Bounding into the kitchen, I interrupted my mom's chores to announce that I would one day be a famous singer. Mom continued washing the dishes and kindly dismissed me. I was six.
I went to college to be a music major. I was too fat to be a part of the musical theater program. They wanted me to do opera. I quit to become a sports writer. I was 18.
In 2001, I lost 64 pounds and decided I might try to revive my dying dream of singing for a living. That year, I sang the national anthem for the first time for the St. Louis Blues. I would become a regular, singing up to 22 games per season at my peak. It would launch an anthem singing career across the country and open the door for me to sing for no only the NHL but also the NFL, MLB, NASCAR, and many, many more organizations. I was 30.
In ten days, I will be 47. I realize my star power has faded and my opportunity has passed but I would still drop everything to tour and sing back up for some folks. This leads to yet another mid-life crisis question: if you could sing backup for anyone, who would it be? How about a top ten list?
10. Pink
9. John Legend
8. Kelly Clarkson
7. Sam Smith
6. Luke Bryan
5. Chris Stapleton
4. Janet Jackson
3. Almost any gospel artist on the charts
2. Justin Timberlake
1. Bruno Mars
Monday, February 19, 2018
Sunday, February 18, 2018
Ten Blogs 'til 47: What's Next?
Ten days until I turn 47... My mid-life crisis has officially arrived in the form of voices in my head bombarding me with questions I have successfully ignored for the last ten years.
What are you doing with your life?
What's next?
When you are you going to get married?
You ain't got no kids?
Did you finish writing that book yet? Better yet, have you actually found a publisher to produce that shit you think is brilliant?
Why are you still cussing like a sailor?
You know that perfectly imperfect is not really a thing, right?
What's next?
OMG, WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO LOSE WEIGHT?
You know you can't find love because you are fat don't you?
Are you sure you want to eat that?
How many times have I told you to KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT? (Everyone doesn't need to know what your thinking)
So tell me again, what are you doing with your life?
Don't you want to live in a nice house and drive a nice car with a successful husband and four brilliant children?
I mean... is this enough for you?
HOLY CRAP, did you know you only have three years left until your 50?
What's next?
But really... what's next?
STOP. I need to know... what's next?
I don't know what's next. But I do know that I have ten days until my 47th birthday and in honor of that joyful day, I will be writing ten exhilarating blogs.
Welcome to my mid-life crisis.
What are you doing with your life?
What's next?
When you are you going to get married?
You ain't got no kids?
Did you finish writing that book yet? Better yet, have you actually found a publisher to produce that shit you think is brilliant?
Why are you still cussing like a sailor?
You know that perfectly imperfect is not really a thing, right?
What's next?
OMG, WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO LOSE WEIGHT?
You know you can't find love because you are fat don't you?
Are you sure you want to eat that?
How many times have I told you to KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT? (Everyone doesn't need to know what your thinking)
So tell me again, what are you doing with your life?
Don't you want to live in a nice house and drive a nice car with a successful husband and four brilliant children?
I mean... is this enough for you?
HOLY CRAP, did you know you only have three years left until your 50?
What's next?
But really... what's next?
STOP. I need to know... what's next?
I don't know what's next. But I do know that I have ten days until my 47th birthday and in honor of that joyful day, I will be writing ten exhilarating blogs.
Welcome to my mid-life crisis.
Lockdown
I remember the first time a school where I taught ordered a real lockdown. Area police were in pursuit of an armed man who decided to run through our campus. It was a campus with plenty of places to hide: multiple buildings with hundreds of rooms, closets, nooks, and crannies.
My classroom sat in the center of a long hallway in a building close to the edge of campus. It's single story frame offered an easy escape through the seven windows that lined the north wall of my room. But the building also offered easy access from the outside with countless windows and at least six doors that opened to the outside.
