The Story of My Life: Life Lessons Don't Always Come Easy

After a couple of years throwing some vicious haymakers, 2004 was about to bring about many key life lessons that would define my teenage years and have lasting impacts throughout my life. I never placed 2004 in my "favorite years" list, but as I write this and reflect upon how my life turned out that year, I realize I undervalued that year for far too long. 

I went into 2004 excited as 2003 was finally put to bed. I was almost halfway through my first year in Cleveland which in my mind meant being that much closer to returning to Pennsylvania. In terms of how school was going, I was flying high. My one on one attention from homeschool and being put into the 7th grade instead of the 8th, was allowing me to get straight A's in my sleep. I was also earning moniker's like Smarty Pants, Nerd, and Teacher's Pet. I would normally get offended, but all of those nicknames were true. Especially Teacher's Pet. My worst fear was getting in trouble. The best way to combat that was to literally be a teacher's pet, at least that's what I thought. Also it was a good way to combat bullies as being on the teacher's good side would likely always have them choose my side over the bully. Which in turn earned me the nickname Snitch. As annoying as these names were, I tried for the most part not to let them get to me. Retaliation would mean enemies and that's one thing I didn't wasn't prepared to create.

Despite of all that, I managed to make connections including one with one of the newer kids who transferred halfway through the school year. His name was Zack, which is ironic because as you all know, I had a friend back in PA named Zach. To become friends was written in the stars. Zack would become a good friend of mine as we both shared a love for video games and professional sports. One day, during lunch, Zack mentioned a free online video game where you could create a character, level them up, roam through a massive world, complete quests, and battle creatures. And the kicker was you could play with thousands of other people online in real time. The game was called Runescape. 

Up until this point, online gaming with other people wasn't as big as it is now. The only experience I had in that department was when I would sleep over at Jeremiah's house and me, him, and his older brother Dan would stay up until 4AM playing Counter Strike. A game in which six random people would play six other random people in as terrorists vs counter-terrorists. The goal was to eliminate all the other team or set off/diffuse a bomb. A game my parents would've never approved of if they knew I was playing it. But you won't tell right? The games were over in the blink of an eye so the actual interaction you had with the other players was over really quick. Runescape, however, was different. It would become a staple in my life, but also teach me a life lesson I was not ready for.

After Zack told me about Runescape and the website to go to, I didn't hesitate to create an account. At the time, the game ran in the browser on a flash player so I didn't have to download anything which was amazing because trying to download anything on dial-up internet was like waiting for a sloth to cross the road. Once my account was created, I had to give my character a screen name (like AIM). I was still heavily into sword fighting and days of old. And Tom Cruise's movie, The Last Samurai, had just come out and I thought that would be a cool name. So I called my character thelastsamurai13. Why I had an obsession with the number 13, I do not know. But all I knew was thelastsamurai13 was ready to take on the Runescape world. 

Within a few days of joining and getting familiar with the game world, I discovered that Jeremiah played too. That made the game more appealing because when I logged on, I could find him or Zack playing and we could play together, even though we weren't in the same room or even at times in the same city. We could make our characters meet in the same location in the same world, and play the game while also talking about life. 

As that first week went on, I began interacting with other real life people in the game. There were people willing to trade digital items, help me on a quest, or just make a new friend. That was all going great until I met this one guy trying to help people get free memberships. A membership was a paid version of the game that unlocked an excessive amount of quests, items, skills, and the rest of the world map that you could not get access to on a free account. It was the main way the game developers kept a portion of the game free, because they supplied paying members with all the extra content. So of course, every kid who didn't have money would love a free membership. This guy told me in game chat that there was a special way to do it. My present day self sees this as an obvious red flag. My thirteen year old self who had little understanding about internet safety, had no clue.

The person I was interacting with seemed like he genuinely wanted to help me. He asked me to follow his character and said I needed to pass some tests. The first was I had to kill a level 2 creature to show I was strong enough. I was level 10 at that point so that was no problem. Then we went to one of the biggest and most player populated cities in the game...Varrock. He then said I needed to be able to pay the in game fee of 1 gold piece. I had thousands of those at this point so I gave him one measly digital GP for free. Pleased with my progress, he said there was one last trial. He asked me to follow him. Our characters ended up walking a very long time to a very remote part of the world. I didn't know it then, but his purpose was to eliminate the chance of any other real life players seeing our chat as the chat was open to all players in proximity. Once we got there, he said the last thing he needed was trust. He needed to access my account to upgrade it to a membership account. He asked for my password. Alarm bells should've been blaring. Sirens should've been wailing. The dead should've been waking just to scream at me to run away. But all I could think about was the possibility of being able to have access to all that fun stuff for free. So I typed my password in chat and hit "Enter". He then told me to log out, wait 10 minutes, then log back in and I would have access to a full membership. So I did just that. 

Ten minutes later, I went to log in. I typed in thelastsamurai13 and my password. Access denied. Tried again. Incorrect password. My heart sank. My brain was now only processing what had happened. I had given a complete stranger the only thing that could access my account and I gave it to him on a silver platter. I had officially been scammed. To make matters worse, signing up for the account requires a name, address, and other personal information that could easily lead to identity theft. I was devastated. My character that I had put a week's worth of work into was gone. The levels I worked so hard to obtain...gone. The screenname thelastsamuri13...also gone. I was reckless, stupid, and had made a rookie mistake. 

The next time I saw Jeremiah, I told him what happened and he confirmed I had been scammed. He said people try to do that to newer accounts just to get all the items and other things you earned to give to their main accounts. To say I was frustrated would be an understatement. But there was a silver lining here. I now was aware of scamming and realized it could happen to anyone...even me. This time it was a gaming account that did not have a credit card attached. It could've been much worse. I got lucky, but a life lesson had been learned. I created a new account and called it Ninja2421. I was going to be the one in the shadows and made it a vendetta to go up against any wrongdoing I saw. This will come into play later.

Switching gears to a matter that was out of my control. I had been a relatively healthy kid up to this point. No medications, no allergies, no broken bones, and no ER visits. But in early January on a Monday morning I had gone to school with a bit of an ache. By second period, I was not doing so well and Mrs. Morris thought it best that I go home. My dad came and got me. I went straight to the doctor's office. There they diagnosed me with the flu and prescribed medication. I was a bit scared because I knew what the flu could do to older people and that it wipes anyone out for days. I was told I had to stay out of school at least through Thursday unless my symptoms worsened. My heart sank as I knew how much work I'd have to catch up on and that I'd have to go on medication. I couldn't catch a break.

