may the mockingbirds be with you

            It’s funny how many books I disliked in high school. I mean, most of them I would have probably enjoyed if I didn’t have to overanalyze and memorize what were in my opinion, superfluous details. In all fairness, it’s a lot harder to enjoy a book when you know in the coming weeks you will be subject to pop quizzes and some sort of summative examination. Aside, I remember To Kill A Mockingbird, as one of the few books school didn’t ruin for me. Before reading it a second time, I couldn’t tell you much about the plot. I remember the character of Atticus made quite an impression on me- I just couldn’t remember why that was. Also, my incredible freshman English teacher made the book entertaining. I remember how our class would erupt in laughter whenever he would read passages from the novel in his fake southern accent. He insisted that he make our experience as authentic as possible, and encouraged us to use southern accents when reading it ourselves. You can bet the voices of the characters in my head had some thick southern drawls both times around.

            My experience reading the book a second time was just as enjoyable as the first. It felt like watching a movie you hadn’t seen a while but remember liking. With each tale of Scout and Jem’s adventures, I began to remember different aspects of the novel. How could I have forgotten about the infamous Boo Radley? It’s hard to not be interested in a “cat-eating” monster of a man that lurks around the town of Maycomb at night. I found myself rushing through the pages of part one to learn more and more about this character. I couldn’t wait for him to reveal himself. Yes, it took me a while to remember that that was the grand finale of the book. Still, I felt as if I was in the same situation as Scout and Jem. I wanted to know this seemingly strange man.  Still, Boo’s true identity may actually be even cooler than his reputation. He is a protector of the innocent whose loving heart became apparent when his children were put in danger. While he may not be comfortable coming out of his home, he did so when he was needed most.

            Also, how could I have forgotten about the great Atticus Finch? First, I had completely forgotten about the scene with the rabid dog. In all honesty, the scene didn’t do much for my opinion of Atticus. I just remember thinking how cool it would have been to witness. I see Atticus standing resolute, this may seem dramatic but he appears somewhat majestic. Perfectly calm, Atticus fires a single shot into the dog stopping instantly. Aside from the action, there’s something truly admirable about Atticus’s character. I love how he not only stands for what he believes in, but refuses to retaliate against those who mistreat him. Atticus’s life reflects Matthew 5:44. He is the moral standard of Maycomb, and the hope that no matter how racist, intolerant, or whatever the town might become, there is still a person who stands firm behind what they know is right.

          Of course I can’t leave out our beloved Scout and Jem. I think it’d be incredibly hard for any person to not be able to relate with their coming-of-age story. All children at some point have to deal with injustice in the world. In Scout and Jem’s case, their innocence takes an incredible hit over the course of the Tom Robinson trial. They are subjected to bullying by kids in their school,for their father’s actions, not their own. They see a court convict an obviously guilty man, who eventually is killed. Finally, they experience an attack that almost took their lives. No act Scout and Jem committed merited such injustice. In fact, their actions to support what they knew was right only led to them realizing that doing what’s right doesn’t always make your life any easier or fairer. Life doesn’t always uplift the good and punish the bad. We all come to terms with the injustice inescapable in the world we live in.

            To Kill A Mocking Bird is a fantastic book. I’m not very much of a reader, but I can’t deny enjoying every bit of my experience with this book both times. The story is timeless with action, adventure, mystery- It’s kind of like Star Wars. May the Mockingbirds be with you!

Meeting 4

            Meeting number 4. It’s getting pretty serious…

Okay, that’s not an accurate statement. Our conversations are probably getting less formal all the time.  I view it as a good thing. We are getting more comfortable talking with each other, and hopefully Rosa is getting more comfortable using conversational English. It certainly seems like she is. Her speaking has definitely improved since the first time we met. Her vocabulary has expanded, and her command of speaking seems stronger (she speaks faster/spends less time planning out what she’s going to say). There’s the occasional error such as “wifehouse” (meaning housewife), or pronunciation error. All of which make sense in Spanish. They place the adjectives after the noun, and give “u” an “oo” sound instead of an “uh” sound. I remember thinking that seemed so ridiculous when I was in Spanish 1. I bet she feels the same way- just for English. It’s all backwards.

           

            The obvious subject to converse about was Spring Break, seeing that it’s only three days away. Both of us are feeling pretty burnt out on school now. We’ve realized in the past nine weeks we’ve become quite the movie connoisseurs. No hate on Texas, but it seems in the wintertime, there isn’t much to do beside eat and see movies. I laughed when Rosa said she’s exhausted Netflix. This weekend she scrolled through what was available and found that she’d already watched everything that seemed interesting to her. She’s on to documentaries now. She laughed- she said some of them are really slow.

