We are so HOT!

In Junior High, everyone thinks they are so cool.  We may only have been in eighth grade, but my friends and I thought we were so awesome.  We even thought it was cool to have crushes on some of the boys in high school, particularly the seniors.  My group of four friends and I had a couple of advantages to our crushes, my brother was a senior in high school our eighth grade year, and a couple of the senior boys lived in our neighborhood.  We would go to football, basketball, and baseball games just to see the boys we had crushes on.  Sometimes my friend would go to away sports games with my parents and me to see them.  Though the reason my family went was because my brother played, but we had other intentions.  The summer before our final year of junior high we hung around the neighborhood, constantly outside, to see if we could ever catch glimpses of the boys we thought were so hot.  And, if we were lucky, some would be at my house and we would be able to talk to them, or just stare at them up close.    

                Our eighth grade year the four of us played volleyball together and we tended to gossip about the cute senior boys all of the time still. One weekend we had a volleyball tournament in Mt. Vernon, about an hour away from us.  I cannot remember if we won the tourney, but I do remember the bus ride home.  We had asked for the bus driver to turn the radio up so we could sing and dance to the songs on the local station.  The station is called ‘Hot 96’.  Sometimes people would call in and say, ‘This is so-and-so and we are HOT!’  In the back of the bus we had heard someone do this and one of us had a brilliant idea, we should call the station and say something.  We were not sure what we should say and we thought for a little bit, and then we came up with the perfect saying. 

                After lots of giggling and making sure the coach was not watching us so we could use one of our cell phones we called the station.  Somehow, after a couple of tries, they let us talk on the radio.  For the sake of embarrassment, I am not going to use real names, only initials.  This is what we said, “This is M, A, B, and Katie and we think G, K, B, and M are HOT!”  After the call we were all giggling and laughing so hard and everyone else on the bus was confused to why we were laughing.  As far as I know, the four of us never heard it on the radio, though I think someone told us they heard it.  All I know is that we hope none of those boys heard us because I think some of them knew we had major crushes on them and that would have been more embarrassing than anything if they heard us on the radio confessing our undying hotness that we had for them.

                I have not said anything to my friends about this for awhile, but I am sure if I did they would remember it just as well as I have and laugh as much as I did remember that summer and all of the silly things we did for the senior boys that we thought we just so hot.

Daddy Jack

I am eighteen years old and I only have one grandparent still around.  Before I was born one of my grandfathers died, and at the age of seven I attended both the funeral of my dad’s mother and my mother’s father, both funerals within a month of each other.   Since I was so young, I do not have a lot of memories about my grandparents that are no longer here, but I do remember a few things about my grandfather.  Daddy Jack, which is what my brother and I called him.  He was born in the late 1920s and lived most of his life in Washington, Indiana, where my grandmother, his wife, still lives.  He lived through the Great Depression, WWII, Korea, Vietnam and other wars.  I do not know if he served in any other wars besides the Korean, which I am not completely sure on anyway.  But, I do know that when he served he was a secretary, not a Solider.  I also know that he was a beer distributer in Washington and had three children.  Other than that, I am not sure on his background and I wish I knew more, and I know that all I have to do is ask. 

But some things I do know are this:  he was a lover, not a fighter, he was a slender Irish man, he wore fedoras and other hats, he played chess and the piano, and he loved to read.

 The fact that he was a lover and not a fighter is exemplified in the fact that he never saw combat and was too sweet to ever engage in any brawl.  There are pictures of him from the war, in army holes and other various places, but my mother and grandmother look at them and smile because we all know that we did not see anything and he was just goofing around, because after all, he was a secretary in his own little room. 

Cavanaugh was my grandfather’s last name.  He was Irish through and through, without the red hair though.  He was a beer distributor for a long time, and I think that should explain a lot.  His stature was also Irish.  He was a short slender man and probably could not hurt a fly, even if he wanted to. 

Though I was only seven when he passed away I do remember the hats he wore.  I know he wore fedoras and he would hang them up whenever he came inside from a chilly day.  It seems so silly to remember, but that is what I tend to picture him in. 

There is a picture in my house of my grandfather and brother playing chess.  They are both staring quizzically at the pieces and I did not know how to play.  Daddy Jack tried to teach me, but I was younger than eight and my attention-span was no bigger than that of a gold fish I’m sure.  After he died I remember wishing I could have paid attention long enough to learn, but I eventually learned and realized he would be proud, though he would have probably beaten me if we would have ever played.            Another thing I am sure he would be proud of me is that I have learned to play the piano.  I took lessons before his death, but continued for a couple of years in his honor.  I now own some of his piano books.  He wrote in some of them and I try to play them how he rewrote them and I feel accomplished when I play it the way I think he would play it.