Monday got worse and by Tuesday I was in so much pain it was hard to sleep. My head hurt, my throat hurt, I didn't feel like eating, everything was a mess. I thought for sure this was going to last for a long time. By Wednesday, things started to get a bit better, but I still felt crummy. My siblings brought home make-up work given to them by my teachers. Having nothing better to do, I tackled what I could and hoped for the best. By Thursday, I woke to my siblings getting ready for school, having slept through the night for the first time in two days. After they all left and the commotion died down, I fell back asleep and did not wake up again until almost 2 in the afternoon. By this point, I was feeling about 85% peachy. When I woke up Friday morning, my temperature was normal and I felt well enough to return to school. I was a bit worried because I didn't finish all the work, Mrs. Morris and Ms. Bentkowski had grace on me and didn't count the assignments I couldn't complete. They were simply nixed from my grade. I thought it was going to take me awhile to catch back up, but it turned out that I was fine because I was still familiar the material from homeschool. What I was able to take away from this was that sometimes in life, some things are out of my control. And rather than worry about the storm, I should focus on the recovery from the aftermath. 

One final life lesson is actually a throwback to December of 2003. The school decided it would be a fun idea to have a door decorating contest for the Christmas season and the winning class would get a pizza party. Looking back it may have been more to brighten up the dull ancient building that was Nathaniel Hawthorne and to get the kids into a bit of school fun. Now there was a bit of a rivalry between the two 7th grades. Mainly because one was full of advanced level kids and the other was full of standard level kids. I was in the standard level because they didn't know if I was ready to be placed in the advanced. There was another girl in my class who should've been in the advanced, but she had refused and wanted to remain with the kids she had gone through most of middle school with. Her name was Oliva. 

The rivalry formed because it was two groups of kid with different statuses. While we all generally got along, whenever competition came up, the heat was on. Backed behind the enthusiasm of Mrs. Morris, we were all in to win the contest. The materials were supplied and we went to work. The door was edged with frame paper and wrapped in colorful wrapping paper. We added gold stars with paper gingerbread men and stuck a picture of each student's face on each one. A wreath of red baubles was hung and a cut-out of the Grinch was slapped on the front. The final touch was golden tassels at the top of the door. We were proud of that work, but weren't sure if it was enough to get us to #1. But Mrs. Morris had a trick up her sleeve. She told us that the day before the judging was to occur, she was going to bring in her secret weapon. A large inflatable Santa Claus. We went nuts. We knew there was no way the other class was going to see that one coming. But we had to keep it a secret for a few days.

The day before the "secret" Santa was to arrive, we all were in Ms. Bentkowski's room for English. I don't remember exactly what happened, but someone or something had rubbed a boy in our class the wrong way. His retaliation was to spill the beans on Santa. We all went simultaneously shouted his name is disbelief. Ms. Bentkowski tried to hide her laughter. I thought we were done. Our secret had been exposed. When things had calmed down, I witnessed something of what made a teacher want to be a teacher. Ms. Bentkowski, without any initiation on our end, said she'd make us a deal. She would not tell her class our secret if we managed to finish class under sound circumstances and everyone completed the assignment. Somehow that proposition worked. 

When we returned to Mrs. Morris's classroom, we gave her the bad news that a certain someone had spilled the beans. She wasn't too pleased. But we explained Ms. Bentkowski's compromise and things cooled down once again. The next morning when we arrived to class, there was the large Santa, greeting us at the door. As the students from the other class came in, their jaws dropped. The term gobsmacked would suffice here. We knew Ms. Bentkowski held up her end of the deal. 

A couple days later, before we went on Christmas break, we heard Mr. Pempin come over the loud speaker to announce the winners of the door contest. We all became quiet. He went on about the heated contest and the great effort everyone put in. Then, after a brief pause, he announced the winners as room 202, Mrs. Morris's class. Anything he said after that was drowned out by our joyous uproar. It was an incredible feeling. I learned two things in that moment. 1) When there's a moment of weakness that can be taken advantage of, compassion is the path least traveled, but is the honorable thing to do. 2) Teachers teach for a reason. And while there may be a few bad apples in the bunch, most care about those they teach, no matter how difficult they sometimes may be. 

There's a lot more I have to say about 2004, but for now I'll leave you with a pretty dashing photo.

The Story of My Life: Tales to Close 2003

I was approaching my first year as a teenager quite rapidly. My preteen years refused to go away without a fight. From my world being flipped upside-down, to the goodbyes, the move, starting a new school, life kept coming like an unleashed locomotive. 2003 still had a handful of stories to write and I'm going to retell them.

It took seven days. Seven days of public school for me to decide I wanted to fake being sick. It was my second Monday I was supposed to attend school and when I woke up that morning, I simply didn't want to go. My dad came in the room and told me it was time to arise. I let out a weak moan. He asked if everything was all right. I mumbled that I wasn't feeling well. He asked if I was sure and I answered yes. That was not the truth. My brother Tim still shared a room with me at this point. My dad turned to him next as he wasn't getting up either. He groaned and said he wasn't feeling well either. For a reason unknown to me, Dad took both of those responses as legitimate and called the school, telling them that Tim and I would not be coming in today. 

I knew for my ruse to fully work, I had to be lethargic all day and that was not a problem. That Monday came and went without much fanfare. I discovered I had a potential get-out-of-jail-free card. But it was a card that still had to be played carefully. I wasn't going to play it two days in a row, so I reluctantly went to school on Tuesday. That's when I found I had made a slight error. Just because I missed a day of school did not mean I got out of schoolwork. I found out that being a lesson behind could be a bit problematic and two days worth of homework was no fun. Some kids handle this well. I did not. I hated the feeling of being behind and having extra work. My goody-two-shoes side had learned a lesson. Don't skip school unless you can handle the consequences. It still surprised me that it took only seven days.

One early evening I was walking through the kitchen. Suddenly, there was knock at the door. I was still in the phase where racing to answer the door or the phone before your siblings was the thing you had to do. I flung the door open and there stood Jim McNaughton. Jim, his wife Cindy, and their three young children (Abby, Channin, and Sean) all lived across the street from us. They were one of the many families we met through the church when we moved out here. Jim was holding something in his hands. I looked down and saw a big colorful box that was labeled Nintendo 64. My eyes grew big. He promptly placed it in my hands. "What's this?" I said rhetorically in an elevated voice. "I don't know." he said with a bit of a smirk. Jim then walked away as quickly as he appeared. 

