My favorite movie of all time is The Shawshank Redemption. I can watch that movie every day of the week, and twice on Sunday, and never get tired of it. It is cast perfectly, it is based on a amazing short story, and Frank Darabont does a excellent job directing it. The seminal moment of the movie is when Andy Dufresne climbs through 800 yards of sewer line, "800 yards of shit smelling foulness" as Red puts it, to freedom and a new life in Zihuatanejo, Mexico. In all my time of loving this film, which is almost a decade of watching the movie, I have never truly related to Andy. Not until the last 6 months of my life.
The last 6 months have been tumultuous, to say the least. I am a man who prides himself on handling my own business, and dealing with issues, those that arise, in silence. I hate asking for help, especially from family. In the last 6 months I have lost my job, had a relationship end, lost a dog, and nearly lost my house. All of these things are consequences of my own actions, or inaction, and I am responsible for everything I have dealt with since March. In the process I have managed to alienate almost every member of my family who cares about me, due to pride and a unwillingness to admit mistakes. In short, I hit rock bottom.
Rock bottom for me was the day after a mountain weekend with my family where I fought with every single person present in the house at least twice, shrugged off responsibilities for my actions, and left on Sunday morning with the sourest of tastes in my mouth. Not the finest moment for Ryan Alexander. I was frustrated with where life had taken me, and didn't know what to do. I acted like a victim, instead of taking ownership of my own choices. I don't thing I have ever felt as low as I did the 3 hours it took to drive home from Highlands, back to Mooresville.
Andy Dufresne felt low. He almost broke when the warden had him spend a month in solitary. He almost broke under the torment of the Sisters. He almost broke when he found his wife cheating on him. But he persevered, through 27 years of confinement and solitude. At my lowest moment, I thought of Andy Dufresne. I could either resign myself to failure, or make do with what was in front of me. I chose to take the Andy route, and help myself to battle with the obstacles in front of me.
It has been difficult, starting over again. I have a new career, which I enjoy immensely. I managed to keep my house, and it feels like home for the first time in a while. I managed to patch things up with my family, and am working towards repairing the damage that I did this summer. I have forged a new relationship, and I remember what it feels like to share a part of yourself with someone else, to truly trust in another person for the good of the both of you. In short, I crawled my way to freedom. Andy was my inspiration.
Andy said to Red that "Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies"
That quote helped get me through a tough time in my life. But I have managed to climb through 800 yards of shit smelling foulness, and come out clean on the other side. Me and Andy both managed that. Now I just have to make my way to my own version of Zihuatanejo, Mexico.
Saturday, September 23, 2017
Closing Time
"Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end."
As a child of the 90's, a song that I heard on the radio hundreds of times growing up was "Closing Time" by SemiSonic. The line above is one of the more memorable lines from that song, and until very recently, I did not have much life experience that let me relate to that particular quote. A few years ago, I began my teaching career, but that wasn't really the end of a chapter of my life. It was me setting out on something wholly new and unexpected. But not the end of something I had previously set out to do.
Well, today is the end of a chapter in my life, and the start of something new. I began my teaching career at South Iredell High School, and my first year teaching was an incredible whirlwind of learning what in the heck I was doing, getting to know my kids, and figuring out what I wanted to do with the rest of my adult life. In some past blog posts, I have talked about the incredible adventures I had my first year teaching, like the time I did a poetry lecture and the kids actually enjoyed it, to my students helping me grieve for my grandfather who passed away. I have enjoyed every second of my time at South Iredell, where I learned so much about my self, and my kids, and where in life I want to go. I've discovered that the moment a child understands something, where a concept or theme clicks in there head, is one of the most precious, inspiring sights that a person can see. I have seen children at their lowest points and tried to reassure them that their goals are still attainable, and I have congratulated kids when they have reached the zenith of what they set out to accomplish. While on this crazy road, I learned a great deal about myself as a man, and the impact I can have on a kid who is just setting out on a journey of their own.
Sometimes I question the impact I have on my students, until I go out on the weekends grocery shopping, or to Target for things around the house. Without fail, I see one of my kids, and almost without exception, they are excited to see me. They scurry up to me, and we talk about school and sports, and exciting plans for the weekend. With a "See ya Monday," they run off, and I am left with a feeling of happiness and gratitude. I am happy because my kids obviously have a connection with me; I am grateful because the kids let me know what I am doing right. It means the world to me that my students enjoy speaking to me, spending time with me. I teach them english, and a few life lessons, but we teach each other what it means to be humans. How to care for one another, how to seek out other perspectives, how to pick up others when they are feeling low. If I leave any impact on a student, I hope it can be one that tells a kids that doing the right thing, and being a good human being , is always worth it. They will never regret being kind to someone. Hopefully, that is my legacy.
