Six Going on Seven

     Imagine that you just turned six years old.  Your dad has been dragging a tube around everywhere he goes in the house for over a year.  Whenever he leaves the house, he carries a noisy backpack.  The tube goes in his nose and it helps him breathe.  You know he goes to the doctor a lot and needs new lungs.  You're pretty sure Dr. Simon is getting them from Argentina, but when you say that, Dad explains that Dr. Simon is helping, but he isn't getting them from another country.  Almost exactly two weeks after your birthday, that "call" that you've heard Mom and Dad talk so much about comes, apparently-- first your grandmotherly neighbor and, later that day, your actual grandmother, stay with you after Mom and Dad leave.  Dad gave you an extra long hug and seemed like he might cry before he left.  Grandma tries to play video games with you but is really, really bad at them.  Mom didn't come home that night, or the next night, and that was okay, even though you hadn't been away from her for that many nights before.  Grandma lets you have pretty much whatever you want, because Dad's in the hospital getting his new not-from-Argentina lungs, and Grandma usually lets you have whatever you want even when it isn't a special circumstance.

Contender For "Worst First Day of Teaching." Ever.

     Sometimes everything goes your way.  And sometimes you end up driving into a telephone pole.  After graduating from Eastern in the spring of 2003, I, like thousands of other would-be teachers, was on the hunt for a job.  I applied to almost every position imaginable, including a job in Benton Harbor where I would have been the only English teacher in the whole school, as well as one in Cedar Springs, the Red Flannel capital of the world.  Those interviews did not pan out, but a chance connection that my wife had through her job at the time got my foot in the door at Ypsilanti High School.  They were in desperate need of a teacher to fill in as a long-term substitute for one of their English teachers who was on maternity leave.  And I was just the person for the job.

Walt Disney Whirled

     With my family's fifth Disney trip just under a month away, we've been talking a lot about how excited we are to go, since every trip prior has been great, and the upcoming one promises to top them all, considering my improved health and the ever increasing excitement displayed by my son, who, now that he has seen the original film, will go bonkers over the Star Wars attractions, in addition to all of the things he loved last year.  (That was one long, run-on sentence, and I'm not changing it because Disney excitement is the second leading cause of run-ons after "being in 9th grade.")