The Great...and not so great

This past week was one that many local teens will never forget - the day they graduated high school.

Some will enter into the workforce, some will further their education, while others are planning on a little relaxation before heading into the next phase of their lives.

I attended three graduations in as many days, and too many to count over the years, but I still remember almost every detail of my own, nearly 30 years ago.

There was the excitement of change, sadness in knowing it might be years before seeing some of my friends again and, of course, the hopes, dreams and opportunities that were in front of me.

Yep, even now I'm thinking of all the great things I've accomplished over the years ... OK ... give me a minute ... still thinking.

Alright, I got it. There was that time I rescued ... Oh, wait that wasn't me. Oh - in 1991 - I ... no, that wasn't me either.

I know. When I was in college in 1985 and started to ... no, wait ... I never got around to finishing that either.

Maybe I should start out with the not-so-great things I've accomplished over the years.

I once set out to make a table. In my head it was going to be this strong, stable piece of furniture that would be passed on from generation to generation. Of course, not being the handiest guy in the world, what I ended up with was a wobbly plank on four sticks.

This was kind of a letdown for me, because in my family a fella was expected to know a little somethin' about building stuff. My brother was a carpenter, most of my uncles were carpenters, both of my grandfathers were carpenters.

Me? I was not. As a matter of fact, I was the opposite of a carpenter.

In an attempt to get rid of the wobble, I shaved a little bit off one leg. That didn't work, so I cut a little off another leg. Then another, and then another.

What I ended up with was a very large chunk of wood. But I will tell you, when you laid that chunk of wood flat on the floor, it didn't wobble a bit.

So, in a sense, I did create something - two things really:

1 - A very large cutting board, and

2 - Some nice firewood.

Then there was the time I tried my hand at farming. Well, not so much farming, per se, more like I planted a tree once.

I had an aunt who, way back in the olden days, took an avocado pit, planted it, watered it, and many years later, had a huge avocado tree that filled her back yard. My dad was the type of guy who could grow anything - our yard was filled with lush plants, trees and bushes.

So, taking a cue from Auntie Lupe and my dad, I decided several years ago that I too would grow an avocado tree.

This inspiration came after polishing off a whole bowl of guacamole, which in itself is quite the accomplishment. There's a certain satisfaction that comes from finishing the last of the dip with the last chip. It takes patience and expert timing, two things I've been working on for

years.

Anyway, back to my little avocado plant. For those of you who weren't aware, the avocado (a fruit or large berry to be more precise) is officially known as Persea Americana - I called mine Percy for short. If you have ever tasted an avocado or listened to Percy Faith's "Theme for Young Lovers" you won't ask why.

Pure heaven, both of them.

The tradition I started with my table carried on when I dropped my jacket on Percy, breaking his spine. The only difference is he was too small to burn.

I guess I haven't really accomplished much.

Is that a bad thing? Maybe, maybe not.

When I think of all the hopes and dreams I once had, the desire to put my mark on society, it all fades away when I compare it to the satisfaction that comes from eating some chips in front of a fire.

Me, Myself, and the voices in my head

Someone told me the other day that people who talk to themselves are more productive than those who don't.

I didn't believe him for a couple of reasons.First off, I was raised to believe that talking to yourself is a sure sign of insanity, just a few short steps away from living under a freeway overpass. And two, as someone who talks to himself on a regular basis, I know I'm not all that productive.

So, after having a pretty in-depth argument with myself over the issue, we (the outside voice and the in-my-head voice) decided to do a little research on the matter.

We couldn't decide on where to look. Outside voice was thinking library, and inside voice said "No way. People always look at you funny when we're sitting in the library, carrying on a conversation with nobody. Besides, we can do research at home on the Internet without changing out of our pajamas."

And besides, as everyone knows, if it's on the innerwebs it must be true.

I found a great article from psychcentral.com that said, in part, one great benefit of talking to yourself is that you're never alone:

"When you're feeling lonely, chances are you're neglecting to give enough attention to a very special person. One who is always there with you. Who's that? Why, you, of course. So, talk to yourself. Not just in your head. But out loud."

While the lonely factor doesn't hit home with me (I spend most of my day surrounded by people - lots and lots of people), I do agree that the talking out loud thing is beneficial.

When I'm writing something, a strange thing happens between my brain and my computer. The clever, witty banter in my head sometimes gets lost in translation and turns into some kind of gibberish, as some of you have so eloquently pointed out in them online comments. I won't mention any names, but thank you in advance, Mike B.