 Last, but not least, is the den in my grandparents house dedicated to books.  The bookshelf covers one entire wall and there are a couple of other small bookcases in the room.  This is where he loved to be, sitting in his old brown, leather recliner.  I am so impressed when I walk in there, because I like to think he had read most, if not all, of the books in that room.

I wish I could have been able to know my grandfather longer, but now I can do nothing about it.  I only have fragments of memories that faded long ago, but I remember a few things.  One thing that I will always remember is how excited he seemed to get whenever my brother and I showed up to their house.  Whether it be for random visits, or the holidays.  We only live an hour away, but with two young kids, it was sometimes hard to get us to go up there, but we always tried.  He seemed to have this glow about him whenever he came up and he always had a warm, loving smile on his face.  Another memory I have is embarrassing, for me.  When I was younger, I was the demon child.  So, when in trouble, I would be sent to sit in a corner or on the steps.  I do not remember what I did, but I remember I was in trouble at my grandparent’s house and had to sit in the corner.  Apparently I looked quite pathetic and Daddy Jack came and sat with me because he hated me sitting there by myself.  It’s silly now and I laugh at the thought, but I know he loved me very much and hated to see me in trouble.

Daddy Jack died two days after my eighth birthday and five days before my brother’s twelfth birthday.  We went and saw him in the hospital on my birthday, and I remember feeling bad that he was not able to live long enough to make it to my brother’s.  His death was no true shock to us.  Before I was even born he was sick, in and out of hospitals.  I was never fortunate enough to see him looking 100% healthy, but I never knew what was really wrong, except for he never had too long to live.  The last memory I have is at the funeral home.  I had barely turned eight and I had been to the funeral of my other grandmother a month prior to this one. I was upset, but only being eight I did not know all of the implications of death and funerals, but my twelve year old brother did.  He loved my grandfather as much as I did, but they seemed to have formed a tighter bond.  They always played chess together and my brother even wanted to attend Georgetown University in footsteps of Daddy Jack.  And, on the day of one of his showings, when we all went up to pay our respects, I remember watching Matt, and watching him lean over the casket, and kiss Daddy Jack’s forehead, one last time.

I hear stories people tell of him being a sweetheart and being goofy.  My family tells stories about him that I wish I was there to see.  The stories always tend to make us laugh and I am grateful that we have good, funny stories to reminisce on.  I miss my grandfather and I know my grandmother does too.  They were the best grandparents any child could ask for and I was fortunate enough to know Jack Cavanaugh for even seven short years.

Who I am Today

I am who I am today because of my parents.  Both of my parents are teachers and have instilled in my brother and me basic skills that have shaped us and the way we live our lives.  From an early age I was reading.  I loved, and still love, to read.  I remember on Sunday mornings at church being a little kid and bored sitting for an hour at Catholic Mass.  So, to give me something to do my parents would bring books for me to read so I would be quiet and have something to do.  My parents also have a fascination with reading.  There would be nights that our house would be quiet because the four of us would sit in a room and read.  Reading is something I have learned from my parents and has shaped me into a woman who wishes to grow up, become a teacher, and minor in Reading. 

                Another factor that contributes to who I am today is something my father always told my brother and I.  When we were younger we played baseball and softball at the local fields.  I would always see parents carrying their child’s ball-bag and I would ask my dad to carry mine, his reply was always the same, “You played the game, you carry your bag.”  That usually frustrated me, but I would carry my bag to the car and not think much of it, until I realized his words have a bigger impact than I thought at the age of seven.  I now know that this relates to my school work and other things in my life.  Sometimes I would hear how parents would do their child’s schoolwork so they wouldn’t have so much to do, considering both of my parents were teachers, you would think I had it made, but I did not.  They would offer to help with my work, but since it was my actual work I had to be the one to do it, though they’d offer assistance if I asked.  I had the homework, I had to do it.  It has shaped me because I know that whatever I have, I have to try and work through it and do it, I cannot dump it on someone else.

                I have also learned manners from my parents.  I know that parents always try and instill manners in their children and I think my parents did a good job with my brother and I.  I learned to ‘smile and nod my head’ even if it was something I did not particularly agree to, but had to do anyway.  I love my grandmother, but sometimes she is old-fashioned and I am not always enthused to do what she tells me to do, but my mom told me that I need to just do what she says and please her because, after all, she is my elder and my beloved grandmother. 