            Then we started to talk about some cultural differences in family life. Rosa said that it seems to be the norm for people around 18 to just want to get away from their parents. They don’t want anything to do with them. It’s goodbye, so long. In her country, the children stay really close to their parents into there twenties. I love my parents and definitely want to maintain a close relationship with them, but I don’t want to be that guy living with his parents at 25 or whatever it may be. That seems to not only be ok, but normal where Rosa’s from. She said there’s simply a much greater importance for connectedness in the family, or less importance on independence.  Even though Rosa is 23 (or somewhere around there), her parents still call relatively frequently to check up on her. She said she’s still dependent on them for some things. I know that won’t be the case for me. Sure I’ll still be emotionally vested in parents, but both them and I would not like me being financially dependent on them. Cultural norms.

            Another thing I found interesting was how Rosa feels like she has become a daughter again by living with her uncle. For one, he’s her ride- so once again she’s dropped off and picked up from school. Her schedule is somewhat dependent on her uncle’s. I feel the same way without a car. I’m basically stuck at TCU unless one of my friends can take me somewhere else. I never appreciated how freeing it is to have a car. In another way, Rosa has to get permission from her uncle to do things. She has to let him know where she’ll be. She said it can be frustrating at times as an adult to have to check in with a parent. Of course Rosa’s uncle is only concerned for her well-being. Regardless, I know that would bother me. It makes me laugh imagining being over twenty-years old and saying, “Hey Mom, can I sleep over at Jensen’s house?” Is this a difference of cultural norms again? Probably. It make sense with what Rosa was telling about how children stay linked to their parents much longer.       

Indian Camp

            There’s something about the term short stories that makes me excited. I’m not sure if its simply the promise of the reading being short, or that they remind me of the Pixar animated short films that come before a feature film. Either way, it just simply intrigues my interest.

            As I discovered after reading “Indian Camp,” Hemingway short stories are kind of a beast of their own. In my first read through, I found myself confused, overwhelmed, and unsure of the point of the story. Unlike the short stories I think of, Hemingway stories kind of throw you in the middle of the action right out of the gate. Sure, he gives you a little bit of the context, maybe a name or two, but otherwise the story is already happening. I guess what I’m trying to say is, Hemingway short stories give me a similar experience as starting to watch a movie you’ve never seen about half way through. My mind scrambles to get acquainted with the characters and fill in the back-story. Once my puzzling read through came to a close, I decided I would sleep on it, and wait until tomorrow to try it again.

            On my second reading, I found the story a little easier to understand. Essentially, Nick who is interning for his father heads over to an Indian Camp with Uncle George to help an Indian woman who has been in labor for two days. The doctor performs a makeshift Caesarian section, and we find that the baby’s father kills himself. The whole instance proves overwhelming to Nick, who is left with several questions for his father at the end. A pretty eventful three pages.

            While nothing really stood out to me the first time I read it, the second time yielded some instances of dialogue between Nick and his father that seemed out of the ordinary. The first occurred here: “This Lady is going to have a baby, Nick.” “I know.” “You don’t know. Listen to me…” I’m not sure if this instance is simply characteristic of Nick’s father, asserting his authority over Nick or not. It did, however, remind me of a coach or instructor. I remember in my club volleyball days, my coaches would say similar things, such as, “Do you know how to dig that kind of hit?” “Yes.” “Then why didn’t you dig it?” Perhaps Nick’s father is simply trying to establish his role as the teacher and Nick’s as the learner just as my coaches did with me. The whole point of an internship is gaining experience and knowledge you didn’t previously have. Still, it seems there is something condescending about the way Nick’s father said it.

           

            The second occurrence was after the doctor delivered the child. Without any anesthetic on hand, the doctor cuts open the Indian woman with a jack knife. The pain from labor is only made more excruciating. You know it’s bad when you need multiple people to hold you down during the procedure. Sure, Nick’s father feels like he’s some sort of macho man afterwards. He’s proud of his accomplishment. But I find it interesting that after such graphic operation he’d just casually say to his son, “How do you like being an intern?” Nick can’t say he doesn’t like it, but that’s clearly the case. He looked away to not see what his father was doing. I’m not sure how old Nick is, but at any age, I imagine all the screaming, blood, and surgical operation is a lot to handle all at once. I felt overwhelmed just reading it. Sure enough, Hemingway isn’t done with his innocence stripping experience. Nick sees his father tip the head of the Indian Father back who killed himself.

            At this point, I simply felt bad for Nick. The poor kid can’t escape this emotionally excruciating experience. Only at the end of the experience does Nick’s father apologize for the “awful mess” he put his son through. Sometimes people lose their innocence gradually, others in big chunks. This certainly was a big chunk for Nick. In one night, he was exposed to a world he probably had no idea existed, leaving him quite sure that he would never die. 

1,389 miles

            It’s funny how much “college preparation” I did in high school. I took ten AP classes, one IB course, and one Honors Accelerated course. I certainly was well prepared for the academic side of college, but didn’t have any preparation in high school for, at least for me, the scariest part of college- everything but the academics. I remember convincing myself that going to a school more than one thousand miles from home where I knew no one was unmistakably the right idea. What I failed to consider was how scary that transition would be. I didn’t expect a new culture, new lifestyle, and unfamiliar personalities. Of course, that’s exactly what I received, a brand new life. It’s what I asked for, but wasn’t what I expected.