My career at South Iredell High School is ending. I am not sure what the future holds, but I am certain is includes me standing in front of a whiteboard, with a Robert Frost poem behind me, as I explain the significance of nuclear war in regards to "Fire and Ice." Teaching is what I am meant to do, and South Iredell has given me tools and experience that I will cherish the rest of my life. The wonderful people I work with, and great students I have taught, have left me with a strong foundation. It has been a joy teaching the last three years, and every minute has been a positive one for me when I have been at school. This chapter of my life is ending, but something else is beginning. Hopefully, it can measure up to the first three years of my teaching career.
As a child of the 90's, a song that I heard on the radio hundreds of times growing up was "Closing Time" by SemiSonic. The line above is one of the more memorable lines from that song, and until very recently, I did not have much life experience that let me relate to that particular quote. A few years ago, I began my teaching career, but that wasn't really the end of a chapter of my life. It was me setting out on something wholly new and unexpected. But not the end of something I had previously set out to do.
Well, today is the end of a chapter in my life, and the start of something new. I began my teaching career at South Iredell High School, and my first year teaching was an incredible whirlwind of learning what in the heck I was doing, getting to know my kids, and figuring out what I wanted to do with the rest of my adult life. In some past blog posts, I have talked about the incredible adventures I had my first year teaching, like the time I did a poetry lecture and the kids actually enjoyed it, to my students helping me grieve for my grandfather who passed away. I have enjoyed every second of my time at South Iredell, where I learned so much about my self, and my kids, and where in life I want to go. I've discovered that the moment a child understands something, where a concept or theme clicks in there head, is one of the most precious, inspiring sights that a person can see. I have seen children at their lowest points and tried to reassure them that their goals are still attainable, and I have congratulated kids when they have reached the zenith of what they set out to accomplish. While on this crazy road, I learned a great deal about myself as a man, and the impact I can have on a kid who is just setting out on a journey of their own.
Sometimes I question the impact I have on my students, until I go out on the weekends grocery shopping, or to Target for things around the house. Without fail, I see one of my kids, and almost without exception, they are excited to see me. They scurry up to me, and we talk about school and sports, and exciting plans for the weekend. With a "See ya Monday," they run off, and I am left with a feeling of happiness and gratitude. I am happy because my kids obviously have a connection with me; I am grateful because the kids let me know what I am doing right. It means the world to me that my students enjoy speaking to me, spending time with me. I teach them english, and a few life lessons, but we teach each other what it means to be humans. How to care for one another, how to seek out other perspectives, how to pick up others when they are feeling low. If I leave any impact on a student, I hope it can be one that tells a kids that doing the right thing, and being a good human being , is always worth it. They will never regret being kind to someone. Hopefully, that is my legacy.
My career at South Iredell High School is ending. I am not sure what the future holds, but I am certain is includes me standing in front of a whiteboard, with a Robert Frost poem behind me, as I explain the significance of nuclear war in regards to "Fire and Ice." Teaching is what I am meant to do, and South Iredell has given me tools and experience that I will cherish the rest of my life. The wonderful people I work with, and great students I have taught, have left me with a strong foundation. It has been a joy teaching the last three years, and every minute has been a positive one for me when I have been at school. This chapter of my life is ending, but something else is beginning. Hopefully, it can measure up to the first three years of my teaching career.
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
On broken hearts and classrooms
When my grandad Sam died, I didn't really know what to do with myself.
I had spent the whole day with my family, hoping against hope that he would pull through against the cancer that was burning through him. Me and my brothers sat around my mom's house that whole day, telling stories and remembering all of those moments that we might have taken for granted at the time. My mom came back from the hospital, and we popped in Mr. Hollands Opus, one of my moms favorite movies and the running theme of a blog post I wrote last year. As we all sat watching Mr. Holland fall in love with teaching and make a lasting impression on an entire generation of kids, I remember saying to my mom that the movie was a whole lot more impactful once you have stood in front of a group of kids, and tried to teach them something.