                Patience is a virtue is what I have always heard and it is true.  With both of my parents being teachers they have learned how to be patient.  I am lucky that they have acquired that virtue because I know there are days that they came home from school frustrated and then had to come home to two kids and a dog and be patient with us again.  They separated their job from their home life and were constantly understanding, helpful, and patient with us.  I have learned patience from them and I do my best to be patient with them, though they are my parents so it is sometimes difficult to do, but I try like they do.

                Whenever people would move in next door to my family my mom would go over there, greet them, and welcome them to the neighborhood.  Sometimes, I would have to also meet them if they had a child my age.  Not that I complaining that I had to do that because if I had not my old neighbor would not have become one of my best friends, but sometimes it was not something I wanted to do.  But, I learned that sometimes being helpful and just being friendly are what people should do.  I like to help people, and I usually do all I can to help others and try to please them.  These are skills that my parents taught me.  I figure when everyone is happy, life seems easier.  Lending a helping hand is a way to make people happy and feel more comfortable.  Since my parents are teachers, I have seen them be helpful to their students and their co-workers, their actions have taught me how to be helpful.  Whenever I can, I try to help people with any task, whether it be studying for a test or simply grabbing an extra jacket while heading to a football game with some friends. 

                Last, but not least, they have taught me what it is like to love and to be loved.  I have a small family, my mother, father, brother and dog (yes my ten-pound dog counts).  Though we are small, we love each other very much and would do anything for one another if they asked.  When I am home my parents constantly tell me they love me and I reciprocate the feelings.  One thing my mother and grandmother have always said to me, that I will never forget and reminds me of how loved I am, they say before one of us goes to sleep: “God bless you, God spare you, goodnight, pleasant dreams.”  We love each other very much and it has taught us to love others. 

                My parents shaped my life in many more ways than I wrote, or can even possibly think of and I am very grateful for them.  Parents usually make it to the top of their children’s heroes list and I am fortunate enough to say that they are number one on my list.  They have inspired me to be the person I want to be and all of their lessons have guided me through life.  The ideals I was taught have more than shaped me into the person I am today, they have also showed me what I want to become in the future, an inspirational teacher, and a helpful, loving parent.  I thank them for everything they have done and I am proud to say that they have shaped me into the person you see in front of you today.

Motivation

Ever since third grade I attended the summer volleyball camp that the high school put on.  I was hooked after that first summer.  I went to the camps every year and played volleyball in sixth grade and also in junior high.  I was one of two setters on our junior high team and we thought we were so awesome (though looking back on it we all know we were not as awesome as we thought). Sure we had hard practices and ran some, but it was not too intense.   But, when I got to high school, it was a whole new game. 

                Practices for high school volleyball started in the summer, two weeks after school ended.  Two days a week from 8-10 we had volleyball practice, and it was hard.  Since it was summer it was a lot of conditioning, sprints, jump ropes, and running the mile.  Conditioning is all we would do for two hours and we would be exhausted the rest of the day. Then, two weeks before school started, we attended two-a-days, for two straight weeks.  Two-a-days suck.  We went from 8-11, then had lunch as a team and went back to practice from 1-4.  All of the time was spent as a team and the six hours at the gym were comprised of running sprints, agilities, and monotonous volleyball drills. As freshmen it was difficult for us to get in shape and understand what the coaches wanted from us.  We tended to be slower and less skilled than all of the girls in the other grades, but we got through it.  Some girls were pushed by their parents to do well in volleyball and to succeed, but I was self motivated.

                My freshman year I played on the freshmen team as a setter, like I had done in junior high.  When sophomore year rolled around and I was on Junior Varsity they already had a setter, so I was moved to become a back-row player.  That thought scared me, I had never done that before, I had only ever practiced setting.  But, I took it as a challenge and worked hard for it.  I pushed myself to run faster and get a better time in sprints and the mile. 

My sophomore and junior year I played JV as a back-row player, and junior year I was even the libero.  I kept working hard because I wanted some varsity time as a junior, though we had six seniors and only six girls could be on the court at a time.  I asked the Junior Varsity coach to stay after some practices to hit to me so I could work on digging the ball up, and whenever the hitters stayed after to work on hitting, I usually volunteered to stay and dig as well.  The coaches must have seen my hard work and all of the effort I was putting in because I started to get to play in some of the varsity matches whenever someone else did poorly.  Granted, I did not become a starter my junior year, but I was selected to be on the sectional roster.  That year our team made it all the way to the state finals.  I did not play often, but the coaches gave me a couple of chances to play.  All of my extra time and effort in the gym paid off.

