i signed up to play football to be popular,
it was the final chapter of my assimilation story,
eighty nine pound immigrant misfit lays it all
out on the gridiron. will he finally get the girl?
tired of being invisible to the people
i assumed mattered in middle school,
i signed up for the freshman team
in may of eighth grade.
dressing up in costumes
and being voted most spirited,
running for student council,
wearing different coloured chuck all-stars
and my dad’s sweaters to school
wasn’t have the desired effect.
long stretches of time home alone
trying on lipstick, listing to the cure,
wasn’t what the cools kids seemed to
be doing on american television:
football.
that was
the way
to go.
problem was i’d never played before;
no pop warner, no little league, no teams.
i didn’t know a tight end from a defensive one.
sure i’d see a few raider games, due to
avuncular indoctrination,
but never worn pads, or a helmet,
didn’t understand things like:
three technique, cornerback,
a-gap, blitz,
interception.
we met as the dawgs for the first time
that summer before high school,
meticulously scouring the to buy list:
cleats (bought the wrongs ones, the cools were black nike high tops)
practice jersey, socks, mouthguard (mint and molded to my teeth)
everyone i ever wanted to be was in that locker room,
posturing as if they belonged there. it was their birthright.
they were just as shocked to see me there
as i was at being there.
this testosterone saturated squad pecking for position,
flexing, verbal jousting, seeking out the other
to attack and vanquish.
you wanna be here
be tough
you wanna be tough
be here
my mantra
quelling my nerves
awkwardly lacing up my pads
(chose the wrong size and brand from the bin)
and helmet
(no way this was meant to fit like this and protect me)
adjusting the knee and thigh pads
(why do mine looks so big and my legs so small?)
there was a language and culture so familiar
to everyone, but me.
i signed up to play football to be popular,
but three years on that team
taught me so much more about what
it means to be a man.
to be continued…
Showing posts with label High School. Show all posts
Showing posts with label High School. Show all posts
May 10, 2021
130/365
April 15, 2021
105/365
the deal was that my parents
would match any money i raised to buy it.
sixteen. recently licenced. road ready.
scanning the classified for weeks
i need nine hundred and eighty dollars
hours spent at the ice cream shop and movie theatre,
make the purchase possible.
old blue is a spotless
1976 midnight blue
volkswagen beetle
with a latte coloured interior.
these cars never feel completly sealed-
drafts and breezes emitting from every hole.
the clutch: clunky
the breaks: tenuious.
equipped with
a decent tape deck,
mediocre speakers,
and adequate heat.
i best understand america
the first few second
i pull away from my house:
on the road.
gassed up.
ready for adventure.
hard to handle thrusting from the speakers.
i could go anywhere.
drive to jason’s house.
next best thing to freedom.
over the years,
nearly drive it off a cliff.
square the tires.
fit eight people.
get pulled over.
have sex.
drive to new jobs.
get drunk.
have arguments.
go to parties.
cry.
get lost.
fall in love
in it.
never maintained it
cept’ for putting gas in it.
in the end,
after it died on the 101
just passed larkspur,
i paid the tow truck company
twenty five dollars
to take it to the dump.
i never saw its again.
February 24, 2021
55/365
looking back,
assimilation sometimes felt
like abuse.
looking back,
my weird foreign name
was an exclusionary badge.
looking back,
the terrorists in the movies
are why the kids said things like:
camel-jockey,
rag-head,
sand-nigger.
looking back,
wanting
their clothes,
their cars,
their culture
is what made me feel alone.
looking back,
the names of their neighbourhoods:
glennwood, peacock gap, country club
left our hoods:
bahia vista, the canal
feeling cheap and other.
looking back,
being on the team,
making eye contact with cheerleaders,
wearing the jersey at the pep rally,
made me a poser and shallow.
looking back,
the american dream
like a hammer
smashing,
created this hyphenated
citizen.
looking back,
assimilation sometimes felt
like abuse.
April 17, 2016
The Inevitably Of Age
Let me get this straight- Guns’ N Roses recently reunited and plan a US stadium tour this summer, but before they do, they played a small LA show at which Axl broke his foot, so he borrowed the Game Of Thrones thing that Dave Grohl made and they recently played a show in Vegas and Cochella this weekend, and as if this wasn’t enough, Axl is now also the lead singer for ACDC and will join them on tour before the actual GnR tour starts in late May?