By the end of the film, when Mr. Holland gets to see his opus, which was not his symphony after all but the children who he taught over the years, we were all crying. Not sad tears, it was those tears you get when you see a baby walk for the first time; the kind you get at the end of a truly perfect day.
A few minutes later we found out that Sam had passed away.
Until that moment, I didn't know that a "broken heart" was a literal expression. For the next 24 hours I walked around in a haze. I wasn't ready to live in a world where the man who had taught me so many things, a man who gave me a Libertarian Party membership card when I was 8 years old, wasn't going to be around to talk to anymore. I emailed my coordinator and coworkers to let them know what was going on, and made arrangements for the week in case I wasn't ready to go to work the next day.
As I trudged through that day, the longest Sunday of my life, the only thing that motivated me was my students, the kids who I teach every day. I truly love seeing them, talking to them, teaching them english and helping them get through the struggles that 16 and 17 year olds see as the end of the world. They don't know it, but they helped me get through one of the worst days of my life. I have gotten to know them well over the last 8 months and I am 100% honest when I say that I don't have to go teach every day, I get to go teach every day. I went in that Monday to school, and when the first student asked me why I looked upset I could barely hold it together. I told the girl that my grandfather had passed away over the weekend, and the look on her face told me that I made the right decision to come in to work that day. She cared and wanted to make sure I was ok, just like the rest of her classmates. The kids helped me heal, and for that I am ever grateful.
_________________________________________________________________________________
I made a good call when I became a teacher. I remember being 16 and saying I would never teach, but then again, how often are 16 year olds right about anything? I can see myself in a classroom for the rest of my working life, teaching kids the craft of writing and the ways to love literature. I am almost done with year 1 of a 30 year journey and I already know this: no matter what happens over the next 29 years, teaching has already put me in the positive. The classroom helped me mend my broken heart. For that I am ever grateful.
I had spent the whole day with my family, hoping against hope that he would pull through against the cancer that was burning through him. Me and my brothers sat around my mom's house that whole day, telling stories and remembering all of those moments that we might have taken for granted at the time. My mom came back from the hospital, and we popped in Mr. Hollands Opus, one of my moms favorite movies and the running theme of a blog post I wrote last year. As we all sat watching Mr. Holland fall in love with teaching and make a lasting impression on an entire generation of kids, I remember saying to my mom that the movie was a whole lot more impactful once you have stood in front of a group of kids, and tried to teach them something.
By the end of the film, when Mr. Holland gets to see his opus, which was not his symphony after all but the children who he taught over the years, we were all crying. Not sad tears, it was those tears you get when you see a baby walk for the first time; the kind you get at the end of a truly perfect day.
A few minutes later we found out that Sam had passed away.
Until that moment, I didn't know that a "broken heart" was a literal expression. For the next 24 hours I walked around in a haze. I wasn't ready to live in a world where the man who had taught me so many things, a man who gave me a Libertarian Party membership card when I was 8 years old, wasn't going to be around to talk to anymore. I emailed my coordinator and coworkers to let them know what was going on, and made arrangements for the week in case I wasn't ready to go to work the next day.
As I trudged through that day, the longest Sunday of my life, the only thing that motivated me was my students, the kids who I teach every day. I truly love seeing them, talking to them, teaching them english and helping them get through the struggles that 16 and 17 year olds see as the end of the world. They don't know it, but they helped me get through one of the worst days of my life. I have gotten to know them well over the last 8 months and I am 100% honest when I say that I don't have to go teach every day, I get to go teach every day. I went in that Monday to school, and when the first student asked me why I looked upset I could barely hold it together. I told the girl that my grandfather had passed away over the weekend, and the look on her face told me that I made the right decision to come in to work that day. She cared and wanted to make sure I was ok, just like the rest of her classmates. The kids helped me heal, and for that I am ever grateful.
_________________________________________________________________________________
I made a good call when I became a teacher. I remember being 16 and saying I would never teach, but then again, how often are 16 year olds right about anything? I can see myself in a classroom for the rest of my working life, teaching kids the craft of writing and the ways to love literature. I am almost done with year 1 of a 30 year journey and I already know this: no matter what happens over the next 29 years, teaching has already put me in the positive. The classroom helped me mend my broken heart. For that I am ever grateful.
