I was in the oh-so-typical existential Thursday mood last week, so I search around Facebook for a while in an attempt to discover what life was all about.
I wandered over to a friend’s profile (okay, so it was Amanda’s, if anyone is curious) and happened to notice something odd. No, it wasn’t the appearance of Stanton Martin. It was the person right above him.
2008 was a bit of a rough year for yours truly, with many trials and the stress of trying to figure out what would happen after finishing college. Of course, in the life of someone who isn’t even 21 years old, stubbing a toe could qualify for “Worst Day Ever” status.
But I knew things had hit rock bottom when social media banned me.
It’s still hard to talk about. Years have passed, but the pain is still there. There were months without any contact with other people (besides actual, real life contact with other people), and nobody should have to go through that.
I don’t really like my birthday too much. Well, let me rephrase that. I like it. I don’t really put much emphasis on it, though. It’s not that I have anything against getting older or anything. It’s just that when it’s your birthday, people pay a LOT of attention to you. There’s a lot of text messages and Facebook wall posts and phone calls. To be quite honest, I don’t like that much attention.
Now, I could go off on a lengthy explanation of how that’s a weird thing because I run a blog that I actively try to promote and blah blah blah, but it’s true. I don’t really enjoy having attention drawn to myself. I just planned on having a stupid post about how celebrating birthdays is kind of weird and then if people wanted to draw conclusions about it, they could.
My family aren’t always the most touchy-feely people in the world. It’s not that we don’t love each other, but in a house of four boys, you’re more likely to catch us punching than hugging.
I’m pretty sure there were times we punched the dog instead of petting it. Just got carried away, that’s all.
Whenever we get together, it’s a blast. Jokes are abounding. Stories being told. Laughter, etc. Then we gather for the meal, and naturally we want to start with a prayer beforehand. So we gather in a circle, appoint somebody to pray, and bow our heads.
I’ve had a chance to write two awesome posts about my father, or as you know him, Ol’ Steve.
Now, it’s time to tell the most important one.
When I finished high school all those many, many years ago (which was just in 2005), I had one last summer in my hometown before I moved away to college (which was 10 miles away).
After working at a summer camp, the final month home was spent primarily practicing with some of my closest friends in a band we started up for fun. We weren’t especially good (well, I wasn’t, at least), but we were doing it just because this was our last chance to get together and jam.
Basically, we weren’t serious about it in any way. We named the band after the failed attempt by Germany to forge an alliance with Mexico against the U.S.