I am tired, oh so tired.

 

 

I, Daniel Ester, am tired. These are my thoughts after five years of studying something that is apparently useless and unnecessary to one's existence.

I am tired of wallowing in a life that swirls  around on a figurative spindle with no results.

I am tired of smelling smoke of bratwurst wafting from that neighbor who lives just below my apartment. Can't he grill a steak now and then.

I am tired of blaring music from another neighbor above me from Trinidad.

I am tired of big boob blonde neighbor across the hall, who parades around in the courtyard, wearing her latest purchases from Victoria's Secret.  Actually, I don't mind that part at all, being a red-blooded American male with a strong libido.

I am tired of that toothless codger with knobby knees on first floor apartment ogling the blonde as she struts around applying sunscreen.

Dammit, I am just plain tired of it all.  

 In fact, I may move out of Mom's basement when graduation comes for me to get my degree in historical studies, with a focus on ancient Sumerian society...   

...like that is going to get me a job, that comes with a paycheck?  But I hear Lowe's is hiring someone who can read stuff and follow directions.  I can handle that, I think.  

 

 

The underlined words are Wednesday Words from 2016. The Wed. Words are the creation of a now retired blogger named Delores. She handed this writing off to other bloggers when her computer gave up. The new finder-of-words is River and she has a creative mind... 

Do pop over to her site and join the Wed. Word Challenges.  

I often go back to previously posted blogs.  These are always re-written and changed because I have changed as a writer. So if you shrug off my posts, please grant me a pass. I have been diagnosed with Parkinson's and my hands are fighting my fingers.   

Meeting the Future and Dodging the Bullets...

YouTube with traditional graduation march, as composed by Edward Elgar

Graduation could not have come soon enough for students and parents alike.  That cap-and-gown walk into the gymnasium was dignified, with a few smirks and sly looks.  We are outta here!

There were at least three girls that I knew for sure were in the family way, had a bun in the oven, knocked up, and pregnant. Not that this wasn't a surprise, being who they were and their reputations.  AND there were many more who were anxiously watching the calendars, crossing each day off, and waiting.  This, again, I suspected and heard the gossip, since no girl keeps that secret to herself.

Meanwhile, there were some parents with grim faces, clenched jaws, and hands balled up in barely contained fury.  These were girls' parents, who had seen the evidence bulging out.  Others were the boys' parents who forced confessions after talking with girls' parents.

AND THEN there were parents who discovered that their boys had made side trips to other schools, and this was a drama in itself.

Each of those parents were thinking: we raised up our kids right, in the fear of the Lord!... Whenever church doors were open, we sat in the pews singing hymns!... We went to church, youth group, church camp.... We had family devotions every night!...We prayed with them, saw them saved at the altar.  We did not talk about sex, because that would give them permission to "do it". HOW could this have happened?

Well, I will tell you why this happened:  All dating venues were off bounds since they were evil or sinful.

Bowling alleys?  They served beer there.  Movies?  Oh, heavens no--all those actors were sinners and who knows what the hidden messages might exist.  Miniature golfing?  Just the two of them?  They need chaperones for that, too.  Eat out?  Are you kidding?  We don't have money for that!   Dancing? That stirs up lust and invites the devil in.

All that was left was parking in a cornfield and making out, which means to kiss passionately and grope body parts. Oh, there were many many cars in a field, leaving farmers to wonder who smashed down corn stalks. All it took was a promise and a kiss, plus I'll marry you if you get pregnant.

When graduates marched out the gymnasium door, some knew that next week, they would be marching down the aisle, wearing a wedding dress in a lovely shade of ivory.

Traditional Wedding March, Mendelssohn, as played by Diane Bish

 Addendum: 
This was in my 1969 graduation.  Life was different then.  Birth control was for married women.  Pills prescribed were to them.  Buying condoms often required driving to the next state over. Yup, this issue was a non-issue, due to many factors.

G is for graduation

Source

Holding a newborn after so many years was such tingling experience. Such a precious little man, Sean…so precious.  Family gathered around him, loving him.

Grandchildren had gone from baby to teens and these grandparents hadn't held a new grandson for years.  Sean was the beginning of another set of babies.  Sweet boy...such a precious sweet boy.

Sean could hit the baseball hard, could stretch out his glove, and catch anything hit his way.  Then his parents noticed that he wasn’t using his left hand. 

Doctor visit, then Pediatric Neurologist, then an MRI, and then on the fourth day Sean’s parents heard the news of a brain tumor. Surgery would happen in seven days.

