As someone who works with young children through my internship, I am constantly amazed at the wonderfully insightful and often hilarious things kids say. Whether they're trying to comfort a friend who's visibly upset or refusing to answer to anything except Clark Kent all day, I constantly find myself wishing that I could view the world as they do. When your first instinct when a friend is crying is to cheer them up by singing them a song, you're doing something right. So here are a couple of my favorites from the past few weeks (I'll add more as I think of them):
"She broke my feelings!"said while crying about a fight with a friend.
"Can I tell you a secret? The Easter bunny is going to come to my house and poop out jelly beans."
Grown-up: "What is your parents' favorite drink so we can have it when they come tonight?"
All the kids say things like milk, water, pop, iced tea.
Grown up: "What's your dad's favorite drink?"
Boy:"Milk."
Grown-up: "And what's your mom's favorite drink?"
Boy: ....(thinks about it) "MEDICINE!"
Friday, April 29, 2011
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Missing the Corn
Been feeling a little homesick lately. Not much. Just a bit. Almost a year ago I moved from rural Nebraska to Denver to finish up school and see if I could make it on my own. Now, don't get me wrong. I love living in Denver. To me, it's the big city. I've been wanting my whole life to get away from the small town life and experience something completely different. Anyone who's grown up in the middle of a cornfield has probably felt the same desire. I don't regret my decision to come out in here in the slightest.
But I've started to realize something. I didn't have it that bad. In fact, I actually had it pretty good. There's a certain charm that goes with living in a small Midwestern town. There's a comfort in knowing everyone you drive past in town and knowing that those people have your back no matter what. And speaking of driving, even though it can be boring as hell, I'd rather be driving down the highway through the cornfields and feedlots than braving traffic in the city.
Although the view out my window right now is breathtaking, a beam of sun streaming through the clouds and lighting upon the snow-capped mountains; the open plains represent everything that I grew up with. To me, those fields are just as beautiful, if not more so, than the Rockies that are just miles from my apartment. Being able to see the fields stretching for miles upon miles, acres upon acres, is a beautiful sight.The feeling of being free, with nothing but cornfields surrounding you for miles is a sensation that would make most people uncomfortable, bored, or even pissed off. But not me. And not most Nebraskans. It simply means I am home. In every possible sense of the word.
My friends here often give me a hard time about being from Nebraska. They are from LA, Boston, and Las Vegas. They don't understand the way people from Nebraska live. They don't understand the culture of the Midwest. When I try to explain to them how I worked in the fields in the summer as a teenager, they look at me as though I have 2 heads. The concept of giving up 3 weeks of my summer to work 7 days a week in a cornfield for minimum wage is completely foreign to them. Not that it was the time of my life either, but I did it. I did it just like every single one of my friends did it. I challenge you to find someone from Nebraska/Iowa who didn't work in the fields in the summer. It's a part of the culture, that strong Midwest work ethic being instilled in us from day one. That being said, I absolutely hated it, but at least I know that no job I get can ever be as terrible as working the fields.
As another example of cultural differences, I have a picture of my baby brother sitting on my desk. It's a professional picture, done in a JC Penny's and everything. (That means it's classy) He's wearing a Lil' Huskers hat and has a Husker football in front of him. My friend saw it today and started laughing. "Your brother is so cute, but I think it's hilarious that he has a Husker football and everything." I just shook my head and said, "Clearly, you don't understand anything about Nebraska." But I won't get started on Husker football. It's a well known fact that it's superior to anything that passes for football in Colorado. And everywhere else. Suck it, Texas.
So, to wrap this up, Nebraska will always hold a special place in my heart. It will always be home. And while I love Denver, and writing my own story in the city, I know that the story will eventually end back in the good life. Because, really, where else could I go?
Go Big Red!
But I've started to realize something. I didn't have it that bad. In fact, I actually had it pretty good. There's a certain charm that goes with living in a small Midwestern town. There's a comfort in knowing everyone you drive past in town and knowing that those people have your back no matter what. And speaking of driving, even though it can be boring as hell, I'd rather be driving down the highway through the cornfields and feedlots than braving traffic in the city.