So I've developed a little habit of doing the first draft of most stories out loud to myself. This has drawn some odd looks from my neighbors at stoplights, others in line at the grocery store, and on more than one occasion, my son, asking from the back seat, "Who you talking to, Pop?" but it works for me.

This little exercise was reinforced by psychcentral, who added that this helps clarify thought, firm up decisions, prioritize, and overall, will make you smarter.

There is one stipulation, though: "You become smarter only if you speak respectfully to yourself."

This is where I run into a problem. Not only do I not agree with myself most of the time, I often get into some pretty nasty arguments.

For example, while writing this particular piece, I took a little break to run down to Circle K for a cup of coffee. On the trip back, I got to thinking that it's easy to hide talking to yourself by pretending you're on a phone call, using some hands-free device.

That got me wondering about Bluetooth devices. What do you call more than one? Are they Blueteeth? Bluetooths? Blueteethes? This turned into a pretty heated discussion with myself, not only about grammar, but how the voice in my head gets distracted way too easily.

In the middle of this argument, I (we?) glanced over and saw some guy in a blue pick up truck in the lane next to me (us) staring and shaking his head.

With my luck, it was probably Mike B.

So to avoid a fist fight with myself, I decided that we (me) would agree to disagree and just go on home.

According to the article, in order to get brain-ier and less lonely, you should also compliment yourself (a few "good jobs" and "I'm proud of you 's" go a long way).

I'm not sure I agree with that. The last thing I need is some crazo who talks to himself telling me what a good job I'm doing.

Right?

Right...

M & C - A tale of youth, love and vandalism

Who are M & C?

I had an assignment this past weekend that took me to Memory Park, and between my in-depth interviews and investigative reporting (all right, in between my hot dog and potato salad) I took a stroll around the park and saw the initials "M &C" carved on a tree trunk, surrounded by a heart.

It got me wondering about M (who I have come to know in my head as Marvin) and C (Constance. It's my head, leave me alone).

Are they happy? Did they marry? Do they have kids?

In my head, this demonstration of affection took place on a warm spring day when their feelings for each other grew so strong that they felt the need to vandalize Mother Nature.

I got to thinking about my own relationships over the years and what steps I took as a youth to demonstrate my love.

Not, of course, my marriage. I have to point out that when my wife and I got married I was a mature man of nearly 30, stable, smart, and all growed up, so the silly impulses of youth did not apply.

I'm talking about the kid who, in elementary school, cut class, hopped the fence behind the playground at St. Bede School, and caught frogs in the creek.

Why, you may ask? Well, as every schoolboy knows, nothin' impresses the ladies like a toad in the coat closet.

Evidently Sister Susan was no lady - she impressed upon me the need to go to the Monsignor's office.

I'm not saying this type of behavior damaged my academic career, but the next year I had the opportunity to strut my stuff in public school.

At Palma Ceia Elementary, I ran with a pretty fast crowd. Our school was like a little resort community, named for the palm trees that lined the campus (Palma), and the graffiti that covered the walls (evidently Ceia is the Latin word for "spray paint can)."

If you looked up the word "cool" in the dictionary, you'd find our names. Really. That's because my friend Patrick worked in the library and used to scribble on all the pages.

Patrick also used to circle what he thought were dirty words, but it turns out he just didn't know how to read that well ("Gesticulate" does not mean what he thought it did).

Impressing the gals meant cruising the hallways during class, a big plastic comb sticking out of the back pocket of your bell bottoms, and escaping a cafeteria food fight without getting hit by mystery meat.

As much as I thought we knew in grade school, it wasn't until junior high that the mystery known as the human female took on a whole new meaning.

It was that from the age of 13 on, every female will forever be a mystery to every man. Any guy who denies this is a down and out liar. Even if he truly believes he understands women and is in control of a relationship, that's only because his girl lets him think that.

So back to Marv and sweet little Connie. Marv, if it's not too late, run. Run fast and far.

You will never know what is going on in that pretty little head of hers and if you think cutting up some tree is the answer, boy, do I have news for you.

One day, you'll be sitting down, watching the game on TV, and sweet little Connie will sit down next to you and sigh.

Nothing more, just a soft, quiet sigh.

And I'll bet you my last dollar, if you don't turn off that TV immediately and take her to dinner you will see just how comfortable a bed the front seat of your pickup can be.

And no frog from the creek is going to fix that.