Let’s also not forget that Axl is a fifty-four year old psychopath who has never been anything close to stable. I do not see any of this ending well for anyone. My morbid curiosity has gotten the better of me and I have been watching random viewer clips of some of these shows and here are some observations:
Axl has a weird bob hairstyle and most of his hair line is receding. He seems to wear awkward leather jackets that are too new and not worn-in enough. Slash is pretty buffed and fit these days, however, he has a bit of a double chin. The hat thing is still his thing. Duff feels like the most well-adjusted and the only one who is having any fun.
The songs sound okay, but a bit predictable and slower as if old rich dudes are playing them instead of desperate loser junkies. And let’s be honest, Appetite for Destruction was meant to played by and enjoyed by people with nothing to lose, and very few of us are those people any more.
In high school, Guns N’ Roses was my band. My quote in my senior yearbook was “I don’t worry about nuthin’, cuz worryin’ is a waste of my time.” We listened to that album everywhere: before we went out, while we drove around town and on the way home. I was drawn to the tattoos, the leather, the Jack Daniels, and the I don’t give a f*&k attitude of every member of that band. They were Rock n Roll personified. I loved that my parents hated them, although my dad had a sweet spot for November Rain and Patience, and I loved that they were everywhere. Although they were the biggest band in the world, I felt that I understood them best. I was the only angry, disenfranchised teenager in the world, and damn it if those songs weren’t my soundtrack.
And then, as if Appetite and Lies were not enough, in 1991 right as I was about to begin grade ten, the Use Your Illusions albums hit the world. We had no idea at the time that that was the beginning of the end of the best rock and roll band on the planet, so I stood out in front of Bedrock Records at midnight and stayed up all night to acquaint myself with those songs. Sure a few were embarrassingly bad, but so many of them were awe inspiring at the time. Ballads, funky bluesy things and some good old fashion Guns rock.
I could write a whole other post about how some of the love songs, November Rain and Don’t Cry in particular will always be connected to my first real girlfriend and all the baggage that can be attached to that…. “So if you want to love me than darling don’t refrain…”
I should be excited by this G n’ R revival, but I am not- on the contrary I am a bit saddened. This was music for desperate people blinded by their youth. We were reckless and brash. The music allowed us to be punks and losers and for lack of a better word stupid. I remember arguing with my mom that the lyrics to One On A Million were just artistic expression and not ignorant racism, homophobia or misogyny. But that kind of sweeping need for rebellion just made sense on a drunken Friday night standing around in the dark with a bottle and our small gang of friends wondering why we weren’t invited to the cool kid’s parties. But now, at fifty-four it is clear that Axl is nowhere near the jungle, and it is sad that he doesn’t have the sense to see where he might be.
Yes, I listen to other bands from that era. Pearl Jam comes to mind, but the difference is that Pearl Jam grew, changed, evolved and continued to make ten albums of music. Sure they still play some of the hits from their youth, but they have translated their angst into wisdom. And they have allowed their aging fans to follow along on the journey. Guns N’ Roses is still mired in a state of blissful adolescence. And when you are sitting in a chair with a cast on your foot wearing a leather jacket that looks like a costume howling about the Rocket Queen it just doesn’t quite fit.
I wish those guys the best, because they were an authentic part of me in those days, but I can’t do anything but listen to the old songs with the young versions of G n' R singing them. The new versions sound like cheap knock offs.
Wisdom has to be the understanding of how to balance our need to hold onto our fading youth and learning to balance the encroaching inevitably of age.
On that note, I just hit play on the new PJ Harvey album. And within the first four bars….oh my.
Let’s also not forget that Axl is a fifty-four year old psychopath who has never been anything close to stable. I do not see any of this ending well for anyone. My morbid curiosity has gotten the better of me and I have been watching random viewer clips of some of these shows and here are some observations:
Axl has a weird bob hairstyle and most of his hair line is receding. He seems to wear awkward leather jackets that are too new and not worn-in enough. Slash is pretty buffed and fit these days, however, he has a bit of a double chin. The hat thing is still his thing. Duff feels like the most well-adjusted and the only one who is having any fun.