            At the start of my second semester at TCU, I can still clearly remember the day before I began my adventure. My mom was frantic. I hadn’t started packing and it was already five o’clock at night. She was completely justified in her actions, I was just trying to hold on to what little bit of summer I had left. I started summer on June 23, and it was now August 9 and it was over. I was beginning to have reservations about this whole going away to college thing. When you are taking a college tour, it’s all fine and good. The student guide tells you about how great their school is, about how accepting and friendly the student body is, and most of all, how they wouldn’t rather be at any other university. The process painted an ideal picture in my mind; TCU must be the holy land! I thought I would have hundreds of friends instantly. I would be accepted for every part of me. I would be surrounded with a body of Christians actively seeking the Lord. Essentially, everything I wished for in high school would be realized at this magic place called TCU.  Despite all this positivity, the reality of leaving everything I knew behind began to weigh in on me. I questioned if this only child was indeed ready to go out on his own. Either way, my leaving was inevitable.

            My eyes opened, and I felt scared. Uncertainty was upon me more than any time in my life. Even in the simplest senses, I’d never flown with all of my guitar equipment before. It is kind of a funny experience getting two guitars through the security check. You get asked interesting questions such as what instrument do you play? Are you a musician? Perhaps the best reaction was on the plain. Apparently one of the Jonas Brothers had been on the flight recently, so because I had a guitar with me, the stewardess assumed I must be one of those Jonas Brothers kids. I always enjoy those interactions. During the flight, my feelings seemed to move back to normal. I felt as if I was leaving on a vacation. We landed in the evening, and reality sunk in again. I wouldn’t be returning with my parents this time.

            That night, I walked into Milton Daniel for the first time. It was much smaller than I imagined it being. I still had never seen a college dorm as nice, but I simply had boosted the dorm up to something that probably doesn’t exist in the world of college dorms. I met with the RA at the front desk. She was a blonde girl, not much older than myself. She asked me my name, and took my ID in exchange for a cart and my room key. As I turned the key to basement room 23, I felt excited. The door opened to an empty room, two lofted beds and furniture crammed underneath. I felt closed in within the sterile white laws and minimal sunlight creeping in through our window. Not quite the Hilton Hotel room I had been told about. My Mom and Dad reassured me that it would come together and feel a lot less campy. We headed back upstairs to return the cart. Though it was the same girl at the desk, she asked me who I was. As ridiculous as this might be, I was a little hurt. I just met her about ten minutes ago, and she had already forgotten who I was. Talk about a warm welcome.

            About five days later, my parents flew back to California, and I never felt so alone in my life. I didn’t know anyone, and apparently didn’t understand how to make friends. I would approach random people in my residence hall to try and meet them, but very few bothered to remember my name. Some people I met at least three times, but every time was the first time. I took it too personally. Everyone was feeling overwhelmed. Still, I didn’t understand why I wasn’t worth remembering. I sat in my room, and would Skype my old friends who hadn’t started school yet. It helped me to feel a little less lonely. I knew I still mattered to someone. Just about anything I could do to take my mind off my new surrounding, I’d do it.

            One of the biggest transitions for a hopeful musician as myself was the limited time I could spend playing my guitar. I knew I couldn’t simply plug in my electric guitar and practice for hours on end like I did at home. I now had to consider all 35 or so guys living in the basement. It continues to frustrate me to this day. I’ve literally gone from playing two to three hours a day to maybe forty-five minutes a day. I’ve recently discovered ways around it, such as playing my electric guitar unplugged. Needless to say, this is still a transition I’m getting used to. All I want to do is music, yet this whole dorm situation is a giant obstacle to it. I was in over my head trying to avoid being a disruption to everyone around me, especially my roommate.

            I’m still shocked by the clothing style of the students at TCU. Backwards hats, polo shirts and shorts, and Sperry’s everywhere. All of which are things no one in their right mind would be caught dead in in California. I’m still looked upon differently for not joining the fraternity boy trend, but it’s simply not who I am. The more I thought about it, the more I realized my expectations for TCU were so far from reality. It seems so logical now that going to school in a place 1,389 miles from home would probably be pretty different, but I failed to make that connection during my college decision process. I know my frustration with high school played an incredible role that decision. I was so fed up with the people who wrote me off that getting away from all I knew seemed like the ultimate solution. Now at TCU, I realized the enormous amount of good I left. I left my two loving parents, grandparents, friends I’d known since elementary school, and the place I loved most in high school, Saddleback Church.  Oh yeah, and the happiest place on earth, Disneyland. I am a true California kid, I dress like a musician because that’s what I know, not a polo magazine. I took advantage of the wonderful surroundings of Orange County I no longer have access to most of the year. It’s funny how sure I was I didn’t want to be associated with my home, yet I miss it and appreciate it more than I have at any point in my life.