enough left in me. To them I have said a stern NO. I do not give up in this search.
And I will not, after my No. 1 crush from school days wrote this to me recently:
"I wish you the best of luck in your life and you find someone someday that will make you happy."
***
I was working at the Shell station last night when a regular customer was talking with another. I happened to overhear this conversation, which was about wives.
"Are you married?"
"No."
"Good. They take up too much time."
And all of a sudden, it hit me!
I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH TIME! That's the cusp of all my problems. I don't have enough time! I thought about that for a while, and remembered a classmate of mine telling me at our 5-Year Reunion: "but you're always busy."
Here I am, working around 30 hours at a gas station, and another 50 or so hours devoted to my Northern Illinois Sports Beat website. The rest of the time seems like I'm sleeping. No wonder why I don't have a girlfriend. I'm too busy for a girlfriend.
I have been working almost constantly since my freshman year of high school, ten years ago. I've had three major gaps in employment since then: 10 months between the Gazette and Crest Foods, 7 months between stints at Shell, and 2 months between BP and my first stint at Shell. These gaps have been sealed by work on NISB or college newspapers.
My jobs have doomed my relationship chances.
No wonder why many young sportswriters are single.
I don't have enough time. In order to sustain a relationship with a woman, you NEED to have the time for her. Women demand this (and perfection - which is another debate for another time, and money - ditto).
Right now my potential relationship chances are limited to those who have the same passion as I do (high school sportswriting). There's none of that around northern Illinois.
Creating time can broaden that scope.
Great, not only do I have to shed pounds but shed time as well. That starts with merging "profession" with "job" - which is something potentially in the works as I write this. As well as limiting and maintaining a house of my own in an efficent manner.
If I am unable to create time, there may be a Steve Carell movie made about me ...
Current Song - Early In The Morning (Gap Band)
"Hi. My name is Cody Cutter, and I can't find a girlfriend."
"Hi Cody!"
"Wait, are you the same Cody Cutter that ..."
"First off, they are friends of mine. Secondly, we're in different leagues: they're the majors and I'm Double-A. And will you please shut up? That was a long time ago."
I have well-documented my struggles with finding that significant female in my life. It's not a "NEED" or a "WANT" but an "I'D LIKE TO." It's something that, for 20 years, I haven't been able to fully accomplish. I've come within the final 3 in some girls' choices maybe twice, and the closest I ever got was in 7th grade - I really liked her, she knew it; I asked her out, and she said no.
Well, I shouldn't say that's the closest. Only a few people remember the "only" girlfriend I ever had, which happened during my freshman year. I don't list this in my vast history of memories with girls because it was a situation that I was forced into by a couple of people as a distraction. I never had an interest in her. With great apologies, I do NOT recognize this as an official relationship.
There also exists a time when my shyness barriers prevented me from telling someone my true feelings.
Although I have come up short on countless occasions, I don't feel the need to travel back in time to change anything. I am content with these final results. All of the girls are living happy lives right now.
On times that I have come close, it meant pulling off a miracle in tearing down a shyness barrier and combining that with a dry sense of humor.
However, I have often wondered what made the difference in these situations.
My size? Can't be possible, as there are people bigger than me, even, that perfected romance.
My Autism? I know of many people with Asperger's Syndrome that are married.
I have not had an active crush on someone since the Spring of 2010. Since graduating high school, there have been calls to persuade me to hang it up and retire. Many friends have tried to tell me to give it all up and that I don't have enough left in me. To them I have said a stern NO. I do not give up in this search.
And I will not, after my No. 1 crush from school days wrote this to me recently:
"I wish you the best of luck in your life and you find someone someday that will make you happy."
***
I was working at the Shell station last night when a regular customer was talking with another. I happened to overhear this conversation, which was about wives.
"Are you married?"
"No."
"Good. They take up too much time."
And all of a sudden, it hit me!
I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH TIME! That's the cusp of all my problems. I don't have enough time! I thought about that for a while, and remembered a classmate of mine telling me at our 5-Year Reunion: "but you're always busy."
Here I am, working around 30 hours at a gas station, and another 50 or so hours devoted to my Northern Illinois Sports Beat website. The rest of the time seems like I'm sleeping. No wonder why I don't have a girlfriend. I'm too busy for a girlfriend.
I have been working almost constantly since my freshman year of high school, ten years ago. I've had three major gaps in employment since then: 10 months between the Gazette and Crest Foods, 7 months between stints at Shell, and 2 months between BP and my first stint at Shell. These gaps have been sealed by work on NISB or college newspapers.
My jobs have doomed my relationship chances.
No wonder why many young sportswriters are single.
I don't have enough time. In order to sustain a relationship with a woman, you NEED to have the time for her. Women demand this (and perfection - which is another debate for another time, and money - ditto).