The songs sound okay, but a bit predictable and slower as if old rich dudes are playing them instead of desperate loser junkies. And let’s be honest, Appetite for Destruction was meant to played by and enjoyed by people with nothing to lose, and very few of us are those people any more.
In high school, Guns N’ Roses was my band. My quote in my senior yearbook was “I don’t worry about nuthin’, cuz worryin’ is a waste of my time.” We listened to that album everywhere: before we went out, while we drove around town and on the way home. I was drawn to the tattoos, the leather, the Jack Daniels, and the I don’t give a f*&k attitude of every member of that band. They were Rock n Roll personified. I loved that my parents hated them, although my dad had a sweet spot for November Rain and Patience, and I loved that they were everywhere. Although they were the biggest band in the world, I felt that I understood them best. I was the only angry, disenfranchised teenager in the world, and damn it if those songs weren’t my soundtrack.
And then, as if Appetite and Lies were not enough, in 1991 right as I was about to begin grade ten, the Use Your Illusions albums hit the world. We had no idea at the time that that was the beginning of the end of the best rock and roll band on the planet, so I stood out in front of Bedrock Records at midnight and stayed up all night to acquaint myself with those songs. Sure a few were embarrassingly bad, but so many of them were awe inspiring at the time. Ballads, funky bluesy things and some good old fashion Guns rock.
I could write a whole other post about how some of the love songs, November Rain and Don’t Cry in particular will always be connected to my first real girlfriend and all the baggage that can be attached to that…. “So if you want to love me than darling don’t refrain…”
I should be excited by this G n’ R revival, but I am not- on the contrary I am a bit saddened. This was music for desperate people blinded by their youth. We were reckless and brash. The music allowed us to be punks and losers and for lack of a better word stupid. I remember arguing with my mom that the lyrics to One On A Million were just artistic expression and not ignorant racism, homophobia or misogyny. But that kind of sweeping need for rebellion just made sense on a drunken Friday night standing around in the dark with a bottle and our small gang of friends wondering why we weren’t invited to the cool kid’s parties. But now, at fifty-four it is clear that Axl is nowhere near the jungle, and it is sad that he doesn’t have the sense to see where he might be.
Yes, I listen to other bands from that era. Pearl Jam comes to mind, but the difference is that Pearl Jam grew, changed, evolved and continued to make ten albums of music. Sure they still play some of the hits from their youth, but they have translated their angst into wisdom. And they have allowed their aging fans to follow along on the journey. Guns N’ Roses is still mired in a state of blissful adolescence. And when you are sitting in a chair with a cast on your foot wearing a leather jacket that looks like a costume howling about the Rocket Queen it just doesn’t quite fit.
I wish those guys the best, because they were an authentic part of me in those days, but I can’t do anything but listen to the old songs with the young versions of G n' R singing them. The new versions sound like cheap knock offs.
Wisdom has to be the understanding of how to balance our need to hold onto our fading youth and learning to balance the encroaching inevitably of age.
On that note, I just hit play on the new PJ Harvey album. And within the first four bars….oh my.
…
It was passed nine and I was still in bed. The sun was dripping across the sheets and I knew I had nowhere to be and nothing to do but eat, watch a movie and then eat again and sleep. That is exactly what we did today. We saw The Huntsman and all of us loved it. We had lunch and then laid around the house for most of the afternoon. I reacquainted myself with my guitar and now an early bedtime with some overdue reading.
It was passed nine and I was still in bed. The sun was dripping across the sheets and I knew I had nowhere to be and nothing to do but eat, watch a movie and then eat again and sleep. That is exactly what we did today. We saw The Huntsman and all of us loved it. We had lunch and then laid around the house for most of the afternoon. I reacquainted myself with my guitar and now an early bedtime with some overdue reading.
January 25, 2016
Always Expanding
I was running today and the smell of my shirt took me back to Freshman year in high school. It was a light scent of stale sweat, and it reminded me of the stench of the t-shirt I wore under my pads and football practice jersey. Sometimes that shirt would sit in my locker for days, and because I have never been much of a sweater it was never unbearable, but after a few days it would be rank enough to warrant a washing. Not sure why my shirt today brought back that smell today, as it was just washed and I had just begun my run.