Saturday, September 13, 2014
On Teaching
When I was in college, I read Stephen King's book On Writing, and it changed my life. I had just gotten into writing for my college newspaper, and reading this manifesto on the ways to go about writing, when to consider yourself an author, and generally analyzing the whole process of sitting down and pouring a little bit of yourself onto the page really stuck with me. After I read his book, I committed myself to the craft and really took off as a writer. I started to make money, and not just pocket change, by selling stories and articles whenever I could. I really felt like I was on my way to being the next Tom Sorenson, Joe Posnanski, or Jeff Pearlman.
Well folks, obviously things didn't end up like I intended. I got out of college with my sparkling diploma, and found that newspapers weren't hiring. Magazines weren't either. And making money freelance is hard to do, so sometimes you are eating steak and sometimes you are on the all ramen, all the time diet. I tried my hand at substitute teaching and really fell in love with it, I felt like I could be in a classroom for the rest of my life and be 100% happy with it.
About 6 months ago my journey to become a teacher started. I registered as a lateral entry teacher, signed up for the Praxis exams, and headed off on my way. As soon as my Praxis scores came through, I started applying for jobs. The first one I applied for gave me an interview, and I got offered a position at South Iredell High School the first week of July.
I just wrapped up my third week of teaching full time, and it has been a roller coaster ride. Every day is an adventure. I never know how my kids will react to what I have planned, if my lecture will generate an awesome discussion that goes right up to the bell, or if I will get nothing but dead eyes and vacant stares, and have to scramble to get through the whole period without resorting to the dreaded "find something productive to do" method. But in the midst of dealing with 60 rowdy 16 year olds on a daily basis, I had a moment that literally changed my life.
My second week of class I did a poetry analysis class period, to get my kids used to how I teach and figure out if my method was going to work with these students. I chose three poems that I am very familiar with and love: "Fire and Ice" by Robert Frost, "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley, and "Ozymandias" by Percy Blythe Shelley. I know these three poems backwards and forwards, I have them memorized and can talk about them all day if somebody will sit there and listen for that long a time period. I had the students talk about these poems with me, figure out the themes and similarities, and at the end of the period gave them homework where they needed to tie these three works together in some way. I just wanted to know if the kids had held onto some of what I had been saying for 90 minutes, to see if I was effective.
As class was ending, a young man walked by me and said "That was the first time in my life that poetry was interesting. Thanks for that Mr. A." I am not sure who was more shocked, me or him. I had hoped that my lesson would be effective, that the kids would have a little more insight into literature than they had before. I chalked it up as hyperbole, that he was saying something he maybe didn't mean, to impress me or something.
The moment that made me fall in love teaching, that almost made me cry, happened the next day. I was in my classroom during my lunch hour, when I get some work done and maybe 20 students sit in my room for social time. I sat back in my chair for a second to take my mind off of the papers I was grading, when a unfamiliar face started talking to me. This girl asks me, "Mr. Alexander, when I have you next month are we going to do the poetry thing. My friend said it was really cool, and I don't want to miss out on it." I am not sure how I held it together long enough to get to the faculty bathroom. Never in my life did I think that I would be a teacher. And here I sat in a classroom with my name on the door, having kids asking me if I could make sure to do the really cool activity that students had done the day before. The moment, when I realized I had reached my students, and taught them something that had them talking to their friends about it, hit me like a freight train. I knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that I will teach for the rest of my working life. I had heard horror stories about first year teachers, and here I was being asked my a student to make sure I repeated my lecture on poetry of all things, because she didn't want to miss out on it. If that student only knew how much her question made me feel, how knowing that I gave my kids a lesson that they felt was good enough to talk with their friends about validated all of the work that went into that 90 minute lesson. Until that point, I hadn't seen the kids really connect with what I said. At that moment, it hit me that I can really make a difference with what I am doing.
I am about to start my fourth week of teaching this Monday. I've got lessons to plan, papers to grade, a sports team to help coach, and find some time to fit my personal life into all of that. But it is those moments when kids let you know that what you are doing is important, is meaningful, that what I am doing every day is having an impact, is what get's me through some of those long days.
I love what I do.
I do not have to go to work every morning. I get to.
Nothing could make me happier.
Well folks, obviously things didn't end up like I intended. I got out of college with my sparkling diploma, and found that newspapers weren't hiring. Magazines weren't either. And making money freelance is hard to do, so sometimes you are eating steak and sometimes you are on the all ramen, all the time diet. I tried my hand at substitute teaching and really fell in love with it, I felt like I could be in a classroom for the rest of my life and be 100% happy with it.