For a little context, at this point, my parents still did not allow video games in the house, but they were also a little lenient with gifts. I started shouting in excitement. "Look what we got!" Instantly all of my siblings appeared in the kitchen. Once they saw what I had, they went nuts. My dad heard the commotion and entered the scene. "Look what Jim gave us!" I watched his expression carefully to determine whether or not my excitement was in vain. I could tell he wasn't too pleased, but was giving it a lot of thought as his response was very delayed. Then he began to speak. We all became quiet, awaiting the verdict. "There will be strong restrictions..." before he could finish the rest of his sentence, we exploded with joy knowing that those words meant we could keep it. "Fifteen minutes a day per person. That's it." Knowing how much we played video games when at Grandma and Grandpa's, that seemed awfully short. But it meant we finally had a foot in the door that would one day hopefully crack a bit wider. You may be wondering if we broke the 15 minute rule. Of course we did. But we mostly tried not to as it meant day bans that could also turn into bans lasting a week.

Contrary to popular belief, my Dad had video games when he was younger by way of the Atari. So he was no stranger to them. We discovered not long after owning the N64 that he liked to play Mario Kart. This gave us a plan to hatch. We decided to ask Dad to play with us which would almost assuredly go past the 15 minutes of allotted time. He agreed. There was one problem. There were five kids and one adult, but only four controllers. To solve this issue, four people would do a race. The two that finished 3rd and 4th would swap out. The other two would stay in. We'd end up doing 8 to 12 races in the beginning, but would eventually eclipse all 16. There were lots of laughs, playful aggression, some taunting, but overall, lots of general fun. We thought we were beating the system. But I believe Dad truly enjoyed being able to spend all that time with his kids, even if it was through those dastardly video games. I still remember some nights as I headed off to bed where I could hear the Mario kart music and the sound of Yoshi's voice as he drove around the track, controlled by Dad who was finding his inner child once more from years past. Jim may have been simply trying to give away something he no longer desired, but what he really did was gave us pure joy and memories for a lifetime.

We got our first PC in the mid-late 90s. I remember one day it was having issues and my mom called her genius cousin. He walked her step-by-step through the process and suddenly Windows 95 appeared on the screen. I heard my mom shot "Ahh WINDOWS!" She was so excited because she could now electronically type documents and save files. Us kids were excited because we could play games. Word Muncher and Troggle Trouble Math were two of the games that our PC could run somewhat okay. But we never had internet because the PC was too slow and it wasn't affordable to my parents at the time. So all our world wide web surfing came from being at Miss Alice's and at at the library. Enough back story. When we moved out to Cleveland, we had to get up with the times and get internet. My parents decided on Netzero dial-up. If you've heard of netzero, brownie points to you. If you can recall the awful sound dial up made, welcome to the club. Having internet was going to introduce me to many doors to the world. Some good and some bad, but all part of the life experience.

One of the first things I did was download programs I knew I wanted. The first was this chat program (they weren't called apps yet) called AOL Instant Messenger (AIM for short). How it worked is you first created a screen name (a fictional name used as your identity on the internet). Then you logged in and a side-bar would pop up on screen. You added your friends screen names to you chat list and as soon as you messaged them, BAM. A window would pop up on their computer screen with your message. It didn't matter what they or you were doing. You could be watching a video, doing homework, playing a game, and message your friends all at the same time (this was before cell phones and texting were a big thing yet). It was a game changer because I could socially interact with my friends more than the few times a week I saw them. What was my screen name you ask? Being twelve when I created it, I was into knights, sword fighting, jousting, basically that era in history. I called myself...theswordmaster...except that name was already taken. Shocker. The program gave me suggested numbers to add to it and I took the lowest one I saw. The number 13. Thus I became theswordmaster13. 

AIM became a big staple in my life and on nights I didn't feel like surfing the web or playing games, I would spend hours chatting with my buds. While it seems like AIM was my golden ticket in the world, it would also become the channel to some very crazy moments. The one I'm going to share with you now happened at a time most unexpected. I was home by myself and took the opportunity to get in some extra computer time. I had AIM set to auto log-in when I logged into my account on our family PC. The sidebar popped up and no one was really online because it was mid-afternoon. A few minutes after it had logged in, A message from a screen name I had not seen before appeared. Now I being young, dumb, and not really knowing what internet safety was (this will come into play later as well), I responded to the "hello" I received with "who's this?" Another message "Josh Watkins." My first thought was a friend had gotten my screen name from someone else and was playing a prank on me. "No you're not," I replied. "Seriously, who is this?" Another message appeared. "Seriously this is Josh Watkins. I'm from Wellington, OH. I went to the screen name search bar, typed in my name, and it gave me a list of a bunch of screen names associated with the name Josh Watkins. I started messaging them because I thought it would be fun." My mind was blown. We did chat for a bit more, but I can't recall what was said. That moment was brief as we never messaged each other again.

After the mysterious Josh Watkins signed off, I tested the search feature he had mentioned. When I typed in my name, a ton of random screen names appeared that had accounts with the registered name being Josh Watkins. I thought about messaging one, but decided I didn't feel like talking to another stranger. Looking back on that experience years down the road, I realized a few things. As incredible as AIM was, some of it's features were huge security issues. By being able to search for screen names based on someone's real name, it sort of defeated the purpose of a screen name. AOL later removed the feature probably due to security issues. Even though it was cool that you could message your friends, there was nothing really in place to prevent anyone from adding your screen name and messaging you. You could block people, but sometimes a message from a stranger popping up could be a bit off-putting. Lastly, it opened a door to my world where a lack of internet safety existed. I didn't think chatting with a stranger was a bad thing. I also didn't think that sharing some things about my self was a big deal. Thankfully nothing came from those juvenile missteps, but my ignorance would cost me something and teach me a valuable life lesson, But we'll get to that when I get into the year 2004.

November appeared as it always did and I kissed my pre-teen years goodbye. I turned the big 13 and was officially a teenager. I felt like I had matured many years, but the reality was I simply turned a year older. The gift my parents got me that year was a black and green snowboard with plastic, gray straps. I guess my daredevil years of going downhill standing up on a sled were too much for them to bear. That snowboard became the key of a lot of winter fun, insane rides, and even some pretty close calls. This gift would definitely fall in the category of memorable and timeless.

I did also end up having an extended party that year. It was my first sleepover in Ohio. I invited Timothy and Jeremiah, as well as two other fly dudes close to my age named John and Sean. Like many of these new folks I'll introduce throughout this journey, I met them on that first night we moved. Throughout the first few months, I got to know them pretty well too. Enough that I invited them over. I did come to learn that Sean's birthday was two days after mine and the same year. As for the party, we ended up eating a lot of snacks, playing a lot of the N64 (restrictions were off for this special occasion), and I believe we also watched a movie. John couldn't stay over but I was still glad he could come. We stayed up pretty late and didn't get up until close to noon the next day. It wasn't long before they all had to go, but I would see them later that night at the young people's meeting. As this story shows, I was still failing at this whole "trying not to make close friends" thing.