Inside my room, I had one closet filled with shelves from top to bottom and no door. Cabinets were scarce. Essentially there was nowhere to hide. Evading an intruder would be complicated even further by my large class sizes. Having survived intruder training and after watching multiple videos about how to keep my students safe in a dangerous situation, I realized that the only way I would ever be able to protect my students would be to get them out of that room quickly and quietly. I replayed the scenario over and over in my head, just in case.
Unlike many of the teachers with whom I work, I did not become a teacher until I was in my 40s. I didn't have my first classroom until 2014. The massacre at Columbine occurred in 1999 with hundreds of incidents to follow. So I knew going in that there was a possibility that one day I might have to do more than just teach English. I also knew without doubt that teaching was a step in fulfilling my life's purpose so putting my life on the line would just be something I would have to do.
On that day, when my students and I were told to lock the door, turn off the lights and be quiet until it was safe, we did as we were told. I locked the door while a few boys in the back of the room pulled the curtains across the six-foot tall windows and everyone else shifted to the side of the room and sat on the floor. One of the girls reminded the students to turn off the flash notification on their phones and to put them on silent. As I pulled the door closed, a district security officer stopped me and shoved three truant students, who I had never met, into my room. I ushered them to the side and sat them behind my desk. I remember saying to the kids, "If we have to leave the room, just follow my lead. As long as you can see me, you will be safe."
It was dark. It was silent. And then I thought, "How the fuck am I going to save 34 kids if somebody comes in here?"
I was fully trained. I felt fully prepared. Until it was real. And then I knew in my heart that it would be impossible for me to shield 34 kids from a bullet. I couldn't even really hide 34 kids. I could maybe hide three. So... which three? I could maybe shield two. So... which two? What about my other 29 students?
In less than ten minutes, the security officer returned and said we were safe to go back to normal. The three truant students rushed to their classroom. We left the curtains closed. The students remained quiet. There was nothing normal about that day.
My classroom sat in the center of a long hallway in a building close to the edge of campus. It's single story frame offered an easy escape through the seven windows that lined the north wall of my room. But the building also offered easy access from the outside with countless windows and at least six doors that opened to the outside.
Inside my room, I had one closet filled with shelves from top to bottom and no door. Cabinets were scarce. Essentially there was nowhere to hide. Evading an intruder would be complicated even further by my large class sizes. Having survived intruder training and after watching multiple videos about how to keep my students safe in a dangerous situation, I realized that the only way I would ever be able to protect my students would be to get them out of that room quickly and quietly. I replayed the scenario over and over in my head, just in case.
Unlike many of the teachers with whom I work, I did not become a teacher until I was in my 40s. I didn't have my first classroom until 2014. The massacre at Columbine occurred in 1999 with hundreds of incidents to follow. So I knew going in that there was a possibility that one day I might have to do more than just teach English. I also knew without doubt that teaching was a step in fulfilling my life's purpose so putting my life on the line would just be something I would have to do.
On that day, when my students and I were told to lock the door, turn off the lights and be quiet until it was safe, we did as we were told. I locked the door while a few boys in the back of the room pulled the curtains across the six-foot tall windows and everyone else shifted to the side of the room and sat on the floor. One of the girls reminded the students to turn off the flash notification on their phones and to put them on silent. As I pulled the door closed, a district security officer stopped me and shoved three truant students, who I had never met, into my room. I ushered them to the side and sat them behind my desk. I remember saying to the kids, "If we have to leave the room, just follow my lead. As long as you can see me, you will be safe."
It was dark. It was silent. And then I thought, "How the fuck am I going to save 34 kids if somebody comes in here?"
I was fully trained. I felt fully prepared. Until it was real. And then I knew in my heart that it would be impossible for me to shield 34 kids from a bullet. I couldn't even really hide 34 kids. I could maybe hide three. So... which three? I could maybe shield two. So... which two? What about my other 29 students?
In less than ten minutes, the security officer returned and said we were safe to go back to normal. The three truant students rushed to their classroom. We left the curtains closed. The students remained quiet. There was nothing normal about that day.
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