I think it’s funny how life has such a logical progression, despite how few people actually follow it. When you graduate high school, you go to college. When you date someone at least a year, you marry them. When you get married, you have a baby. I occasionally find myself dreadfully bored with the predictability of my life. I have been one of those people that follow the rules, make sure step 1 is completed before step 2. I’ve never deviated from the path people assume others should follow. I have watched family members and friends do all sorts of crazy stuff. 8 year bachelor degrees. Illegitimate children. Stints in jail. Vegas weekend weddings. I have watched others do that stuff and generally laughed at their irresponsibility. However, at the same time deep down inside of my rule following soul, I have envied those people. The ones who made their own rules and created their own path, even though it was generally out of laziness or promiscuity and resulted in a divorce 3 months later or other life-altering repercussions that people still talk about behind their backs. Not me. I literally cannot think of anything I’ve ever done that was off the wall.
I have found myself recently being bombarded with the next step on the recipe for a successful life…Dun, dun, dun BABIES!!! They’re everywhere. People just had babies. Or just found out their pregnant. Or just started trying to have babies. They’re at walmart. They’re in the halls after school wreaking havoc in a generally non-baby high school. They’re in magazines. They’re peoples’ Facebook profile pictures. Those untrasound pictures that really look more creepy than cute. And certainly are not of any interest to anyone other than the humans who created that weird, blurry, alienesque image. They’re everywhere. Babies are everywhere. Baby names, baby books, baby clothes, baby cribs, baby bottles, baby diapers, baby squeals. Babies, babies, babies.
In my perpetual attempt to follow the rules, I have recently found myself considering having a baby of my own. I do believe that Cody and I have genes worth passing on to future generations. I want to have some children. I am intrigued and humbled at the thought of reproducing some little athletic, intelligent, beautiful child that I get to raise. The other day I went so far as to count months in intervals of 9 to decide when the best month to get pregnant would be. Scary.
Then it hit me. Babies are the one thing in this world that you should not let anyone else motivate you into having. Everything else is reversible. College degrees will always be there. There are jobs you can get with a criminal record. Most STD’s can be cured or at least contained with modern medicine. All of those things can be fixed to some degree. But a kid is a kid for 18 years. A kid is a kid 14, 15, 16 years after it comes out of your womb. It’s all the sudden sucking every ounce of money you can make out of you and eating your food and waking you up in the middle of the night and having sex way too early with questionable partners and disrespecting you as if you didn’t push that 8 pound lump of flesh out of your birth canal. I am not ready for a baby. Or a child. Or an early adolescent. I am not ready to reproduce. This universe can show me the cutest pictures its got with the most perfect infants all cuddly and quiet looking. It can make me run into the most precociously adorable 5 year olds that remind me a lot of me at that age. It can force all of my friends around me to get pregnant and recount all of the wonderful things about a baby. It can make every person I come in contact with on a daily basis ask me when I’m going to have a baby, and all I’m going to do is keeping shaking my head no. I am not going to give up my life. I am going to be selfish and sleep in late and waste money and do what I want to whenever I want to do it for as long as I’d like to do it. My biological clock is not ticking, but my selfish clock is ticking loud and clear and I’m holding on to the awesome life I’ve got right now for a while longer. Babies can wait. I’ll just play with everyone else’s until I get my own.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Where Did October Go???
I have recently sucked at blogging. I have found myself sprinting through October, which as a volleyball coach October seems to be the most ridiculous month ever. The good thing is that volleyball is over and I have one post that I have been meaning to share for three weeks now...
We all know that October is breast cancer awareness month. I find I have a love/hate relationship with this month. I appreciate and am grateful for all of the press that breast cancer awareness gets. I am glad that so many people want to fight and support such a worthwhile cause. However, I often find myself a little sad when I see pink ribbons, because it takes me back to some moments in my life that have been a bit rough. Nonetheless, I am happy to believe in a cause that I would like everyone to support in hopes of one day there being less women effected by breast cancer.
At some point throughout this month, I wore a pink ribbon on my shirt for a few days at school. One day I had a couple of boys ask me about the ribbon. I responded that it represented breast cancer awareness and was naturally responded to with immature giggles from boys. I didn't think a whole lot about it. I think men of all ages want to giggle when they hear the word breast. I told myself it wasn't malicious and that they were simply too young to understand the significance of a pink ribbon. Later that same day I had two girls ask me about the ribbon and respond that they thought breast cancer awareness was overdone. They didn't know why only breast cancer got all the hype and they thought it was stupid...There are only a few moments where I allow myself to get on my high horse about personal issues as a teacher. I don't feel that it is my responsibility to impart my beliefs on impressionable teenagers. But on that day I did.
I decided to first of all freak out on the two girls and explain all of the reasons why breast cancer deserves all of the "hype" it can get. I then went on to reprimand the entire class of kids because that's what teachers do. The next day in class I created an assignment solely to teach those two girls and my immature boys a lesson. We wrote a definition paper in which you define an abstract concept like poverty or depression or loneliness or family or something along those lines through your personal experiences. I modeled the assignment by sharing my own definition paper I had written on breast cancer...Here's what the 9th graders at Lavaca got to experience that day.
I worried the entire time. While the other kids cartwheeled without a care in the world, I attentively watched the door waiting on my mother’s return from the grocery store. Since she had reassured me over and over again of her speedy return, I had managed to begin my gymnastics practice with a relatively small amount of worry. I thought of every possible mishap that could take place. Bloody car wrecks and grocery store robberies filled my brain. When there were only fifteen minutes left in my practice, I began arranging an alternate ride home from the teenager who was teaching my class how to do a front roll off of a small trampoline. I recounted the entire situation each time I reached the front of the line, including my prediction that my mother had been in a terrible wreck. The only consolation I got from my instructor was a confused look and the claim that she had not heard any sirens, so my mom was probably fine. In the end, my mother returned from the store blaming an incompetent check-out person at Harps for her lengthy trip to the grocery store. And most importantly promising to never leave me again.
All of my life I have feared my mom leaving me. My fear held me hostage for years until I learned to believe in my mother’s devotion. For instance, I did not spend the night at friends’ houses until I was convinced my mother would return the next morning. In my childish world, I worried that my mom would get sick of me and one day decide to desert me when I least expected it. I was a “mama’s girl” to the utmost degree. Fortunately, as I grew up, I learned to trust my mother and appreciate her commitment to both my brother and me. After years of her being there, I even took for granted my mother’s presence. That is until she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2002. As a fifteen-year-old I regressed to my eight-year-old state of mind. However, the fear of losing my mom to breast cancer was a much more realistic concern than bloody car wrecks or grocery story heists.
