40 Memories From 40 Years
Today, I’m turning 40.
40 is going to take some getting used to. So to help me begin to wrap my mind around that number, I figure I’ll share 40 memories from my life.
(These are not my 40 most important memories. They are 40 that happened to pop into my mind as I was writing.)
My first memory— sitting on my big wheel tricycle on the sidewalk in front of my house on Victoria Street in South Bend, Indiana. I grabbed onto the big wheel’s handlebar and a bee stung me on my palm. I cried, I ran inside, and my mom took me to the kitchen sink and ran cold water on the bee sting to make it feel better.
When I was about three, we moved out to the country on Roosevelt Road. I was excited to try out my big wheel at our new house. I sat down on it, tried to pedal, and couldn’t go anywhere. At that point, I realized I wasn’t a fan of the gravel driveway at the new house. Eventually, the gravel got paved over.
Riding the bus to kindergarten at Greene School, hearing “Material Girl” on the radio for the first time. I thought the singer was saying something about “Cheerios.” But she wasn’t. She was saying “material.”
When I was in kindergarten, my teacher, Mrs. Kovach, would send home coloring pages to complete. One day, I got lazy and colored everything in green crayon. Mrs. Kovach wrote “Careless” at the top of the page. When I asked my mom what the word said and what it meant, she told me. I felt really bad about it.
In first grade, my friend Omari came over to my house on a Friday after school. We played outside, we had fun, and then we sat down in a living room chair together to watch “G.I. Joe” for a while before his mom came to pick him up. I thought we were both enjoying the show until I looked over at Omari and saw he was sound asleep. I was surprised that somebody could sleep through “G.I. Joe,” but he must not have been that big a fan.
Our first grade teacher, Mrs. Emery, had to supervise lunch in the classroom because we didn’t have a cafeteria. Kids kept bugging her by blowing up empty plastic baggies and popping them like balloons. It drove her nuts, but instead of outlawing it completely, she designated one day a week “Bag Popping Day” so that we could get it out of our system periodically.
In second grade, my friend Tom told our teacher Mrs. Quinn one too many times, “It’s a free country.” He was usually referring to the injustice of homework, if I remember correctly. Anyway, she told Tom he couldn’t say, “It’s a free country,” anymore.
Mrs. Quinn assigned us to write a story for homework. Any story. We were supposed to make one up. I couldn’t think of anything, so I went searching in my storybooks for material that I thought Mrs. Quinn wouldn’t know about. I found “The Emperor’s New Clothes” and I paraphrased it. After I’d turned it in, she called me up to her desk. All she did was point to the title at the top of the page, and next to the title she had me write the word “retold.” I went back to my seat and she didn’t say anything else about it.
In fourth grade, we got to do a talent show, so obviously my friend Blake and I put up a Nerf hoop on the closet door of the classroom and we performed a dunk contest. He was “Airball Jordan” and I was “Dominique Will-Lose.”
Mr. True was our sixth grade teacher and basketball coach. During practice one day, we were messing around in the lay-up line, trying to do fancy lay-ups. He got real agitated and stopped practice to tell us to quit doing all the “double fump-pakes.” Then he corrected himself. “Double pump fakes.” I thought that was pretty funny.
In eighth grade science class, we studied substance abuse. For one project, my buddies and I filmed a short movie about a young man named “Young Jimmy Horowitz” (played by Rob). In the movie, Young Jimmy Horowitz started stealing money from his mom’s purse in order to finance his steroid purchases. The steroids helped him excel at basketball, but they also gave him an anger problem (roid rage) and soon his life went spiraling out of control.
In the sequel, Young Jimmy Horowitz smoked cigarettes. The smoking caused him to suffer a heart attack. Unfortunately, the heart attack occurred while he was driving his go-kart at top speed. He veered off the driveway (the asphalt driveway that was once gravel) and he crashed into a bale of hay, dying upon impact. This film got us all extra credit in science class. Looking back, it’s kind of surprising that out of all the substances in the world that you can get hooked on, the ones that Young Jimmy Horowitz got hooked on were steroids and cigarettes. As Kurt Vonnegut wrote, “So it goes.”
At ninth grade orientation at Riley High School, the principal, Mr. McCullough, addressed the incoming students and their parents in the auditorium. He asked us to consider, “Where do you want to be ten years from now? Twenty years from now?” A student yelled from the back, “On Rush Street!” Rush Street is one block away from the school. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I bet that ninth grader was a big Wendell Berry fan.