Whatever the reason, after a quick whiff I was thinking about that Freshman football team, and how for some reason I thought that donning pads over my eighty-four pound frame was a good idea. I did not join the team for the love of the game, at the time I knew very little about how to play. No, I chose the team because I felt it was my ticket to being noticed and liked in High School. The cheerleaders, the jerseys, the rallies- it all felt so necessary at the time.
Upon reflection it would have been much better for me to hitch my wagon to the band geeks, drama freaks, stoners and weirdos, but it was a game time decision in grade eight to sign up to be a member of the San Rafael Dawgs team. So I signed up and never looked back.
It would have helped that first year if I could catch, was more agile, weighed at least forty more pounds, was athletic or if I was fast or strong.
But despite, or maybe because of my tiny frame, I learned the game quickly. I could never really catch or run a decent pattern, but if I was asked to throw my body in front of a running back or receiver I felt no fear. I found the feeling of running full speed into another moving human being, no matter what difference in their size to mine, thrilling. Football to me became trying to stop large fast moving boys as they came right at me. Sometime I did. Usually I didn’t. But that never stopped me from trying. Since I never played any games that year, I spent the majority of the time as a living tackling dummy. Lurking in the back field during practice, like some kind of living tackling dummy; I waited for an escaping back, and threw myself at him.
I played three more years. Eventually I played JV as a junior. We were all too small to play on the Varsity team so we stayed on the JV team. That was the season I actually played. I started every game as a strong safety, special teams and even ran the ball a few times. I remember one game when I had an interception on the forty five and as I approached the opposing team’s fifteen, and started planning my end zone dance, I was pushed out of bounds, depriving me of my only chance at a touchdown.
Today as I ran and smelled the stench of my running shirt, I thought about the ole football days as a Bulldawg. I sprinted a bit faster, determined to make it into that end zone this time.
…
Andrew, a guy I knew from HS who I have not seen for years, but actually have become pretty good friends on Facebook, shared a photo from Mount Tamalpais the other day that got me thinking about how much I love that mountain and what a special place it has always been in my life. For those of you not from Marin, Mt. Tam is a mountain and state park on the northern side of San Francisco, and it was a place I spent quite a bit of time when I lived in Marin as an adult.
I had just come back from San Diego and was living with Anthony Van Moppes on Fourth street. I was taking classes at College of Marin and had very little idea of who I was or what I wanted. I don’t remember too many classes from that time, other than some speech class that I was into, but I do remember that on many days I would be on my way to class and would choose to go to Mt. Tam instead.
The time alone on that mountain felt much more important to my education than sitting in some classroom earning credits. I would hike the dense forests or find large wide open plateaus of rolling wheat coloured grass and watch the fog swallow the entire Bay. I spent hours not seeing another soul. I slept. I read or scribbled nonsense and poorly scribed poetry into a journal.
I was reading Kerouac and Kesey at the time. Henry Miller was teaching me about the lack of ambition and a passion for art and solitude and sloth. That mountain felt like the perfect stage for my growth. I was testing the limits of my consciousness and discovering that no matter how far I pushed I couldn’t seem to find the edges. The universe both within and without was limitless and always expanding.
I can’t wait to spend at least a day on Mount Tam this summer when I am home and to show off this magical place to my girls.
...
Later on my run, as the sun was setting and I was making my way past the ocean waves, I saw two men in the water. They were sitting in the surf. Their legs in the small gentle waves, their torsos exposed- out of the water. What was unusual about this scene was that the middle-aged men were hugging, snuggling, and kissing.
Singapore is not known for being gay friendly or even tolerant, but it made happy to think that whatever the LGBT rights are on the books in Singapore, these two men felt safe enough to frolic on the beach on Monday night. It gave me hope that even in a place where homosexual sex is still illegal, these two men did not feel deterred to express their love. it was a fleeting moment of hope and I was happy for them.
I ran home smiling.