For me, breast cancer was a sixteenth birthday with a bed-ridden mother. It was a birthday party with no presents. It was sympathetic stares and endless questions regarding, “How is your mom?” Breast cancer was living for the next set of test results that revealed the status of my mom’s health, my mom’s life. It was sympathy cards every day. It was home cooked meals from someone else’s home. Breast cancer was IV’s and nights in a hospital. Breast cancer was specialists and second opinions. It was constant worry and bargaining with God for my mom’s recovery. In the end, after months of fighting, breast cancer was a hurdle cleared and an obstacle avoided. It was a weight off of my entire family’s shoulders.
Still today, breast cancer is one of the most influential forces in my life. As a teenager I witnessed my mother fight for her life to escape the chains of cancer. I learned that breast cancer is more than an illness, but a transforming force for many. Breast cancer molded and shaped and scarred my mother into the woman she is today. Ironically, it also molded and shaped and scarred me into the person I am today. Through my mother’s experience, I learned that cancer does not discriminate. It cares not your race or age. It cuts with a knife and leaves its mark forever. Breast cancer is a physical tyrant, an unforgiving force. It attacks the most undeserving of victims, including my mom. It stalks generation after generation with its presence feared by daughters and granddaughters. Breast cancer is my fear now. Breast cancer is a lump in your breast. It is mammograms and hospital waiting rooms. It is blood work and biopsy results. Breast cancer is sutures and staples and disfiguration. In my mother’s case, it is a double mastectomy, a loss of femininity. It is one in every four women in the United States. It is radiation and chemotherapy, nausea and bald heads. It is husbands with no wives, children with no mothers, and parents with no daughters.
All of my life I have feared my mother’s leaving. As a child, I worried of her temporary departure. As an adult, I worry about her permanent departure. Breast cancer planted an eternal fear of its return in my mind. If it does not return for my mother, perhaps it will settle for me instead. Breast cancer has taught me more about life and love than anything else. For me, breast cancer restored my eight-year-old appreciation for the people I love.
Needless to say my kids were overwhelmed after hearing me read this. I did, however, get some of the best writing out of my students I've gotten all year. One day after school, one of the girls who had made the remarks about breast cancer found me and apologized. She explained she had never met anyone who had breast cancer or known anyone who knew someone with it. I sometimes wonder what I'm doing as a teacher. And very rarely do I ever have any sort of proof that I'm making even a small impact. However, this month I feel like I have opened a few sets of eyes to life beyond the sheltered existence so many young kids find themselves a part of.
So, I have a love/hate relationship with October. However, I am thankful that October has evolved into Pinktober. Breast cancer awareness is very much a worthwhile fight to undertake. And whether people walk or run or wear pink ribbons or assign 9th graders an assignment solely to allow for their personal satisfaction of teaching a lesson that has nothing to do with English, we must all do our part. Hopefully one day, October can be devoted to the fight for the cure of a disease other than breast cancer. Until then, we must spread the word.
We all know that October is breast cancer awareness month. I find I have a love/hate relationship with this month. I appreciate and am grateful for all of the press that breast cancer awareness gets. I am glad that so many people want to fight and support such a worthwhile cause. However, I often find myself a little sad when I see pink ribbons, because it takes me back to some moments in my life that have been a bit rough. Nonetheless, I am happy to believe in a cause that I would like everyone to support in hopes of one day there being less women effected by breast cancer.
At some point throughout this month, I wore a pink ribbon on my shirt for a few days at school. One day I had a couple of boys ask me about the ribbon. I responded that it represented breast cancer awareness and was naturally responded to with immature giggles from boys. I didn't think a whole lot about it. I think men of all ages want to giggle when they hear the word breast. I told myself it wasn't malicious and that they were simply too young to understand the significance of a pink ribbon. Later that same day I had two girls ask me about the ribbon and respond that they thought breast cancer awareness was overdone. They didn't know why only breast cancer got all the hype and they thought it was stupid...There are only a few moments where I allow myself to get on my high horse about personal issues as a teacher. I don't feel that it is my responsibility to impart my beliefs on impressionable teenagers. But on that day I did.
I decided to first of all freak out on the two girls and explain all of the reasons why breast cancer deserves all of the "hype" it can get. I then went on to reprimand the entire class of kids because that's what teachers do. The next day in class I created an assignment solely to teach those two girls and my immature boys a lesson. We wrote a definition paper in which you define an abstract concept like poverty or depression or loneliness or family or something along those lines through your personal experiences. I modeled the assignment by sharing my own definition paper I had written on breast cancer...Here's what the 9th graders at Lavaca got to experience that day.
I worried the entire time. While the other kids cartwheeled without a care in the world, I attentively watched the door waiting on my mother’s return from the grocery store. Since she had reassured me over and over again of her speedy return, I had managed to begin my gymnastics practice with a relatively small amount of worry. I thought of every possible mishap that could take place. Bloody car wrecks and grocery store robberies filled my brain. When there were only fifteen minutes left in my practice, I began arranging an alternate ride home from the teenager who was teaching my class how to do a front roll off of a small trampoline. I recounted the entire situation each time I reached the front of the line, including my prediction that my mother had been in a terrible wreck. The only consolation I got from my instructor was a confused look and the claim that she had not heard any sirens, so my mom was probably fine. In the end, my mother returned from the store blaming an incompetent check-out person at Harps for her lengthy trip to the grocery store. And most importantly promising to never leave me again.
All of my life I have feared my mom leaving me. My fear held me hostage for years until I learned to believe in my mother’s devotion. For instance, I did not spend the night at friends’ houses until I was convinced my mother would return the next morning. In my childish world, I worried that my mom would get sick of me and one day decide to desert me when I least expected it. I was a “mama’s girl” to the utmost degree. Fortunately, as I grew up, I learned to trust my mother and appreciate her commitment to both my brother and me. After years of her being there, I even took for granted my mother’s presence. That is until she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2002. As a fifteen-year-old I regressed to my eight-year-old state of mind. However, the fear of losing my mom to breast cancer was a much more realistic concern than bloody car wrecks or grocery story heists.
For me, breast cancer was a sixteenth birthday with a bed-ridden mother. It was a birthday party with no presents. It was sympathetic stares and endless questions regarding, “How is your mom?” Breast cancer was living for the next set of test results that revealed the status of my mom’s health, my mom’s life. It was sympathy cards every day. It was home cooked meals from someone else’s home. Breast cancer was IV’s and nights in a hospital. Breast cancer was specialists and second opinions. It was constant worry and bargaining with God for my mom’s recovery. In the end, after months of fighting, breast cancer was a hurdle cleared and an obstacle avoided. It was a weight off of my entire family’s shoulders.