About 6 months ago my journey to become a teacher started. I registered as a lateral entry teacher, signed up for the Praxis exams, and headed off on my way. As soon as my Praxis scores came through, I started applying for jobs. The first one I applied for gave me an interview, and I got offered a position at South Iredell High School the first week of July.
I just wrapped up my third week of teaching full time, and it has been a roller coaster ride. Every day is an adventure. I never know how my kids will react to what I have planned, if my lecture will generate an awesome discussion that goes right up to the bell, or if I will get nothing but dead eyes and vacant stares, and have to scramble to get through the whole period without resorting to the dreaded "find something productive to do" method. But in the midst of dealing with 60 rowdy 16 year olds on a daily basis, I had a moment that literally changed my life.
My second week of class I did a poetry analysis class period, to get my kids used to how I teach and figure out if my method was going to work with these students. I chose three poems that I am very familiar with and love: "Fire and Ice" by Robert Frost, "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley, and "Ozymandias" by Percy Blythe Shelley. I know these three poems backwards and forwards, I have them memorized and can talk about them all day if somebody will sit there and listen for that long a time period. I had the students talk about these poems with me, figure out the themes and similarities, and at the end of the period gave them homework where they needed to tie these three works together in some way. I just wanted to know if the kids had held onto some of what I had been saying for 90 minutes, to see if I was effective.
As class was ending, a young man walked by me and said "That was the first time in my life that poetry was interesting. Thanks for that Mr. A." I am not sure who was more shocked, me or him. I had hoped that my lesson would be effective, that the kids would have a little more insight into literature than they had before. I chalked it up as hyperbole, that he was saying something he maybe didn't mean, to impress me or something.
The moment that made me fall in love teaching, that almost made me cry, happened the next day. I was in my classroom during my lunch hour, when I get some work done and maybe 20 students sit in my room for social time. I sat back in my chair for a second to take my mind off of the papers I was grading, when a unfamiliar face started talking to me. This girl asks me, "Mr. Alexander, when I have you next month are we going to do the poetry thing. My friend said it was really cool, and I don't want to miss out on it." I am not sure how I held it together long enough to get to the faculty bathroom. Never in my life did I think that I would be a teacher. And here I sat in a classroom with my name on the door, having kids asking me if I could make sure to do the really cool activity that students had done the day before. The moment, when I realized I had reached my students, and taught them something that had them talking to their friends about it, hit me like a freight train. I knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that I will teach for the rest of my working life. I had heard horror stories about first year teachers, and here I was being asked my a student to make sure I repeated my lecture on poetry of all things, because she didn't want to miss out on it. If that student only knew how much her question made me feel, how knowing that I gave my kids a lesson that they felt was good enough to talk with their friends about validated all of the work that went into that 90 minute lesson. Until that point, I hadn't seen the kids really connect with what I said. At that moment, it hit me that I can really make a difference with what I am doing.
I am about to start my fourth week of teaching this Monday. I've got lessons to plan, papers to grade, a sports team to help coach, and find some time to fit my personal life into all of that. But it is those moments when kids let you know that what you are doing is important, is meaningful, that what I am doing every day is having an impact, is what get's me through some of those long days.
I love what I do.
I do not have to go to work every morning. I get to.
Nothing could make me happier.
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Thanks to you, Dan Brown
I can thank Dan Brown and his solidly ok novel, Deception Point, for introducing me to the girl who I have been dating for the past three and a half years.
You see, I was at work lifeguarding a neighborhood pool I had been at for a couple of summers when a very pretty girl came by to tan and swim. I watched her sit down behind my sunglasses, hoping that she would not catch me staring, as I thought of a way to start a conversation. For a good 30 minutes I tried to think of a way to introduce myself without being creepy, and as the clock ticked down the minutes towards the adult swim when I would have to walk by her, I was nervously thinking of anything to say to this girl to not come across as a weirdo.
After 10 agonizing minutes in thought, I had to get up and take my adult swim break. I got off the stand with nothing, I was drawing dead as poker players say. Every step toward her chair was agony, until I saw that she was reading a book, and not just a regular book, but one I had read before. So as I am walking by, I blurt out "That is a good book you are reading," and then scampered away before this beautiful girl could reply. In my mind, I had done all I could. The ball was now in her court, so if she decided to talk to me, it was all up to her.