Lesson Learned:
Whatever the reason, after a quick whiff I was thinking about that Freshman football team, and how for some reason I thought that donning pads over my eighty-four pound frame was a good idea. I did not join the team for the love of the game, at the time I knew very little about how to play. No, I chose the team because I felt it was my ticket to being noticed and liked in High School. The cheerleaders, the jerseys, the rallies- it all felt so necessary at the time.
Upon reflection it would have been much better for me to hitch my wagon to the band geeks, drama freaks, stoners and weirdos, but it was a game time decision in grade eight to sign up to be a member of the San Rafael Dawgs team. So I signed up and never looked back.
It would have helped that first year if I could catch, was more agile, weighed at least forty more pounds, was athletic or if I was fast or strong.
But despite, or maybe because of my tiny frame, I learned the game quickly. I could never really catch or run a decent pattern, but if I was asked to throw my body in front of a running back or receiver I felt no fear. I found the feeling of running full speed into another moving human being, no matter what difference in their size to mine, thrilling. Football to me became trying to stop large fast moving boys as they came right at me. Sometime I did. Usually I didn’t. But that never stopped me from trying. Since I never played any games that year, I spent the majority of the time as a living tackling dummy. Lurking in the back field during practice, like some kind of living tackling dummy; I waited for an escaping back, and threw myself at him.
I played three more years. Eventually I played JV as a junior. We were all too small to play on the Varsity team so we stayed on the JV team. That was the season I actually played. I started every game as a strong safety, special teams and even ran the ball a few times. I remember one game when I had an interception on the forty five and as I approached the opposing team’s fifteen, and started planning my end zone dance, I was pushed out of bounds, depriving me of my only chance at a touchdown.
Today as I ran and smelled the stench of my running shirt, I thought about the ole football days as a Bulldawg. I sprinted a bit faster, determined to make it into that end zone this time.
…
Andrew, a guy I knew from HS who I have not seen for years, but actually have become pretty good friends on Facebook, shared a photo from Mount Tamalpais the other day that got me thinking about how much I love that mountain and what a special place it has always been in my life. For those of you not from Marin, Mt. Tam is a mountain and state park on the northern side of San Francisco, and it was a place I spent quite a bit of time when I lived in Marin as an adult.
I had just come back from San Diego and was living with Anthony Van Moppes on Fourth street. I was taking classes at College of Marin and had very little idea of who I was or what I wanted. I don’t remember too many classes from that time, other than some speech class that I was into, but I do remember that on many days I would be on my way to class and would choose to go to Mt. Tam instead.
The time alone on that mountain felt much more important to my education than sitting in some classroom earning credits. I would hike the dense forests or find large wide open plateaus of rolling wheat coloured grass and watch the fog swallow the entire Bay. I spent hours not seeing another soul. I slept. I read or scribbled nonsense and poorly scribed poetry into a journal.
I was reading Kerouac and Kesey at the time. Henry Miller was teaching me about the lack of ambition and a passion for art and solitude and sloth. That mountain felt like the perfect stage for my growth. I was testing the limits of my consciousness and discovering that no matter how far I pushed I couldn’t seem to find the edges. The universe both within and without was limitless and always expanding.
I can’t wait to spend at least a day on Mount Tam this summer when I am home and to show off this magical place to my girls.
...
Later on my run, as the sun was setting and I was making my way past the ocean waves, I saw two men in the water. They were sitting in the surf. Their legs in the small gentle waves, their torsos exposed- out of the water. What was unusual about this scene was that the middle-aged men were hugging, snuggling, and kissing.
Singapore is not known for being gay friendly or even tolerant, but it made happy to think that whatever the LGBT rights are on the books in Singapore, these two men felt safe enough to frolic on the beach on Monday night. It gave me hope that even in a place where homosexual sex is still illegal, these two men did not feel deterred to express their love. it was a fleeting moment of hope and I was happy for them.
I ran home smiling.
Lesson Learned:
- Everything from our past is a piece of the puzzle that we are becoming.
- There are place in the planet that speak to our souls. Find those places and cherish them.
- Despite evidence to the contrary, maybe we are evolving and moving toward a more loving, free, and progressive society.
- Share a small High School memory.
- Where is a place in the world that you find special?
- What are some things you have noticed that give you hope for the world?
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