Still today, breast cancer is one of the most influential forces in my life. As a teenager I witnessed my mother fight for her life to escape the chains of cancer. I learned that breast cancer is more than an illness, but a transforming force for many. Breast cancer molded and shaped and scarred my mother into the woman she is today. Ironically, it also molded and shaped and scarred me into the person I am today. Through my mother’s experience, I learned that cancer does not discriminate. It cares not your race or age. It cuts with a knife and leaves its mark forever. Breast cancer is a physical tyrant, an unforgiving force. It attacks the most undeserving of victims, including my mom. It stalks generation after generation with its presence feared by daughters and granddaughters. Breast cancer is my fear now. Breast cancer is a lump in your breast. It is mammograms and hospital waiting rooms. It is blood work and biopsy results. Breast cancer is sutures and staples and disfiguration. In my mother’s case, it is a double mastectomy, a loss of femininity. It is one in every four women in the United States. It is radiation and chemotherapy, nausea and bald heads. It is husbands with no wives, children with no mothers, and parents with no daughters.
All of my life I have feared my mother’s leaving. As a child, I worried of her temporary departure. As an adult, I worry about her permanent departure. Breast cancer planted an eternal fear of its return in my mind. If it does not return for my mother, perhaps it will settle for me instead. Breast cancer has taught me more about life and love than anything else. For me, breast cancer restored my eight-year-old appreciation for the people I love.
Needless to say my kids were overwhelmed after hearing me read this. I did, however, get some of the best writing out of my students I've gotten all year. One day after school, one of the girls who had made the remarks about breast cancer found me and apologized. She explained she had never met anyone who had breast cancer or known anyone who knew someone with it. I sometimes wonder what I'm doing as a teacher. And very rarely do I ever have any sort of proof that I'm making even a small impact. However, this month I feel like I have opened a few sets of eyes to life beyond the sheltered existence so many young kids find themselves a part of.
So, I have a love/hate relationship with October. However, I am thankful that October has evolved into Pinktober. Breast cancer awareness is very much a worthwhile fight to undertake. And whether people walk or run or wear pink ribbons or assign 9th graders an assignment solely to allow for their personal satisfaction of teaching a lesson that has nothing to do with English, we must all do our part. Hopefully one day, October can be devoted to the fight for the cure of a disease other than breast cancer. Until then, we must spread the word.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Thoughts on Friendship
I remember it like it was yesterday. The months leading up to high school graduation were filled with promises of keeping in touch, plans made 6 months in advance, and talks of Christmas break activities we would all partake in when we were back home. Empty promises. Cancelled plans. Prior engagments.
The other night my very good friend Brooke Whitney (her name isn't Whitney anymore, but this is blog so I make the rules here) was in town from Lubbock. Laura (my other very good friend) and I made our way to Northwest Arkansas for dinner with Brooke. Despite not seeing Brooke since my wedding, the gap of time did not seem to effect our time together. We picked up conversations just like we were 19 again. We talked of pretty much all of the same topics of yesterday with a few nouns and verbs replaced with other more sophisticated ones. We didn't find our time awkward. We didn't feel like we had nothing left to discuss. We were very much as we used to be. It was refreshing to know that some things don't change as quickly as others.
On the drive home, I started thinking about why the majority of the time relationships that face thousands of miles of distance don't work nearly as well as Brooke, Laura, and myself. I decided the issue is this...when you don't see someone for months at a time, you are forced to pick up on the last day you were with them. For instance, when I graduated high school and then we all went our separate ways, we were forced to miss out on all of the experiences of the first semester of college without a continual communcation and analysis of these activities. When I saw you over Christmas, we were still seniors in high school even though we were so far from that place. I see people now who I felt like I knew really well in high school or even college and find myself downright confused as to where the person I once knew has gone. Life happens to us in the absence of each another and people are forced to fill those gaps of time one way or another. I run into people who I remember as uptight and conservative who now ramble on about partying and sex. I run into people who were the biggest whores I ever knew who now have 3 kids and a husband (granted the 3 kids could have stemmed from their previous life). Nonetheless, I have these experiences often.
Anywho, I guess my point is this. People change. People literally change what they believe, how they act, and who they are. It is rare to find people who either don't change much or change in a way that allows you to pick up conversations where you left off months ago. My only reservation I ever had in marrying Cody was the understanding that 23 year old Katy Schrodt will not be the same as 33 year old Katy Prater. I have always wondered how married people some how avoid the growing up process without growning apart. However, I decided after 5 years of being with Cody that you simply need to have the big things set in concrete. If you're a genuine person at 18 you probably will be at 28. If you're a funny person now, you will probably always be. If you're a sweet and loving person, you will probably be that as well. So maybe the relationships that last are the ones that you care enough to remember the big things that you appreciated before. The details of life are only the icing on the cake. It's the character traits that I appreciate in the people I love. So when you can, find a person that you used to know and try your hardest to pick up where you left off. Because maybe it was husbands and jobs that we dealt with last Wednesday, but it felt as enjoyable as boyfriends and class. It's less about the topics of conversation, and more about the people you're talking to.
The other night my very good friend Brooke Whitney (her name isn't Whitney anymore, but this is blog so I make the rules here) was in town from Lubbock. Laura (my other very good friend) and I made our way to Northwest Arkansas for dinner with Brooke. Despite not seeing Brooke since my wedding, the gap of time did not seem to effect our time together. We picked up conversations just like we were 19 again. We talked of pretty much all of the same topics of yesterday with a few nouns and verbs replaced with other more sophisticated ones. We didn't find our time awkward. We didn't feel like we had nothing left to discuss. We were very much as we used to be. It was refreshing to know that some things don't change as quickly as others.
On the drive home, I started thinking about why the majority of the time relationships that face thousands of miles of distance don't work nearly as well as Brooke, Laura, and myself. I decided the issue is this...when you don't see someone for months at a time, you are forced to pick up on the last day you were with them. For instance, when I graduated high school and then we all went our separate ways, we were forced to miss out on all of the experiences of the first semester of college without a continual communcation and analysis of these activities. When I saw you over Christmas, we were still seniors in high school even though we were so far from that place. I see people now who I felt like I knew really well in high school or even college and find myself downright confused as to where the person I once knew has gone. Life happens to us in the absence of each another and people are forced to fill those gaps of time one way or another. I run into people who I remember as uptight and conservative who now ramble on about partying and sex. I run into people who were the biggest whores I ever knew who now have 3 kids and a husband (granted the 3 kids could have stemmed from their previous life). Nonetheless, I have these experiences often.
Anywho, I guess my point is this. People change. People literally change what they believe, how they act, and who they are. It is rare to find people who either don't change much or change in a way that allows you to pick up conversations where you left off months ago. My only reservation I ever had in marrying Cody was the understanding that 23 year old Katy Schrodt will not be the same as 33 year old Katy Prater. I have always wondered how married people some how avoid the growing up process without growning apart. However, I decided after 5 years of being with Cody that you simply need to have the big things set in concrete. If you're a genuine person at 18 you probably will be at 28. If you're a funny person now, you will probably always be. If you're a sweet and loving person, you will probably be that as well. So maybe the relationships that last are the ones that you care enough to remember the big things that you appreciated before. The details of life are only the icing on the cake. It's the character traits that I appreciate in the people I love. So when you can, find a person that you used to know and try your hardest to pick up where you left off. Because maybe it was husbands and jobs that we dealt with last Wednesday, but it felt as enjoyable as boyfriends and class. It's less about the topics of conversation, and more about the people you're talking to.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Some of my favorite things...