I'll close the book on 2003 with a memory that I hold dear to my heart. Since we moved to Cleveland in August, this was possibly going to be our first Christmas away from my grandparents and the rest of my Dad's side of the family. I wasn't ready for that and I don't think my Dad was either. As Christmas approached, my Dad informed us that we would be going back to Pennsylvania to celebrate the holiday. My heart exploded with joy. This was something I so desperately needed. My mom could not join us for this trip as she had been working at a nursing facility for only a few months and had to work the holiday shift. My Dad somehow managed to get five young children and all of our stuff packed into that old Chevy Lumina and drive 6 hours back to the homeland. You'd think after a long journey that we'd be beat. But pulling into Grandpa and Grandma's driveway like we had done so many times before and seeing the Christmas decorations on the house, we couldn't exit the van fast enough once it came to a halt.

We entered the house and were warmly greeted by Grandpa and Grandma. The smell of baked goods filled the air and the twinkling Christmas lights in the kitchen were playing jingle bells, just as they had done in years past. The tree was in its usual spot at the bottom of the basement stairs, already adorned with ornaments and lights. Presents were also spread under the tree. While we would have to wait until the next day for the festive fun, the atmosphere made it feel like we had never left.

Night turned into day, and then back into night on the eve of Christmas. We all once again assembled in the basement and my grandfather had another roaring fire in the fireplace. I don't fully remember all the gifts that were exchanged that night, because for one of the first times in my life, I was lost in the moment. Taking in the atmosphere. Enjoying the company of my family on my favorite holiday. Realizing it may be one of the last like it was. Maybe my first year as a teenager did dawn some wisdom on me. Because it was in that moment, that I really began to appreciate the moment and the people I was with more so than all the fanfare that came with the holiday. And that's what made that Christmas so special. 

And with that, we have come to the end of 2003. I had survived nearly half a year in the 216 and to my surprise, I was mostly doing fine. But as for the approaching year of 2004, it had a lot in store for me that was going to once again, reshape and define my life. Because as the saying goes, "life ain't always beautiful, but it's a beautiful ride."

The Story of My Life: Public School Awaits

There was nothing slow about the move. We only had about a week of summer freedom left before I was about to experience something I had never experienced before. Public school. To say I was nervous would be an understatement. No longer would I be able be able to do school work in a time frame that suited me. No longer would I be able to rely on my parent's understanding and tolerance of me to make it through. No longer would I start my summer in early May and end it in late August. Now I would have to get up at an ungodly hour. Now I would have to take a school bus on a strange route full of strange kids. Now I would have to wear a uniform I hated. Now I would have to deal with many children who had grown up together and were strangers to me. Now I would be at the full mercy of teachers who weren't my parents. And I still had anxiety issues which complicated things even more. Life lessons were going to be learned.

That first day was tumultuous. My stomach was in knots from the moment I opened my eyes. I wanted to stay in the warmth embrace of the covers that draped over me. My pillow was suddenly my best friend that I was forced to rudely abandon. I was grumpy. The school had a dress code which for boys was navy blue or black khakis or dress shorts and navy blue, light blue, or white polos or dress shirts. Not only did I have to be up early, but I couldn't wear my favorite shirt with Bugs Bunny in a backwards cap slam-dunking a basketball. Nope. Just itchy, dull, second hand clothes that gave me another early reason to not look forward to public school.

We had to walk a couple blocks up the street to where the bus was to pick us up. My four other siblings, my Dad, and I all stood on the corner of the very busy Warren road and waited for the big yellow bus to come up the nearby brick road. There was no mistaking it when it did as its loud motor was a dead giveaway. I found out that we were the second stop which meant choice seats, but that didn't do a whole lot to change my perspective. The large, yellow can on wheels came to a halt with a loud squeal. The doors hissed as they swung open. I felt like I was entering a transport to a warped dimension that was going to leave me trapped in its chaos. Nope. Just a plain old school bus soon to be filled with noisy children who have way too much energy at this hour of the morning. 

I saw my Dad wave goodbye and I returned a wave half heartedly. The whole ride I focused on memorizing the bus route. I wanted to be absolutely sure I knew where I was at all times in case anything went south. I watched where each kid got on, every turn the bus made, and every street it rolled down. There was standard child commotion on the bus, but I ignored it. Eventually, we arrived at the Nathaniel Hawthorne building.

This place didn't look much like a school at all. From the outside, it had the looks of an old storage/factory building. That's because this building was only a temporary location for Riverside Elementary School. They were in the process of completely rebuilding their previous building from the ground up and needed a place to operate for two years. Lucky me. Other than the grass and some trees out front, the building had a rough, somewhat in need of repair, parking lot. That ugly piece of asphalt was one day going to become hallowed ground, but not today. 

I exited the bus and followed the train of children into the building. The classroom was not my first destination. Surprisingly, the school had enough funding to provide both free breakfast and lunch. Through the food line I went, grabbing whatever I was allowed, including the juice which came in fruit-cup sized containers with foil tops. I was not a fan of the packaging, but juice was juice, so I had to cope. 

The bell rang to let us know we had to get to our first class. I hustled up the stone tile stairs as I did not want to be late for my first class. The doors to the rooms where thick, heavy, storage type doors and they made a loud bang if you closed them to hard. The one I entered was propped open to avoid this problem. Upon entering, I took a seat in the front row because I came in with the intention of getting straight A's and being attentive to everything. The room was laid out like a classroom with blackboards across the walls and decorations with math problems and items used in science. One could tell the teacher did her best to make a gloomy old office/factory room into a classroom. She was there to greet us as we entered and her name was Mrs. Morris.

Decorations and a welcoming atmosphere weren't going to be enough to convince me that she was the real deal. From my days in PA, I had heard a horror story or two from Zach about a teacher or two he had. So I rolled with a side of caution. Mrs. Morris had been at this teaching game for awhile and she was no rookie. She got bonus points in my book for making the first day about fun and not so much about hitting the books. However, there was still a whole year to go. One day wasn't going to win me over.

Now for a quick teacher breakdown. There were approximately two classes per grade. An advanced class and a standard class. I was in the standard class because they weren't sure if I was ready for the advanced having never been in public school before. Mrs. Morris was my home teacher meaning she handled a good chunk of our classes and we spent most of the day in her room. The advanced teacher for the 7th grade was Ms. Bentkowski. Our class saw her twice a day for English and Social Studies. Mrs. Morris covered Math, Science, and Literature. We would then rotate between different universal subjects throughout the week. Art was taught by Mr. Eagleeye. Music by Mrs. Jeric. Gym by Ms. Bodziony. And we had Library time which was led by Mrs. Tilow. These were all the main teachers I ended up having throughout my first year at Riverside. I would come to know many more through my next two years, but more on them later.