                My senior year I worked even harder.  My friend and I would hit the weight room at six in the morning two or three times a week to get better; we wanted the same success as last year.  I would run on my own and pushed myself even harder in practices.  I played varsity and we won sectional again. 

                There were a lot of tears and frustrations in my four years of volleyball, but I can truly say it was all worth it.  I learned a lot about how hard I could push myself and how much I could grow as a person.  I was self motivated and I took every opportunity I could to try and improve my skills.  If I learned anything from my volleyball experience I learned this:  though you may not always be the best, do your best, because someone is always watching and they will see your hard work and you will be rewarded for it.

Third Grade Chili Day

My mom is a teacher at the elementary school that I attended, some days I liked it, and others I did not. One day in third grade I was blessed to have her there. In elementary school we had long tables that you sat at with your class. As third graders we also ate lunch with the fourth graders. That day at school the cafeteria served chili. I was sitting next to my friend Samantha and we had just finished our lunch, though, being the picky eater that I am, I did not eat any of my chili. Once lunch was over we all stood up and prepared to take our trays to the wash bins. On my way up I realized I had dropped a napkin under the table, so I set my tray down, got under the table and picked it up. But, unfortunately, I hit my tray also on my way up from receiving the napkin. Chili flew everywhere. I got it all over my shirt, my jeans, my shoes and socks, not to mention my friend Samantha standing next to me. We were both mortified. We reeked of chili as if the chili splattered all over us were not enough. My face got really hot and turned bright red and I felt as if everyone was staring at us. I was so embarrassed that I could not even look up at any of the teachers or my friend Samantha. I swore that I heard and saw a couple of the fourth graders at the table near us laughing and I know they were laughing at us. So everyone behind us went around us to take up their trays and Samantha and some of the teachers on duty stayed and helped me clean up the mess I had made.


Luckily, as I stated earlier, my mom worked there. Therefore, I was fortunate enough to be able to go home and change, though I missed the best part of any elementary students’ day, recess. My mom was a little mad because she had to take time out of her teaching to take me home, but I was not punished or scolded. All I remember is that she told me I needed to be more careful and pay attention to what I was doing.

I learned a little humility that day. I learned that the kid who drops his books in the hallway did not do it on propose, nor did he do it to be laughed at. The best thing anyone could have done for me was to help me clean it up and not laugh. That incident just helped me realize that lending a helping hand, and not pointing and making fun of people, means a great deal to people.  The accident impacted my life so that I try to help the kid who everyone laughs because I know he needs help. I am not really close to my friend Samantha anymore, but sometimes when we see each other we reminisce about it and I thank her for being a good friend and helping me out. I have gotten over the accident and I am sure no one but Samantha and I even remember it, but it taught me a life lesson on humility.

First week of college

On Wednesday 25 I moved into the University of Southern Indiana in one of the residence halls.  I had already met my roommate, but not my other two suite mates, but I got lucky. I love all of my roommates already and we have hardly spent more than a week together.  We got past the awkward stage after about the second day we moved in.  We have many hobbies and other things in common which really helped.  We have all played some kind of sport, whether it be volleyball or marching band, we all have had long-term boyfriends, and we are all majoring in elementary education. 
On our fifth night living together, my roommate and I decided that we need decorations in our room, our walls were looking quite bland.  Our solution to bland walls, looking up pictures online at guys that we considered 'hot'.  The guys ranged from actors to singers.  All four of us huddled in my room staring at my roommates computer screen.  People in the rooms surrounding us probably hated us because we were laughing and giggling and screaming every time we found a really 'hot' picture.  My roommate is a huge fan of the singer John Mayer, she currently has three pictures of him hanging over her bed.  We also have a pictures of Lil' Wayne and Channing Tatum in our room.  But, above my bed, I have Liam Hemsworth (from the movie The Last Song) and Josh Hartnett (from Pearl Harbor).  In the common room that the four of us suit mates share we now have a small picture of Ryan Reynolds and Tom Brady.  We stayed up Sunday night until at least two in the morning printing off pictures of the guys.  The late night also included loud giggling and laughter.  We have also decided that we are going to print off and bring back more pictures from home this weekend, seeing as three of the four of us are going home.
After we hung up our pictures we have had various girls come into our room to see our new decorations. They all loved our pictures and even gave us a few suggestions.  It sounds silly, but our 'picture night' really helped the four of us become closer and we have even talked about rooming together in the years to come.  I really feel as if that night brought us closer together and I know that there will be many similar nights like that to come!