Right now my potential relationship chances are limited to those who have the same passion as I do (high school sportswriting). There's none of that around northern Illinois.
Creating time can broaden that scope.
Great, not only do I have to shed pounds but shed time as well. That starts with merging "profession" with "job" - which is something potentially in the works as I write this. As well as limiting and maintaining a house of my own in an efficent manner.
If I am unable to create time, there may be a Steve Carell movie made about me ...
Sunday, December 2, 2012
This May Be My Last Entry
Cutter's Log - Stardate 2102.30.21
Over the years I have mastered (kind of) the art of communicating in writing.
Communicating in writing is the only thing I am able to do in order to maintain any form of continual conversation.
Because I suck at talking. And it makes me sad.
Writing is the only way I can express my true feelings without looking dumb.
However, when I write, I don't know who or what my audience is. The only way I know is if they make reference to the things I write about.
I write because I can't talk.
I sort of lost that ability. Ask my classmates. Ask my family. Ask my co-workers. Ask my journalism colleagues. Ask the athletes and coaches that I interview, whom have to listen to me stutter my questions out.
Here's why:
I actually DO have the ability to say words and ramble on and on and on and on ...
However, deep inside I am always afraid of the response that I will be getting as a result of my rambling on and on. While I am letting my steam loose through my mouth, I am saying to myself at the same time, "does he/she really care about what I'm talking about?"
So I don't talk.
What's on my mind? Recently it has been about love and girls. Recently it has been about life living in a home all by myself. Recently it has been about issues in high school sports, such as transfers and such. Recently it has been about the battle of losing weight.
I could call up a friend that I have trusted for a long, long time and ramble on and on, but eventually I tell myself "no" because I worry about the response.
While I'm talking about all of that, I eventually find myself getting nervous and tense. This is because I feel awful about making this moment of conversation about myself and not the other person(s). That's when I have to find the segways.
I can do that with older people. But I can't seem to do that with people my age, whom I know more of than people not my age.
Perhaps its because I can't relate to them. I've watched as they get together and have parties and such. They are able to feel free and have a good time, like a tornado all over the place. I, on the other hand, worry about embarassment and my overall image and reputation. I don't want that to be bad, but at the same time if I don't ham it up constantly there is still no reputation to speak of.
I think the qualities that other people believe I have are the willingness to do anything asked of me, and my heart of gold. Someone once said of me that my heart of gold makes me one of the strongest men they've ever known.
While I can most certainly write, I think its time to start working on my conversation abilities.
Better yet, I need to get out more. I don't have cable, and NIU will be playing in the Orange Bowl soon - I wonder where I can go to watch it with friends? My house is always open, as long as my green car is parked out front.
It's about time I start talking more and writing less. Thus, this may be my final blog entry for a while.
Free spirit?
Over the years I have mastered (kind of) the art of communicating in writing.
Communicating in writing is the only thing I am able to do in order to maintain any form of continual conversation.
Because I suck at talking. And it makes me sad.
Writing is the only way I can express my true feelings without looking dumb.
However, when I write, I don't know who or what my audience is. The only way I know is if they make reference to the things I write about.
I write because I can't talk.
I sort of lost that ability. Ask my classmates. Ask my family. Ask my co-workers. Ask my journalism colleagues. Ask the athletes and coaches that I interview, whom have to listen to me stutter my questions out.
Here's why:
I actually DO have the ability to say words and ramble on and on and on and on ...
However, deep inside I am always afraid of the response that I will be getting as a result of my rambling on and on. While I am letting my steam loose through my mouth, I am saying to myself at the same time, "does he/she really care about what I'm talking about?"
So I don't talk.
What's on my mind? Recently it has been about love and girls. Recently it has been about life living in a home all by myself. Recently it has been about issues in high school sports, such as transfers and such. Recently it has been about the battle of losing weight.
I could call up a friend that I have trusted for a long, long time and ramble on and on, but eventually I tell myself "no" because I worry about the response.
While I'm talking about all of that, I eventually find myself getting nervous and tense. This is because I feel awful about making this moment of conversation about myself and not the other person(s). That's when I have to find the segways.
I can do that with older people. But I can't seem to do that with people my age, whom I know more of than people not my age.
Perhaps its because I can't relate to them. I've watched as they get together and have parties and such. They are able to feel free and have a good time, like a tornado all over the place. I, on the other hand, worry about embarassment and my overall image and reputation. I don't want that to be bad, but at the same time if I don't ham it up constantly there is still no reputation to speak of.
I think the qualities that other people believe I have are the willingness to do anything asked of me, and my heart of gold. Someone once said of me that my heart of gold makes me one of the strongest men they've ever known.
While I can most certainly write, I think its time to start working on my conversation abilities.
Better yet, I need to get out more. I don't have cable, and NIU will be playing in the Orange Bowl soon - I wonder where I can go to watch it with friends? My house is always open, as long as my green car is parked out front.