One thing that really impressed me right off the bat was how the principal, Mr. Pempin, was involved with the kids. This man made it his personal mission to know every child's name in the entire school. As the year progressed, he blew me away with how many names he knew. The second thing is that he gave up his personal time to be with the kids. Since this was a temporary building, all we had to use during recess was an empty, beat-up, old parking lot. No playground, no equipment, just our imagination and a ball or two if someone remembered to bring it. One or two kids always made sure to bring a football. Most of the 7th and 6th grade boys would partake in two-hand touch football. It consisted of one person snapping the ball and 10-12 kids rushing off down the parking lot yelling "here!" It was good, old fashioned fun, but there'd be a decent amount of arguing at times over who would be the QB. Enter Mr. Pempin. In a dress shirt and tie, he would come out to the lot and play full time QB, throwing the ball for both sides. Everyone loved it because if he saw the big play, he'd take it. He would also make sure to spread the ball around so most kids were able to make a play or two. That was usually not the case with a kid QB. I have plenty of schoolyard football stories that will be revealed later on.

Eventually, the 3 o'clock bell rang signaling it was time to go home. I made my way out of the building, made sure to find my four other siblings, and get on the correctly numbered bus. I once again watched the route carefully, trying to retain it while other loud and energetic children caused chaos on the bus. After what seemed like forever, the bumpy, yellow bus pulled up to Warren road. Dad was there waiting to greet us. The day didn't go as bad as I thought it would, but I still had 179 to go. My nerves did play a small part that day and would continue to do so for awhile, but I survived. Riverside would come to play a big role in my life over the next two years. And man oh man, it created some doozy memories and life experiences. And this is just the beginning.

The Story of My Life: A Chapter Ends, Another Begins

I gazed out the window of that old maroon Chevy Lumina van and watched as that brown shotgun rancher became smaller and smaller. I intently stared at the layout of Abbottstown center as we went through the circle one last time. We passed my grandparent's house, traveled through New Oxford, and eventually reached historic Gettysburg. I absorbed every detail like a sponge, not knowing when I would see the places I loved, the streets I knew, or every little detail that made that part of Pennsylvania home for the past 10 years again. We motored along until we entered onto the Turnpike. I kept staring and watching as those Pidgeon hills rolled on by. I didn't appreciate them as much as I wished I did when I was a younger, but I would soon get hit with the harsh reality on how much I was going to miss them as my daily backdrop.

After a little over four long hours, the Ohio Welcomes You sign appeared and we once again entered the Buckeye State. The land became flat and the hills vanished. We soon entered Cleveland's city limits and shortly after, we were pulling into the driveway of the meeting hall. I was slightly confused as we did not end up at the house across from Impett Park. My parents probably mentioned it before, but it must've gone in one ear and out the other. Apparently, the family that was moving out of that house decided to stay a little longer, so we were moving in blind to the house at the entrance of the meeting hall driveway. Seems like chaos was unleashed from the word "go!"

The other mini surprise was that the night we arrived was also youth meeting night. And for the kids attending, instead of their standard meeting, they had the privalidge of helping us unloaded our U-Haul. It was really nice because with that many hands, that truck was unloaded quick. I remember not helping that much though. Instead, I grabbed my scooter and road it around like a maniac, trying to show off. I think other than Timothy telling me how cool my scooter was, I was mostly ignored. Well, except for Timothy's mom, Connie, who told me to stop racing it towards Warren Road, simply because she didn't want me ending up being a casualty of the heavy traffic.

Post unloading, there was still time for a short youth meeting. My parents and some of the other adults who helped stayed at the house to continue to set things up while Sarah, all the other local kids, and I went into the meeting hall. When everyone was inside, it then dawned on me how many kids there actually were. The number was somewhere north of 30. That was a big deal for me because coming from a small town in PA, it was rare that this many kids were in a local group. 

I was introduced to a lot of people that night, mostly by Timothy, but my name retention was not the greatest. As cool as it was to meet all those kids, I had a flaw that I chose to carry. With the mindset of living in Cleveland for a year with the hope of moving back to PA, I didn't want to build strong friendships for the fear of leaving them behind. and not seeing them again. I was already feeling the effects of that with my PA friendships, but I would come to learn not to long down the road that my efforts were stupid and would be futile.

The meeting eventually adjourned and even though the sun had long ago set, the kids returned to the cool August air for some more rambunctiousness while waiting for parents to arrive. When the last of us began to leave, I found out I wouldn't be sleeping in my new dwelling that night. Because we moved in late to a house we hadn't seen prior, nothing was set up. The Miller's once again graciously offered their abode for us to stay in. That was probably the most exciting thing for me as I would be staying in Timothy's house yet again. 

What was potentially one night turned into three as that's how long it took for the house to be livable for a family of seven. During that time I was already failing at my efforts to resist strong friendship. Timothy was more than happy to let me see some of world. He took me on a more in depth tour of the entire meeting hall property. Some of the highlights included a massive Dogwood tree right in front of the house we had just moved into. Beautiful pink blossoms in the spring and plenty of leafy green shade for the summer. Some of the branches had the names of the youth carved into them. We climbed that tree and hid among it's shade. While the Dogwood was grand, there was a smaller, yet meaningful tree way in the back of the property. A small Crab-apple tree. A little tree it may have been, but it was one of Timothy's favorite places to be. It was fun to climb and one could gorge themselves on the fruit it produced. That tree soon became a staple in my life. He also showed me some more of the cool spots in the meeting hall, but one location took the cake, even though we weren't technically supposed to access it. That location was the roof. There was no ladder nor opening that led up to it. One had to climb on smaller objects and scale walls and beams like a monkey to get up there. And the building was tall enough that when up there, you felt on top of the world. That roof would become a staple in my life, provide some interesting moments, and be a place of reprieve. More on that later.

At this point in the year, there were only 4 months left in 2003. Yet in those four months, I was going to go through many more life changes and experiences. Many of them will have get their own chapters because of their importance in my journey. I also have many more people to introduce you to, but I'm going to end this brief chapter with one introduction in particular. It occurred during Labor Day weekend of 2003. Like the church conference we attended every year in Virginia, they held one at the meeting hall in Cleveland as well. In order to accommodate the number of people that came and their children, the church would rent out a building off site where the kids would spend the day while the parents were in meetings. This year's location was a few miles away in a local high school known as Lakewood High School. It was a massive building with a huge gym at our disposal. I did not know it then, but this majestic building with the giant Johnny Appleseed figure mounted on the front would later play a key part in my life. 

