When you are a kid, usually after you start school and before you hit puberty, you think you know it all. You don't, of course. This is the time in your life when you will embarrass yourself the most, but probably won't realize this until later because again, you don't know anything.
This fact came to my attention in small doses; quick visions of the overwhelming truth. I'd like to think that I have a handle on my immaturity, but just by thinking that I probably don't.
When I was young, probably seven or eight, I was afraid of taking showers. Don't ask me why - I don't have a rational explanation for it. So naturally, I took baths. My bathroom was fully stocked with bath bubbles and those colorful little balls you can toss in to make the water...special, I guess. I never normally went near the stuff - it was much to fancy for me. One day, when I was feeling particularly bold, I ran the water for a bath and, after struggling with the plastic packaging, managed to break open the bottle of pink and purple bath balls. I tossed a healthy handful into the running water and climbed right in. I got all nice and fresh, stepped out of the bath, dried off, and got into my pajamas. I went to the kitchen to bid my parents farewell for the night. They took one look at me and were speechless. My mom came over and told me to look at my legs.
I did.
They were pink as a flamingo - my favorite color in fact.
Turns out that one bath ball does the trick. Who knew that if you put more than one in your legs will turn pink? My mom rushed me up the stairs and started running the shower, all the while yelling, "You must have been taking a bath in lotion!". I imagine she was worried about my sheets getting covered in pink. I was worried that I had to use the shower.
One thing it has appeared that I have learned is that I love language. Words have power and when put together, they can do it all. My deep appreciation for what words can do probably stemmed from my deep desire to read - which started probably from birth. I was hopelessly behind when it came to math and those awful multiplication tables (when the teacher sets the timer and you try to do as much as you can in one minute) that seem to hate me. But when it came to learning to read, I was the one all my classmates were impressed with.
More recently, I have discovered the gravity of speaking.
This past summer I worked as a camp counselor at a Christian camp. They taught me a lot of things about how to handle homesick campers, make a fire, and tell my testimony. One thing they never teach you is how to lead a group in prayer. This may seem easy, but it was my greatest weakness. Picture ten girls all standing in a circle holding hands. The counselor says a prayer; different every time, catered to whatever happened that we can be thankful for. You make it up on the spot and do your best to sound knowledgeable and wise.
I would find myself stumbling over my words; thanking the Lord for our food and the fellowship we have together, and finally ending with an amen and the friendly squeeze of the hands I am holding. Diction plays a big part in praying because you have a main point to get across and there are some words you can and cannot use.
This past summer I also took a trip to Paris with my friend, Erin, and her mother. None of us spoke French all that well. This wasn't that big of a problem and we were able to navigate the city quite well. Erin has cousins in France that offered to have her stay for a few weeks and the three of us spent a week in Paris to see her off.
I believe that French is just about the most beautiful and interesting language still spoken to this day. Erin's cousin Diane spent a few days with us and I would sit with her for hours learning words and writing them down. I don't remember a lot of them, but I do remember "feu de artifice" (Fou-Day-Art-Tea-Feece) and "libellule" (Li-Be-Lou). The first translates to "artificial fire". When Diane was trying to explain what it meant, she kept talking about artificial fire and using her hands to show explosions. After some time, I realized she was talking about Fireworks. The second means "Dragonfly". We were sitting outside and a Dragonfly flew by. She asked first what I called it and I replied, "Dragonfly". Then I asked what she called it. She answered, "Libellule". After some time of both of us repeating the word the other had said we came to realize that neither of us had quite understood the other. She had been repeating "Jack-and-fly" and I had been repeating "Libellulule" like it was Hawaiian or something.
So maybe one day I'll speak French as well as Diane.
We all can dream can't we?
When choosing our profile picture, updating our status and choosing the information to be shown to the world, we like to put our best face forward.
But honey - I saw you today and you do not look that good.