In an attempt to keep my job, I would like to very generally reflect on a letter published in a newspaper somewhere near Fort Smith that I think highlights an interesting concept that I have been presented with numerous times as an educator, specifically a coach.
This letter to the editor, written by someone who withheld their name (don’t even get me started on fighting battles without believing in them enough to put your name on them), touched on the topic of favoritism in sports. Being the naïve educator that I am, I would have never assumed this letter would have been aimed at me had it not been for the withheld writer offering up that she or he had children who played volleyball. Throughout my short tenure as a coach, I have had people refer to me playing favoritism before. I have even had a child once label me as someone who plays favorites. Certainly “favoritism” is a buzz word in education. Educators are not supposed to have favorites because as we all know, educators are not humans like the rest of America. Nonetheless, here is my take on favoritism and why we should be okay with coaches, teachers, administrators, and anyone else in this world “playing favorites.”
Yes, I have favorites. I have favorites in my classroom, and I certainly have favorites in my gym. As I told the young child who accused me of playing favorites, I am proud and perfectly okay with having favorites. The students/players that I consider my favorites, however, are not the kids that I like the most, as all assume. They are not my favorites because I wish I could hang out on the weekend with them because our personalities click with one another so well. Instead, my favorites are the kids who do their work. And my favorites are the kids who listen to what I tell them and try to fulfill those requests as best they can. And my favorites are the kids who show up to practice with a good attitude and a willingness to work more than the others. And my favorites are the kids who are better than the other kids, because that’s how this world works. There are people who are good at stuff and people who are not. And why would I not like the ones who are good more than the rest. I don’t care that your child is ADHD and that you drank alcohol like a fish when you were pregnant so his brain doesn’t work like the rest of the kids. I don’t care that you work at night on a line in a factory instead of taking care of your children, and thus your child can’t read when he gets to the 9th grade. And I don’t care that God didn’t bless your child with feet that don’t trip, legs that can jump, and hands that can catch a ball. And I don’t care that you want your kid to play just as much as everyone else because high school sports are really just about having fun. Fun, my foot withheld writer. I’m not here to have fun. I’m here to rely on 15 year olds to perform on any given Tuesday or Thursday so that all of the endless hours I devote to your child will transfer to a wins and losses record. And I am here to teach your child, regardless of their ability to pass a ball, that this world is not fair. And you will have to answer to the favorites game for the rest of your life. And whether you’re 14 or 40 someone will always get what you want because they will be the favorite. I am here to teach your kid that maybe they should work harder to get better to bust this game that educators play, instead of adopting their parent’s excuses and allowances that have created an offspring who isn’t a favorite. I’m a believer that the apple doesn’t fall from the tree, withheld writer, so don’t assume you can break the cycle of non-favorites within your family by writing a rather elementary level letter to a local newspaper.
Yes, I have favorites. And no, your child probably isn’t one of them. And regardless of whether it’s junior high volleyball or success beyond public education when things stop being “for fun,” at least your child can look back and realize that their below average life started with you. You and your decision to convince your child that they are just as good as everyone else and it is my fault as a volleyball coach that they are perpetually not worth mentioning. You can claim that life lesson, not me.
More than that, I would also like to note that the majority of people in this life that your child will have to deal with were probably favorites themselves. Teachers were the smart kids, coaches were the starters, and administrators were a combination of both of those. Therefore, most educators deep down inside do not feel sorry for your child. Favorites believe in favorites. Public school employees just happen to be the lucky ones who generally get to provide you and your child with your first dose of reality in respect to the abilities of your son or daughter.
So, in summary I do have favorites. They’re called athletes and intelligent people. Don’t take it out on me that your child is neither of those.
This letter to the editor, written by someone who withheld their name (don’t even get me started on fighting battles without believing in them enough to put your name on them), touched on the topic of favoritism in sports. Being the naïve educator that I am, I would have never assumed this letter would have been aimed at me had it not been for the withheld writer offering up that she or he had children who played volleyball. Throughout my short tenure as a coach, I have had people refer to me playing favoritism before. I have even had a child once label me as someone who plays favorites. Certainly “favoritism” is a buzz word in education. Educators are not supposed to have favorites because as we all know, educators are not humans like the rest of America. Nonetheless, here is my take on favoritism and why we should be okay with coaches, teachers, administrators, and anyone else in this world “playing favorites.”
Yes, I have favorites. I have favorites in my classroom, and I certainly have favorites in my gym. As I told the young child who accused me of playing favorites, I am proud and perfectly okay with having favorites. The students/players that I consider my favorites, however, are not the kids that I like the most, as all assume. They are not my favorites because I wish I could hang out on the weekend with them because our personalities click with one another so well. Instead, my favorites are the kids who do their work. And my favorites are the kids who listen to what I tell them and try to fulfill those requests as best they can. And my favorites are the kids who show up to practice with a good attitude and a willingness to work more than the others. And my favorites are the kids who are better than the other kids, because that’s how this world works. There are people who are good at stuff and people who are not. And why would I not like the ones who are good more than the rest. I don’t care that your child is ADHD and that you drank alcohol like a fish when you were pregnant so his brain doesn’t work like the rest of the kids. I don’t care that you work at night on a line in a factory instead of taking care of your children, and thus your child can’t read when he gets to the 9th grade. And I don’t care that God didn’t bless your child with feet that don’t trip, legs that can jump, and hands that can catch a ball. And I don’t care that you want your kid to play just as much as everyone else because high school sports are really just about having fun. Fun, my foot withheld writer. I’m not here to have fun. I’m here to rely on 15 year olds to perform on any given Tuesday or Thursday so that all of the endless hours I devote to your child will transfer to a wins and losses record. And I am here to teach your child, regardless of their ability to pass a ball, that this world is not fair. And you will have to answer to the favorites game for the rest of your life. And whether you’re 14 or 40 someone will always get what you want because they will be the favorite. I am here to teach your kid that maybe they should work harder to get better to bust this game that educators play, instead of adopting their parent’s excuses and allowances that have created an offspring who isn’t a favorite. I’m a believer that the apple doesn’t fall from the tree, withheld writer, so don’t assume you can break the cycle of non-favorites within your family by writing a rather elementary level letter to a local newspaper.
Yes, I have favorites. And no, your child probably isn’t one of them. And regardless of whether it’s junior high volleyball or success beyond public education when things stop being “for fun,” at least your child can look back and realize that their below average life started with you. You and your decision to convince your child that they are just as good as everyone else and it is my fault as a volleyball coach that they are perpetually not worth mentioning. You can claim that life lesson, not me.