During the day, us kids would do a bunch of activities which ranged from athletics to crafts and everything in between. There were snack breaks at well and it was during one of these times that I would meet a fellow who would eventually become one of my best friends. The snack was laid out on a table and we all lined up beside it. We were handed our snacks and then had to find a table to sit at. I found Timothy at a table and naturally gravitated towards him. He was talking a laughing with someone else. Timothy paused his conversation and introduced me to his good friend Jeremiah. Jeremiah was still laughing and he caught his breath long enough to say hi. Then he promptly did something I thought strange. He opened his package of M&M's and instead of eating them, he immediately began to color-code them. Then one by one, he popped them in his mouth in order of the rainbow. I gave Timothy a strange look and then both of them burst into laughter again. Even though Jeremiah's strangeness was exuberant, it didn't put me off, but rather peaked my curiosity as someone I'd like to know better. And boy would I.

The next few chapters will introduce you to a swath of characters that flood into my life as well as some more big life changes, events, and a close out of 2003. From this life change to the point my age reflected the number 13, it seemed like someone put a brick on the pedal and left the car in drive. Buckle up because it's going to be a bumpy, curvy, and crazy ride.

The Story of My Life: Ohio Visit & Moving Day

There was one specific moment of 2003 that happened during the farewell tour. We took a multi-day trip to Ohio to see where we would be living and to meet the people there. This small excursion had such an impact on me and would set the tone for the first major move I was about to experience.

On August 9th, 2003, we all piled into the car and made the 6 hour drive to Cleveland, OH. When we arrived it was pretty late and the sky was black. As we dragged our tired selves to this strange house, I was expecting the family that lived there to greet us. But instead, all that could be found was a note on the door. My parents were well aware that the note be there when we arrived, but this was not knowledge to me. Based on the instructions of the note, we were able to get inside. My first thought was, how crazy must they be to not only leave their house unlocked but to let 7 strangers enter their home and fall asleep before they arrive?? I personally would've lost my mind if my parents did that fearing that random children may be terrorizing my room, getting into all my Legos, or simply invading my sacred space. Eventually my tiredness overwhelmed me and I drifted off to the land of dreams.

I awoke the next morning to a lively house. Most of the host family was awake and breakfast was being prepared. I wanted to sleep a little longer, but with all the commotion, that wasn't going to happen. It was time to meet our hosts, the Miller family. The first ones I met were the parents, Tim and Connie as they were in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Their youngest, Timothy was also there as he was eager to meet us. Their oldest son, Mark, eventually traversed the stairs and made an appearance. Not long after that, he was tasked by his mom with telling his sister, Hannah, that it was time to wake up. Little did I know it then, but those five people were about to become a crucial part of my life.

The few days we were there blur together in my mind, but I do remember bits and pieces. I remember all three days being sunny. I remember touring Impett Park which was right across the street from where we were supposed to move and being stoked there was a public pool that close. I remember Timothy being excited to show me around the meeting hall, all the secret spots, and the crab-apple tree that was fun for climbing and eating from. 

One of the days was spent touring the house we were going to move into. From the outside, it didn't look that big, but it was big enough to hold a family of 7. I don't remember much how it looked because I was more focused on the big TV in the basement where a young man was playing video games. That young man's name was Jason. And he was the cousin of Grace and Isaac who we knew back in Pennsylvania. Him and his mom were going to move back overseas which is why the house would be available. What I really liked was that it was right across the street from Impett Park with the pool.

Now being 12 years old, I still had mischievous ways of my own. A few weeks prior to the visit, my friend Jordan had given me his only Gameboy, unbeknownst to my parents. It wasn't that we weren't allowed to play video games, but my parent's didn't want us owning any because they didn't want our lives to be consumed by them. I made the daring move of sneaking it out to Ohio. It really didn't get used during the day, but instead, when I was in bed each night, I spent about an hour playing it. It was hidden under my pillow and yes I left it there overnight because the pillow was so soft and padded that I couldn't feel it underneath. Each morning, I would then stuff it deep in my bag so it a slim chance of being discovered.

My craftiness was on par. My stealth was unmatched. I felt like a ninja. But I slipped. I made a crucial mistake. On the very last night, I played the Gameboy as I normally did, then instead of putting it into my bag so it was ready to go when we left, my brain was on autopilot and I put it under the pillow. The next morning I was so excited to be going back to PA, that I lapsed and left it under the pillow. It wasn't until later in the day when we were getting ready to leave that I remembered I had left it there. I ran all the way up to the third floor to find a bed with new sheets, no pillow, and the Gameboy was gone. My brother Tim told me Dad and Mom had found it. I thought I was a dead pigeon. Instead of waiting for them to confront me, I went to them. With a bit of fear, but a plan in mind, I asked them where it was. Dad had it and asked me where I got it from and why did I have it? Instead of saying it was given to me, I told him that I had borrowed it from Jordan for the long car trip. I was expecting him to scold me and hang onto it, but surprisingly, he did neither. He gave it back and said something along the lines of getting in back to him when we got home. I felt like I had dodged a bullet. While I was not proud of that moment, I did not take for granted one of the few times I felt like I had been given a free pass I did not deserve.

That handful of days blew by and before I knew it, we were ready to head back to PA for the last time as residents of the Keystone State. Meeting the Millers had eased my fears a bit more knowing we were going to be around some great people. Right before we hit the road, Timothy, in his goodbye, mentioned the Friday night young people's meeting they have every week and said it would be cool if we could be there. My dad told him being 6 hours away was a bit of a trek, but when we moved there, we'd be sure to check it out. We said our goodbyes and off we went.

On August 14th, 2003, shortly after we returned home, disaster struck the Northeastern US and parts of Canada. The Northeast Blackout. In short, a bug in an alarm system and a plant failure that began in Ohio triggered a chain reaction that wiped out power across 7 states and parts of Canada. It affected 55 million people and lasted anywhere from 2 hours to 4 days depending on where one was located. To make matters worse, there was a heat wave that August that made things scorching hot without A/C. The silver lining to all this was that where my family lived was in an unaffected area. We had power for the entire duration of the blackout. I was grateful it didn't happen while we were in Cleveland and that it didn't affect us, but it didn't do my anxiety any good as my mind put another negative mark on Cleveland for potential power disasters. It would be something the folks of northeast Ohio would talk about for a long time.

Before I get into moving day, I need to make mention of one more significant event that happened in 2003. After five long years, Elise and her family moved back from Germany to Pennsylvania. We both had definitely changed, but it was a good to have them back. But now it was our turn to depart.

The week leading up to moving day was essentially moving week. When one has a big family and lived in one place for almost 10 years, said large family accumulates a lot of stuff. Now we weren't pack rats by any means, aside from Sarah who kept every little doodle, bead, and scrap of paper under the sun, but it was easier to store stuff in the attic than find away to get rid of it. I remember the process being this whole ordeal. My parents were pulling items out of the attic I never knew existed. The task was an all hands on deck affair.