It's about time I start talking more and writing less. Thus, this may be my final blog entry for a while.
Free spirit?
Heart Shaped Box
Cutter's Log - Stardate 2102.20.21
Current Song - She's Always A Woman (Billy Joel)
In the past couple of days, I had attempted to reconnect with someone that I consider my No. 1 crush from my school days. We've exchanged a couple of messages.
I mention this in the entry titled, All Crush Remnants Have Been Eradicated
It's been hard to let go of her, but through this communication I think we were able to let go at the same time.
My love life, having strung numerous crushes on girls for 21 years, had finally been locked away. Now is the time to build a new one, using the experiences - both failure and success - to help build the foundation to hopefully find the girl (now lady) I've been looking for. And all as, hopefully, a much lighter person that I am now in terms of my size.
***
Not too long ago I was trying to find a picture of a girl, one I had a big crush on, that I have known for years. She gave it to me after I wrote a letter to her about how much she meant to me. The back of the picture had "Thank you for your letter, it made me smile." I used it as a bookmark at one time, but after digging around everywhere in my new house I just could not find it.
While digging through boxes in my attic, I stumbled across old graduation invitations. I was only invited to five graduation parties in 2005: three girls and two boys - and all from Rock Falls. Along with the invitations were "Thank You" cards from the girls. I couldn't help but re-read them. Two of them signed with a heart. These mementos were scattered in a box, and I wanted to find a smaller one to isolate them.
For years I kept an empty heart-shaped chocolate box in my desk: a Whitman's "Solo" sampler. While I had many traces of memories of my girls from Rock Falls, I had very little from my Sterling girls. The only real concrete memory would be my Fifth Grade Diary. I had to read that once more as well.
(The Fifth Grade Diary would be my first foray into journal writing, eight years before the launch of this Blog in 2005, and would document much of the second half of 5th Grade)
That led me to the girl that I consider my No. 1 crush. If I couldn't find that one picture I had been looking for, perhaps I had one somewhere of this one. Turns out I did, but only in a bunch of old discarded high school yearbook photos.
She was the one I sent that final Love Letter to. I sent it in August, and never heard back from her. I thought back to that letter, and wanted to devote a day toward trying to get that. That was yesterday. During this process, any doubt that existed of her not being No. 1 were forever erased. Then, with her help, I was able to let go.
That gave me a good idea for this heart-shaped box.
When I get done with this Blog entry, I will be writing endlessly about me and her. Then I'll stuff the printed copy, and this picture, into this heart-shaped box.
Then I'll find another box, and gather all of those graduation invitations and thank-you cards. Also to be put into the box are copies of the letters I sent to all of the Rock Falls softball girls at graduation - which are actually rough drafts (and chronicles much deeper feelings). Plus, two softball game balls that the girls gave to me after their freshman-season ending game against Belvidere. Then endless photos and such. An old Top 50 List from middle school. Printed copies of my Blog entry about the 10th Anniversary of the Geneseo Bikeride (both the Blog version, and the NISB website version).
Also to be put in the box are all my 2nd grade "Get Well" cards, one of which was made by a future crush, as well as copies of Merrill yearbook pages, containing two particiular girls.
Lastly, an index of all of the girls I ever had a crush on. I've held back on the names, until now. I'm only giving out initals because of confidentiality, but I know some initals are more recognizable than others. You can play a guessing game with these, I guess. Some of these girls know. Some don't. And for those that don't, don't worry it was a long time ago when we were all going through the motions. Each time I tried to let her know my feelings, but almost each time I had failed.
This is in timeline order, starting with the first girl I liked 21 years ago and moving on (except for the "three"):
M. G.
K. O.
J. B.
S. H.
S. S.
S. C.
C. H.
K. B.
J. T.
B. J.
J. V.
S. B.
M. K.
A. T.
K. G.
K. H.
T. G.
C. R. K. M.
A. L.
T. M.
J. C.
R. N.
L. B.
- I haven't had an active crush since the Spring of 2010
The 3 that I couldn't let go of for years, until recently:
Jennifer M.
Emily C.
and finally,
Amber C.
I do want to make one thing clear: I am not taking my entire memory of these girls and locking it away in a box. Rather just any memories of love and only up to this point (barring any future interactions). The friendships will continue, I hope, and I always wish the best for them and would do anything for them if they ever asked me to.
If you're reading this and your initals not listed, I'm sorry but that's all I can recall. I think there are more that had crushes on me, but I never knew of them at the time, or never could quite figure it out, or knew much later on. Just for the heck of it, I'm interested in hearing some of THOSE names pop up. I think only 2 or 3 names are on both lists.
I shall go write some more, put the box together, and find a place to store it.
And then flying free as a bird to construct a new timeline of love searching.
(Oh, and perhaps that lost picture will turn up soon - then I'll have to reopen this box.)
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