More than that, I would also like to note that the majority of people in this life that your child will have to deal with were probably favorites themselves. Teachers were the smart kids, coaches were the starters, and administrators were a combination of both of those. Therefore, most educators deep down inside do not feel sorry for your child. Favorites believe in favorites. Public school employees just happen to be the lucky ones who generally get to provide you and your child with your first dose of reality in respect to the abilities of your son or daughter.
So, in summary I do have favorites. They’re called athletes and intelligent people. Don’t take it out on me that your child is neither of those.
Monday, August 23, 2010
A Look Back In Time
A little glimpse at a recently hired 21 year old English teacher staring her last few days of summer before her first year teaching in the cold, scary, acne infested, adolescent face...in other words, I found this in a notebook that I was writing in on July 2, 2008. It's a little depressing, somewhat laughable, and a little ironic in light of my current situation.
"I got a job. A real 9-5, go everyday, on salary with benefits (I don't actually have benefits now which makes this even funnier. At the time I assumed all under paid educators in America at least got insurance. Ha.) adult, real world, childhood is over forever, your life will never be fun again, job. I didn't want a job. I got a job because that's what you do after college if you don't go to grad school of some other more interesting alternative. I took the boring, not worth talking about route...It seems so boring and routine. It's like once you enter the working world you don't ever make it back to the spontaneous world you lived in before. I chalk the job up to peer pressure. Everyone else got one. Why wouldn't I? What throws my job into an even less notable category is that I'm going to teach. It seems so weird. Why would I teach? How did I get to this point? How did I devote 4 years of my life to become a teacher? I don't really feel like I am the person I used to be. This is a logical thought when you consider the maturation process that is college. However, I think the version of myself 4 years ago was a lot cooler. I feel so average. I hate the thought of being average. Average is the first step toward failure. Nonetheless, I got a job...Three years later Cody and I are still together. I have no more clarification or definition of us than I had at the beginning of this. Things are not the way they used to be. He's a great guy, but he still feels so far from what I expected. But now I can't remember what I expected. I don't know how you know if a relationship is the way it is simply because that's the natural process of how two people in love change or if you lost something completely necessary to happiness. I contend that there are moments when this makes sense to me. When I stop overthinking and just let it be. I hear so many philosophies on love and marriage and happiness. I don't know which ones I agree with. This is what I know: Cody is a good and decent person, Cody has a genuine heart, he's never done anything negative worth mentioning, and he claims he loves me. I sometimes wait for it to end. I brace myself for some catastrophic ending to him and me. I wonder if he loves me the way you're supposed to love the person you spend your life with. There must be something worth maintaining considering we've lasted this long. He is mine. I am his. For now. It's been one interesting experience regardless of what happens outside the utopia that is college. I don't want college to be over. However, even if I stayed, it wouldn't be the same. There's a time limit on something as cool as this. If it lasted forever, it wouldn't be worth missing. Missing something is part of the appeal I've learned. Everytime I don't think I care I realize I do. When I tell myself it wouldn't hurt, it does. When I try not to cry, I do. Maybe that's when you know it's love. When it hurts so bad, but you come crawling back each time."
The other night Cody and I went and looked at the new dorms at UA Fort Smith. We walked our 24 year old bodies into a world of freshmen. We snuck into a door that we didn't have the key to. We peered in windows of rooms we will never live in. We spent some time on a campus that is no longer our campus. As we drove away with the belltower shining through the moon roof, I realized it is over. College is over. Not because we graduated. Not because we have a degree. It's over because we're not 18 anymore. The next day I walked into the halls of Lavaca High School and taught kids because I am an adult who is married to the guy I always wanted who I never wanted to admit was the one I wanted. I occasionally have these moments where all I want is the way things were. It's annoying and useless and a waste of time. But it takes a while to walk far enough away to no longer know you can't go back. Walking around The Lions' Den the other night was a good indicator that college is the new high school. I have walked far enough to understand it is no longer mine. I realized as I drove away with Cody that I need to focus on the irresistible apects of my present. One day I will be holding one child in my exhausted arms with another tugging annoyingly on my sleeve and I will think back to the days when Cody and I sat around with our dogs and did just about whatever we wanted. I will reminisce and think fondly upon this right here. I need to live in the now and less in the once was.
I hope the freshmen of The Lions' Den love college as much as I did. And I hope one day they look back so longingly on their experience. And for now, I will keep on walking.
"I got a job. A real 9-5, go everyday, on salary with benefits (I don't actually have benefits now which makes this even funnier. At the time I assumed all under paid educators in America at least got insurance. Ha.) adult, real world, childhood is over forever, your life will never be fun again, job. I didn't want a job. I got a job because that's what you do after college if you don't go to grad school of some other more interesting alternative. I took the boring, not worth talking about route...It seems so boring and routine. It's like once you enter the working world you don't ever make it back to the spontaneous world you lived in before. I chalk the job up to peer pressure. Everyone else got one. Why wouldn't I? What throws my job into an even less notable category is that I'm going to teach. It seems so weird. Why would I teach? How did I get to this point? How did I devote 4 years of my life to become a teacher? I don't really feel like I am the person I used to be. This is a logical thought when you consider the maturation process that is college. However, I think the version of myself 4 years ago was a lot cooler. I feel so average. I hate the thought of being average. Average is the first step toward failure. Nonetheless, I got a job...Three years later Cody and I are still together. I have no more clarification or definition of us than I had at the beginning of this. Things are not the way they used to be. He's a great guy, but he still feels so far from what I expected. But now I can't remember what I expected. I don't know how you know if a relationship is the way it is simply because that's the natural process of how two people in love change or if you lost something completely necessary to happiness. I contend that there are moments when this makes sense to me. When I stop overthinking and just let it be. I hear so many philosophies on love and marriage and happiness. I don't know which ones I agree with. This is what I know: Cody is a good and decent person, Cody has a genuine heart, he's never done anything negative worth mentioning, and he claims he loves me. I sometimes wait for it to end. I brace myself for some catastrophic ending to him and me. I wonder if he loves me the way you're supposed to love the person you spend your life with. There must be something worth maintaining considering we've lasted this long. He is mine. I am his. For now. It's been one interesting experience regardless of what happens outside the utopia that is college. I don't want college to be over. However, even if I stayed, it wouldn't be the same. There's a time limit on something as cool as this. If it lasted forever, it wouldn't be worth missing. Missing something is part of the appeal I've learned. Everytime I don't think I care I realize I do. When I tell myself it wouldn't hurt, it does. When I try not to cry, I do. Maybe that's when you know it's love. When it hurts so bad, but you come crawling back each time."