Many hands came and helped. Stuff my parent's considered no longer worth anything was put into black trash bags and set out on the curb. There were so many that you couldn't see any grass or plant life where they laid. Then, my parents called in the calvary. Al drove over in his Jeep Wagoneer with his two wheel trailer in tow. That trailer was loaded up for two reasons. The first was to take items we did not need to bring with us, but still wanted to keep back to his house to store for us. The second was to haul larger items off to the dump. We also loaded up our early 90s Chevrolet Lumina mini van multiple times with possessions in order to transport them all to Al and Sue's in a timely manner.

It wasn't long before that week came to an end. The house that had been full of Watkins's and their stuff was now empty. It was weird seeing it like that because the very first time I saw it for myself, everything was moved in and it was furnished. It had a slight, eerie, feeling to it. We weren't going to be able to take all three cars vehicles with us as there were only two people who could legally drive and one had to drive the U-haul. So we drove the behemoth Dodge van over to my grandparent's house and parked it there. The 83' Ford Tempo was tow-hitched onto the back of the U-haul and filled with stuff that wouldn't fit in the truck. The Lumina would be the only vehicle of the three that would have a driver for the whole journey. With all our goodbyes said and our entire life loaded up, it was time to say goodbye to Abbottstown, PA one last time.

While I recall the memories of that week, all the organized chaos, the moving parts and pieces, the only thing really on my mind then was that this chapter of my life was coming to a close. Even though I was well aware my parents were renting that brown shotgun ranch house all those years, I was ignorant to the fact that this was far from longevity as possible. This house was the first house I had lived in longer than two years. And for a kid that went from nearly four years old to 12 years old in one place, that was an eternity...until it wasn't. Life is a funny thing for a kid to navigate, but in doing so, it teaches how to grow, learn, and live. Sometimes it'll throw haymakers when least expected. It's not how they knock you down that matters. It's how you get back up. 

A Tribute To John Adams: A Cleveland Legend

Long before I became an Indians fan and long before I set foot in the 216, there was man who brought a large drum to a baseball game. His name was John Adams. Although he shared a name with the second president of the United States, his legacy was not in politics, but rather at the ball park.

In 1973, John Adams decided to bring a large drum to Municipal Stadium. Whenever the Indians came to bat, he pounded the drum. No matter where you were sitting in the stadium, you could hear it. John wasn't planning on bringing it every game he attended, but the Indians realized how valuable he could be and asked him to return. So he did. 

Game after game, John brought that drum. It's steady "thom thom thom" riveting through the ballpark, rallying the boys of summer to make some magic happen. John and his drum were there at many an amazing moment including Len Barker's perfect game in 1981. When the Indians moved to their new home at Jacob's Field in 1994, so did John and his drum. He was there at the heart of it all in the 1995 and 1997 World Series, adding to the already wild atmosphere. 

I first heard of John July 9th, 2004. I had lived in Cleveland for barely a year and was attending my first ever Major League Baseball game. I was there with a large summer camp of 1000 people. In the first inning when the Indians were at bat, I heard a "thom thom thom". I assumed it was coming over the PA system. But I was dearly mistaken. Someone pointed John out to me. As I was seated in the nosebleeds in right field, I squinted through the sun over to the bleachers. There at the top, just below the scoreboard was John, pounding his drum. I thought two things in that moment. The first was how cool it was that they let a guy bring in a large drum and the second was I realized what it sounded like. The heartbeat of the stadium. 

As time went on, I fell more in love with the game of baseball. As I attended more games, I grew to appreciate that piece of the atmosphere. And since John rarely missed a game, if he and his drum were absent, it felt like something important was missing. I've had so many memorable moments at that ballpark and John was part of nearly every one. One of my most cherished was a game from 2009. October baseball was less than a week away and every game counted. I was sitting in the bleachers, a few rows from where John and his drum held down the fort. The game was against the Baltimore Orioles and it was a slugfest. Late in the game, the Indians were down by one run, but they had something brewing. There some crowd pumpers in the lower section of the bleachers, rallying us to start The Wave. We tried three times and each time it would get a little further, but ultimately die out. As we did, John kept pounding his drum. Then the main pumper encouraged us to attempt The Wave one last time. He counted us down. When he hit zero, we went up, John banged the drum, and The Wave rolled. Right as it reached home plate, and with John's rhythm keeping pace, the Indians smashed the ball to center field, scoring two. The crowd exploded, the heartbeat pumped, and those two runs were enough to win the game. What I witnessed was a magical moment and the stuff of legend.

For nearly five decades, John played that drum. And the incredible thing is that in the 47 seasons he played the drum at the ballpark, he only missed about 45 games. That equates to slightly over 3,800 games that you could hear that wonderful drum at the game! That's truly an incredible feat.

Today, January 30, 2023, John Adams passed away as his health was in decline. Who knew that when one man decided to bring a massive drum to a game, that he would become a beloved Cleveland icon. A man who drum beat for sons and daughters, who became fathers and mothers and brought their sons and daughters, who became grandfathers and grandmothers, who brought their sons and daughters and their grandchildren. John and his drum brought joy and many wonderful memories to thousands of baseball fans who walked through the the gates of both Cleveland Municipal and Jacob's Field. A Clevelander would tell you that Cleveland baseball and John Adams went together like peanut butter and jelly. And while his drum no longer plays at the corner of Carnegie and Ontario, it beats on in the memories and hearts of all those who witnessed it in their lifetimes. John Adams, not only a Cleveland fan, but a Cleveland Legend. Rest in peace.

The Story of My Life: Pennsylvania, The Farewell Tour

 "We're moving." Those words shot through me like a stray bullet. My emotional dam crumbled and flowed like the Rio Grande. I was a blubbering mess. The life I had known and so dearly loved for the past 9 years was going to be torn away from me. Through my blurry eyes I could tell my parents struggled to break this news. This wasn't an easy decision for them either. They too would be leaving family and friends and all that they had known and built up over time. 

I wasn't thinking about that. I couldn't think. My world had exploded. I had been an emotional wreck before, but I saw no end to this chaos. That is until I was informed it would only be for a year. I slowly calmed down and the waterworks began to dry up. Even a year was devastating, but it was better than anything longer.

The next few days my focus had shifted. It was still going to be a few months before we moved, but all I could think about was how I was going to break the news to people and how my last few months were going to look drastically different. So began the farewell tour.

The soccer season had recently ended, but Craagen and I had become closer friends like Jordan before him. We were going over too each other's houses, sharing our passion for hot wheels cars, and attempting to talk in goofy British accents. Then one afternoon, my mom invited him and his mom over for the day. Craagen and I spent most of the day creating our own adventures outside. Eventually we were playing with hot wheels cars outside with my brother Nathaniel. I wasn't planning on telling Craagen the news then, because I hadn't figured out a way to do so. I was also hoping that his mom would tell him so I didn't have to. I don't know what prompted him to say it, but Nathaniel suddenly blurted out that we were moving. I froze and didn't speak. Craagen freaked out. It was a very brief freak out, but one I was not prepared for. Thankfully it left as quickly as it came and it wasn't long before we went back to doing other things, but the first hammer had been swung.