The first surgery was done by one of only two Pediatric Neurosurgeons in the entire country. The tumor was wrapping around the brain stem; if the surgery had not been done, he would have died in two months. Sean was nine then.

A new MRI, and then a second surgery. The first surgery had been brutal, but the second was indescribable.  So much trauma, so much of who he was, taken away. Sean was ten. 

Then radiation. Then this…that…this…

Now…Sean is 22 years old.  Now, even after such horrible surgeries which left severe disabilities, Sean is graduating from University.

There will be rejoicing and tears for this young man, this precious man, this precious young man.

Of all the A to Z posts written this year, this one was the hardest. No words seemed to fit or relay this. My nephew is amazing.

1969 Graduation

Source

Sitting in the folding chair with all the other graduates, the 100% polyester gowns were turning each of us into a massive heap of deoderant-scented perspiration.  We girls realized this immediately; we stripped off the 100% polyester-newly-purchased-or-handmade dresses, heaping them tossed about in the American History room.  We would receive the diplomas with less clothes.

Speaker One was Mary Jane, a brilliant young lady who went on to become a doctor.  I think the lack of participation in school clubs and activities may have not worked in her advantage.

Speaker Two was Rebecca, a very intelligent girl who was active in everything, being a school cheerleader and part of the more affluent families. 

Rebecca and I were on GPA par, but for some reason the principal, David Tyler had chosen me for the final speaker.  Maybe it was because I had “won” many medals in Speech and Debate.  I still have those medals today, wondering why I kept them.

The opening of my speech had a general opening about a commercial (taken from a movie, "The Graduate") with intro to the body of the speech: The Future.  It was filled with some glowing phrases: looking forward to the great future, the incredible inventions and technologies, challenges and potentional, etc.  Basically it was the fodder of every graduation speech.

But looking at those other students sweating in their chairs, I knew that the future meant something very different for each of us. Heck, my speech would have put me to sleep in my own sauna graduation gown.  

Instead my speech changed direction, completely changed. Addressing the parents, the people who had been through the Great Depression, WW11, and/or Korean War became part of my new, unpracticed speech..  Their futures during that time had been very different.

Vietnam War but a very different type of war…drugs becoming available in our own towns…a time period unlike their own…confusion unvoiced…patience please patience…seeing the challenges of the future with eighteen year old eyes…time to grow…talk with us not at us.  But, the last sentence or two were aimed at my peers.

The only words I can clearly remember were these:

Don't be afraid.  Whatever you chose to do, don't be afraid.

That is all.  My memory of the rest is cloudy.  It was a short speech and we dozed during the main speaker’s address.

What next?  The Moon Landing in July 1969: Far Horizons post on Friday, January 16.

**The names are fictional.

1969 and Winning

No more UFOs were seen, fortunately or unfortunately.  They were a diversion, and God knew, I surely needed one that senior year.

Not-a-real-diploma

The year 1969 brought graduation from high school.  Thank you, God. 

The senior year had been one of hard work, very hard work.  My whole college life depended on the sacred "win" of a scholarship.  Long story there, but anxiety level was such that I developed an ulcer and lost twenty pounds.

My GPA before senior year had been a miserable 3.5; it could not, would not “win” me much.  The word “win” was confusing then and is now.  One could not “win” anything as precious as a scholarship.  One could claw up the mountain of hope and perhaps make it to the top, holding that gold medal scholarship high.

End of school and graduation--- a memory I will never forget.  I was one of four valedictorians.  Our high school had a policy that if the GPAs were so close by the middle of May, there would be three or four valedictorians.  This “win” required me to speak at graduation. 

A scholarship was soundly mine.  A selected college accepted my application. I had a speech written and then re-written in my head.  The other two and I practiced our speeches in an empty gym, where our words sounded hollow. The fourth declined speaking at the commencement, so shy.

I “won” the position of the final speaker, the one who would introduce the specially invited speaker.  Even though I knew each word, each nuance, something changed as I looked out at the other graduates, knowing each one, suspecting their dreams and hopes. 

Some boys, too many boys would be heading to Vietnam.  A few pregnant girls would be getting married in a few days, since the district’s policy forbid married students from attending school.  College, farming, marriage, vocational schools, and just moving somewhere were the rest of the tasseled hats.

What did I say?  Tell you in two days.

This post is dedicated to Joanne Noragon who asked an important question after my three UFO posts: I'll enjoy seeing how college changed your outlook and furthered your education. What was the big letdown?