The other night Cody and I went and looked at the new dorms at UA Fort Smith. We walked our 24 year old bodies into a world of freshmen. We snuck into a door that we didn't have the key to. We peered in windows of rooms we will never live in. We spent some time on a campus that is no longer our campus. As we drove away with the belltower shining through the moon roof, I realized it is over. College is over. Not because we graduated. Not because we have a degree. It's over because we're not 18 anymore. The next day I walked into the halls of Lavaca High School and taught kids because I am an adult who is married to the guy I always wanted who I never wanted to admit was the one I wanted. I occasionally have these moments where all I want is the way things were. It's annoying and useless and a waste of time. But it takes a while to walk far enough away to no longer know you can't go back. Walking around The Lions' Den the other night was a good indicator that college is the new high school. I have walked far enough to understand it is no longer mine. I realized as I drove away with Cody that I need to focus on the irresistible apects of my present. One day I will be holding one child in my exhausted arms with another tugging annoyingly on my sleeve and I will think back to the days when Cody and I sat around with our dogs and did just about whatever we wanted. I will reminisce and think fondly upon this right here. I need to live in the now and less in the once was.
I hope the freshmen of The Lions' Den love college as much as I did. And I hope one day they look back so longingly on their experience. And for now, I will keep on walking.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Hello, my name is Adulthood, Adulthood Prater.
I was (note the past tense) so very impressed with myself throughout this entire wedding process for not overanalyzing every tiny detail of every experience. I didn't get caught up in the "I'm getting so old, my life is spinning out of control game" that I often times find myself in during times of immense change. I even handled the post-wedding reality set-in. I was very fortunate to have a summer as an educator to get married in that allowed the weeks after June 19th to be spent like Cody and I were 18 again. We watched movies all night, slept til noon, and did as little as we possibly could. Life for the past 6 weeksish has been pretty sweet.
However, as all times of stress free existence do, my summer of leisure has come to a screeching halt. I have found myself thrown into the tornado of "I'm old." I am currently mid-spin, eye of the storm (yes, I know that's a hurricane reference), hunker down in the bathtub with the mattress on top of you mode. I am overwhelmed.
This all began to strike me about the time I decided to turn 24 years old. Cody and I had some friends over for a birthday/housewarming celebration. We had a great time. Everything went well. But at some point during the night, I looked around the living room of my home filled with my couple friends (once you get old, you only hang out with couples) made eye contact with my husband smiled at my fur children and sipped my glass of wine and realized this isn't 2004 anymore.
My birthday was only the beginning of my turmoil. Here recently I have also been forced to go back to work. As a teacher I am faced with the perpetual label of Mrs. _______ or Coach ________ at all times. Even when students are not around, teachers still have a hard time socializing like the rest of Americans who call each other by their first names. The past few days I have been bombarded with "Hey, Coach Schro...oh wait, it's not Schrodt anymore. What is it now?" comments. I have had my mail box relabeled in the teacher's lounge. The name by my classroom door says Prater instead of Schrodt. I was forced to complete an assignment in alphabetical order as a "P." I have had every username I have ever possessed reset and thus compiled of something Prater related. IT IS EVERYWHERE!!! It's almost laughable. One of the women who consider not changing their name has had the name change process completed for her. I am officially Coach Prater. I get it.
The whole process is so weird. I literally feel like I have no idea where my life has gone. I had a professor in college who used to always remark on how difficult it is to turn a year older as a teacher but to come to work every day to kids who are always 15. They don't get old. They move on and you are reloaded with another group of kids in the exact same place as the ones you had before. I am faced with the innocence of adolescence on a daily basis. I am faced with the youthfulness that I have finally realized I no longer have like I used to. I am married. I am not 22. I am no longer Schrodt. And I am a little bit lost.
I need a minute to breathe...
And then I was reminded that often times in the midst of chaotic Katy mode there is often a light at the end of the tunnel. Here recently I have been blessed with a resolution to a mess that I have been reliving for about 6 years now. Something that simply didn't go the way I wanted it to go has been resolved for all to enjoy, most importantly me. I have recently been reminded by the most unlikely of candidates that "everything happens for a reason." Oddly enough, that same tidbit of advice was given to me by the person involved in my self-inflicted mess 6 years ago, but I simply didn't listen. I wasn't old enough to understand. This experience of restitution could only be appreciated by 24 year old Katy...Schrodt.
Maybe we all get old. Maybe we don't appreciate our youth while we've got it (I know, I know, I'm not that old). Maybe we make decisions that haunt us for 6 years. And maybe, you only get the resolution that you need when you're at a point in your life when you can accept it and appreciate it. Maybe there is more good in growing up than I can understand right now. All I do understand is there a certain renewal to one's spirit when you finally reach a point of catharsis. And in all the drama of the Prater wedding experience I have found comfort in something that happened to Katy Schrodt. Therefore, as Katy Prater I will carry forward my little nugget of wisdom I have received. Regardless of age or name, there are some good things that cannot be denied.
"when it's good, it'll feel like it should." - John Mayer
However, as all times of stress free existence do, my summer of leisure has come to a screeching halt. I have found myself thrown into the tornado of "I'm old." I am currently mid-spin, eye of the storm (yes, I know that's a hurricane reference), hunker down in the bathtub with the mattress on top of you mode. I am overwhelmed.
This all began to strike me about the time I decided to turn 24 years old. Cody and I had some friends over for a birthday/housewarming celebration. We had a great time. Everything went well. But at some point during the night, I looked around the living room of my home filled with my couple friends (once you get old, you only hang out with couples) made eye contact with my husband smiled at my fur children and sipped my glass of wine and realized this isn't 2004 anymore.
My birthday was only the beginning of my turmoil. Here recently I have also been forced to go back to work. As a teacher I am faced with the perpetual label of Mrs. _______ or Coach ________ at all times. Even when students are not around, teachers still have a hard time socializing like the rest of Americans who call each other by their first names. The past few days I have been bombarded with "Hey, Coach Schro...oh wait, it's not Schrodt anymore. What is it now?" comments. I have had my mail box relabeled in the teacher's lounge. The name by my classroom door says Prater instead of Schrodt. I was forced to complete an assignment in alphabetical order as a "P." I have had every username I have ever possessed reset and thus compiled of something Prater related. IT IS EVERYWHERE!!! It's almost laughable. One of the women who consider not changing their name has had the name change process completed for her. I am officially Coach Prater. I get it.
The whole process is so weird. I literally feel like I have no idea where my life has gone. I had a professor in college who used to always remark on how difficult it is to turn a year older as a teacher but to come to work every day to kids who are always 15. They don't get old. They move on and you are reloaded with another group of kids in the exact same place as the ones you had before. I am faced with the innocence of adolescence on a daily basis. I am faced with the youthfulness that I have finally realized I no longer have like I used to. I am married. I am not 22. I am no longer Schrodt. And I am a little bit lost.
I need a minute to breathe...