One night my grandparents were bringing me home from a day at their house. I thought it was odd my grandmother was coming because normally it was just grandpa and me when taking me home. At some point in the ride, Grandma mentioned my parents wanted to talk to them about something and asked me what it was. My confusion eroded quickly because now I knew why she was coming along. I didn't want to prematurely break the news so I shrugged it off. As soon as we got to the house, I let Mom and Dad know we were here and then immediately ran outside to play. I don't know how that conversation went, but I didn't want to be anywhere near the living room that night. I believe I did make an appearance to say goodbye for the evening, but that was it.

One of the much harder goodbyes was to the Bishop family. We made our annual spring trip down to Virginia and per the norm, stayed at their house. Even though we saw them twice a year, we spoke with them frequently over the phone and I still considered Wesley as one of my best friends. At some point, my dad broke the news. Going from 1.5 hours away to 7.5 was surely going to change things. The details of that trip are really foggy for me, but there is one thing I'll never forget. When we were leaving, Brian came out to send us off after we had already said our goodbyes. As we piled into the van, he said goodbye again and then he said "the Bishops love the Watkins." Then as we drove off, I turned and looked out the back window. That man did not leave his driveway and return to his house until we were fully out of view. That was also the last time I saw him for at least 10 years and I wouldn't see Wesley again for eleven.

Most of the remaining goodbyes to my friends were not as intense. It was a repeated pattern of me breaking the news and getting looks and moans of disappointment. The only ones I actually did not say goodbye to were Abby and Krista. They had actually beat us to the punch and moved first. As I write this, I am now realizing a left out a chunk of crucial story involving their move. 

Their dad was a pastor at the church up the street from our house and the house they lived in was part of church property. We had spent so many hours in all four seasons having adventures in their yard and the big field behind their house which had become such a huge part of my childhood. So when their dad got relocated to pastor another church, their move was a big bummer. It was like a piece of the neighborhood went missing. Another pastor and his wife had moved in and they were such a sweet, young couple. Their names were Mark and Amy. They did not have any kids, but they allowed us to play in the field behind their house whenever we desired. Plus Mark was a big Eagles fan so that was awesome.

After Abby and Krista moved we didn't see them again until one fateful day. The night before my mom hinted that we would be going to someone's house the next day, but wouldn't tell us. I tried my best and guessed every name I could think of, but was still wrong. Then, on that sunny and cool Autumn day, we piled into the van and eventually pulled into a driveway of this house that I could not recognize. As I was still wondering who could live here, the front door popped open and Abby stepped out. We exploded in pure joy. We spent the entire day at their new house doing kid things and catching up on the time lost. And while that was a wonderful surprise and an incredible day of fun and friends, when we left their house that day, that goodbye was the last as this was the era before social media, smart phones, and the internet as we know it today and when we moved, we simply lost touch.

As I've mentioned numerous times throughout this series, we were part of a church. That meant we were involved with a lot more people. The were all told one way or another, but there was one day that was turned into a "farewell" gathering. Nearly everyone who met in Al & Sue's house and the other group we were connected with in Lancaster, PA, met up in a huge park halfway between the two. We had a morning gathering and then ate together. Afterwards, while the adults chatted, us kids spent the rest of the day having a blast on the massive wooden playground found there. Remember that Kid's Kingdom park I mentioned in previous chapters? This one was built the same way but it was twice the size. The coolest feature was the giant Noah's Ark boat that you could climb inside and go on the upper deck. We pretended to herd it full of animals and navigate the flood waters for however long we though it took. We maybe also fended off vicious pirates. Maybe. 

The last memory I have of that day was where we were all gathered again under a pavilion. My Dad was addressing everyone explaining their reasoning for the decision and all that led up to it. I did not pay too much attention to reactions as I was hoping he would wrap it up so I could go back to playing with the little time I had left. But I waited as best as I could. It was still hard to listen as we were telling people who were basically family that we were leaving, but as far as I could tell, they understood. They knew what a life of following the Lord meant as they themselves lived it. 

I want to end this chapter on one final memory. One that was a simple moment at a simple time, but it left an impression on me forever. One warm, beautiful, and tranquil summer night, a bunch of people were invited over to Melinda's and Joanna's for dinner. Going over there in the evening was a rare treat as we would usually stay half the day and leave before dinner. It was a packed house that night. After dinner, all the kids rushed outside to enjoy the last few hours of daylight and let our minds run wild. 

We played hide-and-seek, multiple variations of Tag, and whatever else our juvenile minds could come up with. At one point during a game of intense Tag, something awful happened. I was wearing one of my favorite shirts. It was a Jeff Gordon shirt that was entirely rainbow colored like the paint scheme on his racecar. The shirt was practically new at this time. My previous hiding spot had been compromised and I decided to get a head start by creeping out of the woods and behind Mike's (the girls older brother) pickup truck. I waited for my pursuers to set their course and when the moment was right, I bolted. Then I heard a sound that made my heart drop. It was the sound of carefully twined threads being mercilessly ripped apart. Being a kid and not being spatially aware most of the time, I caught the corner of my oversized shirt on the corner of the tailgate (which was open) and it tore a nice sized hole in the shirt. I was devastated. 

I stopped playing the game and went to my mom in a state of wreck. Most anything in those days would set me off and this was one of those things that would do it. My mom was shocked, but after taking a look said she could mend it. Her words of hope helped dissipate my emotions and brought back my will to return outdoors. I walked out the front with a renewed drive to play again, but as I did, I took notice of the summer sun setting in the farmer's field in the distance. Something inside of me told me I should go sit on the nearby hill and watch it set. The crazy thing about that was is that in all the years I had spent at that house, never once did I pause, sit on that hill, and take in the view. But that night I did.

I could hear the laughs, shouts, and cries of my siblings and friends still playing all over the property. Yet, there I sat on that hill, watching the summer sun slip away. I was silent as the slight breeze swept over me. My thoughts could've been bleak, but they weren't. I was replaying moment from many great memories I had here. Letting the moment wash over me as the world seemed to come to a complete halt. I so badly did not want that sun to set as I was in awe of the scene and all it was doing for me in that moment. I think for the first time since I had gotten the news that split my world in two, I had an overwhelming sense of peace. And in that moment, I was grateful. Grateful for all that I had, for all the people in my life, for all the memories I made, and for that moment. It wasn't long before the fireflies began dancing and glowing in the evening sky. Leaving me with a wonderful memory and hope.