Although the view out my window right now is breathtaking, a beam of sun streaming through the clouds and lighting upon the snow-capped mountains; the open plains represent everything that I grew up with. To me, those fields are just as beautiful, if not more so, than the Rockies that are just miles from my apartment. Being able to see the fields stretching for miles upon miles, acres upon acres, is a beautiful sight.The feeling of being free, with nothing but cornfields surrounding you for miles is a sensation that would make most people uncomfortable, bored, or even pissed off. But not me. And not most Nebraskans. It simply means I am home. In every possible sense of the word.
My friends here often give me a hard time about being from Nebraska. They are from LA, Boston, and Las Vegas. They don't understand the way people from Nebraska live. They don't understand the culture of the Midwest. When I try to explain to them how I worked in the fields in the summer as a teenager, they look at me as though I have 2 heads. The concept of giving up 3 weeks of my summer to work 7 days a week in a cornfield for minimum wage is completely foreign to them. Not that it was the time of my life either, but I did it. I did it just like every single one of my friends did it. I challenge you to find someone from Nebraska/Iowa who didn't work in the fields in the summer. It's a part of the culture, that strong Midwest work ethic being instilled in us from day one. That being said, I absolutely hated it, but at least I know that no job I get can ever be as terrible as working the fields.
As another example of cultural differences, I have a picture of my baby brother sitting on my desk. It's a professional picture, done in a JC Penny's and everything. (That means it's classy) He's wearing a Lil' Huskers hat and has a Husker football in front of him. My friend saw it today and started laughing. "Your brother is so cute, but I think it's hilarious that he has a Husker football and everything." I just shook my head and said, "Clearly, you don't understand anything about Nebraska." But I won't get started on Husker football. It's a well known fact that it's superior to anything that passes for football in Colorado. And everywhere else. Suck it, Texas.
So, to wrap this up, Nebraska will always hold a special place in my heart. It will always be home. And while I love Denver, and writing my own story in the city, I know that the story will eventually end back in the good life. Because, really, where else could I go?
Go Big Red!
Friday, March 18, 2011
The Race
Toeing the start line,
Waiting for the waterfall to crash down,
Every muscle in my body tensed in anticipation,
Awaiting the crack of the gun
And the moment that everything changes.
The world disappears;
The shouts of the crowd become but whispers,
As the only sounds that exist are my thoughts, my breath,
And the ever present sound of the competition,
Which swells to an unmistakable roar.
The pounding of feet on the pavement,
The burning and tearing of the lungs,
With each gasp of air that is so rudely dragged into the body,
Refusing to quit;
These are the only sensations that penetrate my mind.
There is only one goal,
One acceptable outcome.
The same vision plays in the head of each exhausted runner,
Myself and my adversary equally motivated
By our shared desire for glory.
To feel the rush that comes with a hard-fought victory.
To know that I poured all that was present
Of my body and my spirit and left it exposed on the track,
Beaten down and ragged, but still determinedly pushing onward,
Knowing that, today, my best was good enough.
Waiting for the waterfall to crash down,
Every muscle in my body tensed in anticipation,
Awaiting the crack of the gun
And the moment that everything changes.
The world disappears;
The shouts of the crowd become but whispers,
As the only sounds that exist are my thoughts, my breath,
And the ever present sound of the competition,
Which swells to an unmistakable roar.
The pounding of feet on the pavement,
The burning and tearing of the lungs,
With each gasp of air that is so rudely dragged into the body,
Refusing to quit;
These are the only sensations that penetrate my mind.
There is only one goal,
One acceptable outcome.
The same vision plays in the head of each exhausted runner,
Myself and my adversary equally motivated
By our shared desire for glory.
To feel the rush that comes with a hard-fought victory.
To know that I poured all that was present
Of my body and my spirit and left it exposed on the track,
Beaten down and ragged, but still determinedly pushing onward,
Knowing that, today, my best was good enough.
So, This Is A "Blog"?
Let me begin by telling you that I don't really have anything important to say. And I really don't expect anyone to read anything that I write. I just wanted to be able to have a place to say the things that I want to say, however inconsequential they may be. So read it if you want to, I don't really care.
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