And then I was reminded that often times in the midst of chaotic Katy mode there is often a light at the end of the tunnel. Here recently I have been blessed with a resolution to a mess that I have been reliving for about 6 years now. Something that simply didn't go the way I wanted it to go has been resolved for all to enjoy, most importantly me. I have recently been reminded by the most unlikely of candidates that "everything happens for a reason." Oddly enough, that same tidbit of advice was given to me by the person involved in my self-inflicted mess 6 years ago, but I simply didn't listen. I wasn't old enough to understand. This experience of restitution could only be appreciated by 24 year old Katy...Schrodt.
Maybe we all get old. Maybe we don't appreciate our youth while we've got it (I know, I know, I'm not that old). Maybe we make decisions that haunt us for 6 years. And maybe, you only get the resolution that you need when you're at a point in your life when you can accept it and appreciate it. Maybe there is more good in growing up than I can understand right now. All I do understand is there a certain renewal to one's spirit when you finally reach a point of catharsis. And in all the drama of the Prater wedding experience I have found comfort in something that happened to Katy Schrodt. Therefore, as Katy Prater I will carry forward my little nugget of wisdom I have received. Regardless of age or name, there are some good things that cannot be denied.
"when it's good, it'll feel like it should." - John Mayer
Monday, July 19, 2010
Nagging Questions...
So, I still am not to a point where I feel like I have anything philosophical, or really anything interesting at all for that matter, to say about getting married. However, I have noticed an incessant few questions that are inevitably asked to me on a daily basis. I have decided that maybe if I answer them on this blog, a few people will get their much anticipated answers here rather than from interaction with me.
1. "How's married life?"
This is by far the most commonly asked question to me now. I'm not sure how long the interval of receiving this question lasts. 1 month, 6 months, 1 year?!? I honestly don't mind the question. I just feel like a real let down because I don't have a clever answer. I refuse to answer without sarcasm, and thus am left talking about how my life is the exact same before we were married. Here's my best shot at an answer: I have gained 9 pounds and slept more in the last month than I have in quite a while. I have cooked approximately 4 dinners and 2 breakfasts (0 lunches) in the past 4 weeks. I am not pregnant, nor do I want to be, and I like/love Cody about as much as I ever have. That is the update on married life. I don't know why I threw in the "I'm not pregnant" part. I just feel like everyone waits with baited breath for an offspring once you're married. Not. For. Me.
2. "How was the wedding?"
This is the most commonly asked question numero two (I considered writing "two" out in Spanish and then realized my English spelling skills are not bilingual). My answer is....wait for it...don't answer too quickly...don't seen too eager...you know she has something worth hearing....good. It was good. There were no enormous mishaps. Cody did not bail on me. No one tripped down the aisle. There were no fights. There were no largely embarrassing moments. It was good. Things did go wrong. I have seen the video and wished that I didn't look so uncomfortable in all of the fluff that is a wedding, but overall, it was fine. I was braced for a more traumatic experience than I received, so I consider myself lucky. As my wise mother has told me before, "Nothing is ever as bad or as good as you expect." My wedding proves this statement to be true.
3. "Has anything changed with you and Cody?"
This is generally the follow up question to number two, at which point I realize I am not getting out of this conversation without divulging some sort of uncomfortable personal information. Drumroll please....the answer is no. I generally make some convoluted reference about sex at which point everyone laughs. Other than that though, no. Things are not different. We have not fought yet (we didn't fight before we were married either). We have not done anything crazy. We have not changed every characteristic that makes up Cody and Katy. We are the same two people we were 4 weeks ago plus a marriage license and common living quarters. I realize not too exciting, but sufficient for me nonetheless.
4. "Would you do it again?"
This is a bit of a loaded question I think. Would I marry Cody again? Yes! Of course. I don't regret or second guess or worry about the actual union of people that was made official on June 19th. I am happy to be Cody's permanent (muhahahahaha) partner in crime. Now, would I get married in the same fashion as we did again? The jury is still out. I think I am still too close to my wedding to answer this fairly. I still remember all of the stress and anxiety and chaos that was created by the wedding. I often wonder if maybe running off with a few close friends and family would have been the better option. It is not that I didn't have a good time on my wedding day. There were plenty of shining moments that will inevitably stick with me for years to come. However, there are some moments that were not so shiny and down right hard to bear that are also still intact. I don't know the answer to this.
I figure it's like any coming-of-age, traditional, rite of passage sort of experience. While I sat on the football field of Southside High School sweating in my Rebel blue robe inbetween two kids I swear I'd never seen before with a graduation hat that made me feel even more conspicuous than I did as an almost 6 foot tall 17 year old, I did not understand why graduation was so important. However, as a 23 year old educator who cried at Lavaca's graduation last year, I can't help but look back fondly on that sweaty night in May. And maybe, just maybe, one day I will remember June 19, 2010 with nothing but good thoughts. Sometimes the years filter away the negativity that we (I) often allow to creep into our (my) present.
5. "What was your favorite moment of the wedding?"
This is not a really common question, but one that a few of my closer friends have asked me. I like this question, because it forces me to remember the good. I would have to say that I have a few favorite moments. Some are logical. Some are not. Precursor: I realize these next few sentences are cliche and lovey and dovey and some of you will roll your eyes. I would do the same thing if I were reading this somewhere else. Deal with it!
Favorite moment number one: walking down the aisle. I know, I know, I know. I can't believe she pulled out the walking down the aisle card. I did. However, my reasoning for liking this moment is not the conventional, "I finally got to see my handsome husband to be," reasoning. I had already seen Cody in a photographer induced creation of an aisle walking scene before the actual wedding. Honestly, I felt like it was a little bit awkward. It is hard for Cody and I to act like ourselves in tuxedoes and wedding dresses with a man taking pictures of us and various people walking through the church. However, the actual walk down the aisle was something I will remember with a smile. It was like the whole evolution of Katy and Cody getting married was finally over. I had my dad with me. I had my mom watching me. I had all of my family and friends and most everyone in this world that I love there for Cody and me. It meant a lot to me. It meant more than I guess I realized. Through all of the RSVP's and planning and hypothetical conversations about getting married, I could never grasp what it would really be like. It was bigger than I anticipated. It was right. It was something that I will hold forever. Less because of some touching moment with Cody and more for a touching moment with everyone who was there. I walked down the aisle knowing that I was nearly to the finish line and that everything was going to be okay. It was a feeling that I had been searching for since I got engaged. It was a feeling of accomplishment, of success, of goodness.
Moment two: Riding in the convertible to take pictures. Yes, it was hot as could be. Yes, I was sweating. Yes, I had on a dress. BUT, I also finally had Cody alone so that we could just be for a minute. We drove and listened to the wind and talked about the wedding and just took a deep breath before the reception started. It was good. It was fun. The car stalled numerous times, but not even a little car trouble could ruin my wedding high. It was fun.