In ninth grade World History, Mr. Clements would go around the room and call on people, asking them questions about what we’d recently read or discussed. He’d put them on the spot. He called Will Bernhardt “Bernie,” and because of Bernie’s impressive answers, Mr. Clements said he was a “heavyweight.” Joe Sloma didn’t necessarily have all the answers, but Mr. Clements didn’t hold it against him. He said he imagined Joe would make a good “hatchet man under the boards” in basketball. Mr. Clements had some great expressions.
In high school French class, Ms. McMann let us each choose a French name to go by. I chose “Serge,” like the Serge character in “Beverly Hills Cop.” Serge worked at the art gallery, and the actor who played him also played Balki in “Perfect Strangers.”
In tenth grade, we got out of class to go to the gym and listen to speeches from various candidates who were running for class office. My friend Alyssa was running for class secretary or treasurer, and for her speech, she had a bunch of people come up front to help. Each person held a piece of paper with a letter from “Alyssa” written on it. Each letter was going to stand for some attribute she possessed which made her qualified for office. Like “listener” or something. The people with the letters got confused as they were trying to get in the right order, so the start of the speech was held up for 30 seconds or so while they scrambled around. Everyone in the audience was waiting patiently, but then my friend Marcos in front of me suddenly called out, “Unorganized!” I thought it was really funny how proud Marcos was of his zinger. He thought he’d said such a great zinger.
I’ll speed it up now with some shorter, less-explained memories. Here’s one: Shawnee Park, across the street from my grandma’s house in Xenia, Ohio. It had a duck pond with plenty of ducks to feed, a sledding hill for winter, and a big playground.
Playing cards with my grandma at her kitchen table.
The fridge downstairs at my Nana and Bopa’s house, full of Cokes and Capri Suns, and the freezer full of Fudgesicles and red-white-and blue popsicles. I also loved driving up to St. Joe with Nana and Bopa and going out on the boat.
Breakfast at Honkers.
My dad asking, “Where’s your boots?” when we were all piling into the car to go to school. He was always miffed that we didn’t want to wear our snow boots to school in winter.
Mr. Brickner, my music teacher in eighth grade— he told me, “You’re such a cynic.” I don’t remember what prompted him to say that, but I liked Mr. Brickner, and I don’t think he was wrong.
Once during his eighth grade year, my brother Joel broke the school basketball record for points in a game with something like 36 points. That was awesome. He’s never bragged about it (or anything else), but I’ll never forget it.
At about age five or six, my brother Jeff busted his head open when he was sprinting down an aisle at a store called the Little Red Shoe House. He tripped and fell and hit his head on a metal bench. At the hospital, they gave him stitches on his forehead in the shape of football goalposts. The scar is no longer visible.
I sometimes tried to get my brother Jeff and my sister Deb to fight each other, but Deb would not under any circumstance hit Jeff, even if he hit her first and even if I was holding his arms behind his back. That’s just Deb for you.
Riding to “Turtle Bay” to catch turtles with my cousin Kevin in his tin fishing boat that had a 5 1/2 horsepower engine on it.
Living with a bunch of my friends in Traber Hall, Michigan Avenue apartments, and then an off campus apartment.
Living with my friend Sean after college.
Living with my friend Trevor in Wyoming, Michigan. Did you know there is a Wyoming, Michigan?
Teaching English to Mexican and Cuban immigrants on weeknights in Holland, Michigan.
Working many summers at a Bible camp in Michigan.
Water balloon fights.
Smoke bombs. Lots of smoke bombs.
Getting married to the love of my life.
Having the two most beautiful sons I could ever imagine.
Teaching 1st, 2nd, and 4th grades for 7 years.
Substitute teaching all grades for 3 1/2 years.
As a little kid, hiding behind the passenger seat in my grandpa’s El Camino and popping out and surprising my Great Gram when we went to pick her up.
Going to see “E.T.” at the theater, just me and my mom.
Going with my dad on the riding lawn mower while he cut the grass.
It’s been a great 40 years! I’m very grateful to my friends and family, and I hope the Good Lord will keep me around for a while longer. If I failed to mention your name, please forgive me. Thanks for reading!