Following the break, I walked around the opposite end of the pool so that there would be no awkwardness, and got back in my stand to stare at the bottom of the pool for another hour. The next thing I know, pretty girl herself is jumping into the pool and heading my way. My lord, my line actually worked. Chalk that up as the worst pick up line of all time, but it worked. All of a sudden, I had just met my girlfriend, Cassie, and we have been together for three and a half years now. I don't think anybody who could have seen my conversation starter would have known what they were looking at, the start of a long term relationship. And I can't blame them; after all, my friend Matt swears that I am "hitting way over my batting average" with Cassie.
After that first conversation, we had the what is supposed to be really awkward first date, but it went fabulously. Or it must have, because Cassie decided I was worth seeing again. Then, she passed the crucial test of meeting my two dogs, and it wasn't long until we were dating, ready to face the difficulty of a long distance college relationship.
I am writing this because I can't help but think of how extraordinarily bad my opening line was. Every time we tell the story of how we met to people, they laugh at how awful I was at starting the conversation. My college buddies used to do a creepily accurate impersonation of me walking by and blurting out "Thats a good book you are reading" to hilarious results.
As time has gone by, we have built a good relationship together, despite all of the difficulty that living hours apart entails. We have learned to cherish the weekends, winter breaks, and summertime that we get to spend together, which has let us appreciate the other more that we might have otherwise. We just had our 4th Valentines day together, which we spent cooking together, dancing to country music in her living room, and watching her beloved Disney movies. Looking back, I can't help but shake my head at both how we started, and all of the good times that have led to us today.
So everyone, raise your glasses and tip your caps to Dan Brown's 4 star rated novel Deception Point, because it got my relationship of three and a half years started.
You may never read that sentence ever again, which is what makes it beautiful.
You see, I was at work lifeguarding a neighborhood pool I had been at for a couple of summers when a very pretty girl came by to tan and swim. I watched her sit down behind my sunglasses, hoping that she would not catch me staring, as I thought of a way to start a conversation. For a good 30 minutes I tried to think of a way to introduce myself without being creepy, and as the clock ticked down the minutes towards the adult swim when I would have to walk by her, I was nervously thinking of anything to say to this girl to not come across as a weirdo.
After 10 agonizing minutes in thought, I had to get up and take my adult swim break. I got off the stand with nothing, I was drawing dead as poker players say. Every step toward her chair was agony, until I saw that she was reading a book, and not just a regular book, but one I had read before. So as I am walking by, I blurt out "That is a good book you are reading," and then scampered away before this beautiful girl could reply. In my mind, I had done all I could. The ball was now in her court, so if she decided to talk to me, it was all up to her.
Following the break, I walked around the opposite end of the pool so that there would be no awkwardness, and got back in my stand to stare at the bottom of the pool for another hour. The next thing I know, pretty girl herself is jumping into the pool and heading my way. My lord, my line actually worked. Chalk that up as the worst pick up line of all time, but it worked. All of a sudden, I had just met my girlfriend, Cassie, and we have been together for three and a half years now. I don't think anybody who could have seen my conversation starter would have known what they were looking at, the start of a long term relationship. And I can't blame them; after all, my friend Matt swears that I am "hitting way over my batting average" with Cassie.
After that first conversation, we had the what is supposed to be really awkward first date, but it went fabulously. Or it must have, because Cassie decided I was worth seeing again. Then, she passed the crucial test of meeting my two dogs, and it wasn't long until we were dating, ready to face the difficulty of a long distance college relationship.
I am writing this because I can't help but think of how extraordinarily bad my opening line was. Every time we tell the story of how we met to people, they laugh at how awful I was at starting the conversation. My college buddies used to do a creepily accurate impersonation of me walking by and blurting out "Thats a good book you are reading" to hilarious results.
As time has gone by, we have built a good relationship together, despite all of the difficulty that living hours apart entails. We have learned to cherish the weekends, winter breaks, and summertime that we get to spend together, which has let us appreciate the other more that we might have otherwise. We just had our 4th Valentines day together, which we spent cooking together, dancing to country music in her living room, and watching her beloved Disney movies. Looking back, I can't help but shake my head at both how we started, and all of the good times that have led to us today.
So everyone, raise your glasses and tip your caps to Dan Brown's 4 star rated novel Deception Point, because it got my relationship of three and a half years started.
You may never read that sentence ever again, which is what makes it beautiful.
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