Final moment: At the end of the night after the reception guests had left, Cody and I left to go home. I had changed from my wedding dress and Cody's bowtie was undone. The whole evening was over and everything had gone relatively smoothly. Cody and I walked out of the reception holding hands into a June night in Arkansas. It had cooled off and the wind was blowing and my shoes were in my hands rather than on my feet. We were finally off stage and back to our normal existence. As we walked to the car, Cody used a voice that only Cody uses to talk to me. It's one of those voices that every annoying couple has that make everyone around then nauseous. It is the most defining characteristic about Cody to me. When I heard him talk to me, I knew all was right in the world. I had the guy I loved. It was official. All of the stress was behind me. Within 24 hours I would be on the beach, and I was happy. That is the moment that I remember. That is the moment. The one that no one saw. The one that we have no pictures of. The one that did not involve some scripted dance or itinerary-outlined activity. That is the one that made all the rest worhtwhile.
1. "How's married life?"
This is by far the most commonly asked question to me now. I'm not sure how long the interval of receiving this question lasts. 1 month, 6 months, 1 year?!? I honestly don't mind the question. I just feel like a real let down because I don't have a clever answer. I refuse to answer without sarcasm, and thus am left talking about how my life is the exact same before we were married. Here's my best shot at an answer: I have gained 9 pounds and slept more in the last month than I have in quite a while. I have cooked approximately 4 dinners and 2 breakfasts (0 lunches) in the past 4 weeks. I am not pregnant, nor do I want to be, and I like/love Cody about as much as I ever have. That is the update on married life. I don't know why I threw in the "I'm not pregnant" part. I just feel like everyone waits with baited breath for an offspring once you're married. Not. For. Me.
2. "How was the wedding?"
This is the most commonly asked question numero two (I considered writing "two" out in Spanish and then realized my English spelling skills are not bilingual). My answer is....wait for it...don't answer too quickly...don't seen too eager...you know she has something worth hearing....good. It was good. There were no enormous mishaps. Cody did not bail on me. No one tripped down the aisle. There were no fights. There were no largely embarrassing moments. It was good. Things did go wrong. I have seen the video and wished that I didn't look so uncomfortable in all of the fluff that is a wedding, but overall, it was fine. I was braced for a more traumatic experience than I received, so I consider myself lucky. As my wise mother has told me before, "Nothing is ever as bad or as good as you expect." My wedding proves this statement to be true.
3. "Has anything changed with you and Cody?"
This is generally the follow up question to number two, at which point I realize I am not getting out of this conversation without divulging some sort of uncomfortable personal information. Drumroll please....the answer is no. I generally make some convoluted reference about sex at which point everyone laughs. Other than that though, no. Things are not different. We have not fought yet (we didn't fight before we were married either). We have not done anything crazy. We have not changed every characteristic that makes up Cody and Katy. We are the same two people we were 4 weeks ago plus a marriage license and common living quarters. I realize not too exciting, but sufficient for me nonetheless.
4. "Would you do it again?"
This is a bit of a loaded question I think. Would I marry Cody again? Yes! Of course. I don't regret or second guess or worry about the actual union of people that was made official on June 19th. I am happy to be Cody's permanent (muhahahahaha) partner in crime. Now, would I get married in the same fashion as we did again? The jury is still out. I think I am still too close to my wedding to answer this fairly. I still remember all of the stress and anxiety and chaos that was created by the wedding. I often wonder if maybe running off with a few close friends and family would have been the better option. It is not that I didn't have a good time on my wedding day. There were plenty of shining moments that will inevitably stick with me for years to come. However, there are some moments that were not so shiny and down right hard to bear that are also still intact. I don't know the answer to this.
I figure it's like any coming-of-age, traditional, rite of passage sort of experience. While I sat on the football field of Southside High School sweating in my Rebel blue robe inbetween two kids I swear I'd never seen before with a graduation hat that made me feel even more conspicuous than I did as an almost 6 foot tall 17 year old, I did not understand why graduation was so important. However, as a 23 year old educator who cried at Lavaca's graduation last year, I can't help but look back fondly on that sweaty night in May. And maybe, just maybe, one day I will remember June 19, 2010 with nothing but good thoughts. Sometimes the years filter away the negativity that we (I) often allow to creep into our (my) present.
5. "What was your favorite moment of the wedding?"
This is not a really common question, but one that a few of my closer friends have asked me. I like this question, because it forces me to remember the good. I would have to say that I have a few favorite moments. Some are logical. Some are not. Precursor: I realize these next few sentences are cliche and lovey and dovey and some of you will roll your eyes. I would do the same thing if I were reading this somewhere else. Deal with it!
Favorite moment number one: walking down the aisle. I know, I know, I know. I can't believe she pulled out the walking down the aisle card. I did. However, my reasoning for liking this moment is not the conventional, "I finally got to see my handsome husband to be," reasoning. I had already seen Cody in a photographer induced creation of an aisle walking scene before the actual wedding. Honestly, I felt like it was a little bit awkward. It is hard for Cody and I to act like ourselves in tuxedoes and wedding dresses with a man taking pictures of us and various people walking through the church. However, the actual walk down the aisle was something I will remember with a smile. It was like the whole evolution of Katy and Cody getting married was finally over. I had my dad with me. I had my mom watching me. I had all of my family and friends and most everyone in this world that I love there for Cody and me. It meant a lot to me. It meant more than I guess I realized. Through all of the RSVP's and planning and hypothetical conversations about getting married, I could never grasp what it would really be like. It was bigger than I anticipated. It was right. It was something that I will hold forever. Less because of some touching moment with Cody and more for a touching moment with everyone who was there. I walked down the aisle knowing that I was nearly to the finish line and that everything was going to be okay. It was a feeling that I had been searching for since I got engaged. It was a feeling of accomplishment, of success, of goodness.
Moment two: Riding in the convertible to take pictures. Yes, it was hot as could be. Yes, I was sweating. Yes, I had on a dress. BUT, I also finally had Cody alone so that we could just be for a minute. We drove and listened to the wind and talked about the wedding and just took a deep breath before the reception started. It was good. It was fun. The car stalled numerous times, but not even a little car trouble could ruin my wedding high. It was fun.
Final moment: At the end of the night after the reception guests had left, Cody and I left to go home. I had changed from my wedding dress and Cody's bowtie was undone. The whole evening was over and everything had gone relatively smoothly. Cody and I walked out of the reception holding hands into a June night in Arkansas. It had cooled off and the wind was blowing and my shoes were in my hands rather than on my feet. We were finally off stage and back to our normal existence. As we walked to the car, Cody used a voice that only Cody uses to talk to me. It's one of those voices that every annoying couple has that make everyone around then nauseous. It is the most defining characteristic about Cody to me. When I heard him talk to me, I knew all was right in the world. I had the guy I loved. It was official. All of the stress was behind me. Within 24 hours I would be on the beach, and I was happy. That is the moment that I remember. That is the moment. The one that no one saw. The one that we have no pictures of. The one that did not involve some scripted dance or itinerary-outlined activity. That is the one that made all the rest worhtwhile.
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