This video is a tribute to the common phrase: "Nice getting to know the Facebook you"
That's the name of my mother's father. I never call him that though (his name is Grandpa) and the first time it was called to my attention that James Ames is, in fact, his name was when he first told me about the 2nd to last Grandma's Half Marathon he ever ran. He did the last one only in an effort to make up for how bad the 2nd to last one was. The morning started out promising: He had his running shoes, his hat, a watch. Everything seemed perfectly in order. It was only when he was 45 minutes away from his house and nearly to the bus (that would bring him to the starting line) that he remembered that he needed the chip for his shoe. See, when he started running the Half Marathon, there was no such thing as chips that go on your shoe and magically tell the race officials who has crossed the finish line when. There were just bibs on people's chests and cameras to capture the finish. So naturally, the trooper that my Grandpa was (is), he drove back to his house in Cloquet, grabbed the chip waiting patiently on the kitchen table and drove through morning traffic to the bus stop. As soon as he pulled up and hopped out of his car, there was a kindly woman with a cowbell in one had and a phone in the other waving her hands around and shouting that all of the buses for the Half Marathon had already left but if he was willing, he could take the bus for runners of the full Marathon and run the few miles to the starting line.
My Grandpa, of course, was certainly willing.
He ran the 3.5 miles to the starting line and started as soon as he got there (Keep in mind, the Half Marathon is a little over 13 miles).
A while later as my Grandpa was chugging along on the trail he began to hear a distinct whirring noise that grew louder and louder like thunder. He turned around slowly to see the bikers (Those who cannot run, and thus bike, the Marathon) flying towards him. He dived off the trail as they raced past and then presumed chugging along. A while later, my Grandpa began to hear a loud pounding that grew louder and louder. He turned around to see the Kenyans rounding the bend. They soon surpassed him and my Grandpa kept on chugging.
Soon enough, he neared the finish. One of the many beneficial aspects of the chip was it told the location of every runner on the trail and when they would cross the finish line, the announcer would call out their name and it would be displayed on the screen.
"James Ames. 10 year participant. First place finisher in the Marathon!"
*brief pause*
"Sorry folks, he was actually running the Half Marathon."
Luckily, the next year my father and brother spent the evening with him and made sure to send him off with all of the things he needed. That time he finished with everyone else.
Thanksgiving. Usually for me, that means getting together with my family and eating lots of food while playing video games and football with my cousins. This year is a little different; unfortunately. My brother, father, and grandfather are all Cross-Country Skiing in Yellowstone for the whole week. They come back tomorrow, Saturday. Yesterday, they had a delightful Thanksgiving dinner with their skiing friends and each other and my mother and I were at home. We ate our Thanksgiving dinner at Sunsets; a restaurant that was serving a buffet on the day of thanks. Usually on Thanksgiving our extended family all gets together at someones' house and I get a chance to see all of my second cousins. But that was cancelled as well. And unfortunately for stereotypes, last night we watched The Notebook. We had just bought a set of four different movies based on novels by Nicholas Sparks. We will probably have them all watched come Sunday. Speaking of Sunday, our immediate family (meaning my first cousins and their families) will be getting together at my house to at least give me some sort of family interaction this holiday season. As for now, my teacher suggested watching the movie, Home for the Holidays, for a hilarious depiction of dysfunctional family get-togethers. I mentioned this title to my mother. Turns out we owned said movie and I did, in fact, watch it last night (but not before I watched The Notebook, mind you). It was quite entertaining and reminded me of the various shenanigans that always manage to happen at my personal family celebrations:
There is always a dispute over food (Who cooked it? Can we trust their cooking?). I also have Great Aunts that believe their food is the best and insist on doing all of the work, even in their old age.
There is always a tournament of any sort of board game. Some years it has been Twister, Monopoly, and that game where you take over the world. Last year it was Scrabble.
There is always a big group photo.
See picture:
(From left to right) SJ (My Grandfather's Girlfriend), my Grandfather, me, my Dad, my Aunt Gretchen, my twin cousins Ben and Chloe, my Aunt Mary, my Uncle Jimmy, my brother Graham, and my Mom. Someone took this photo and turned it into a puzzle.
There is always a big group walk. Yes, a walk. After eating, some of the family members insist on going for a walk (no matter the weather conditions or house placement).
See picture:
(From left to right) Me, SJ, my Grandfather, my Mom, and my Dad.
At this particular family get-together my family wanted to go for a walk. But it was during hunting season. In order to avoid any of us being confused for deer and getting shot, they broke out all of the orange apparel and took a picture. SJ wanted to take the picture with us since we looked pretty impressive.
There is always the awkward time when everyone is sitting around drinking tea/coffee/hot chocolate. This time happens after we have eaten, finished our tournament, and gone for the appropriate walk. This time can only end with the departure of the guests or more food. People like to take pictures during this time.
See picture:
(From left to right) Me, my cousin Ben, my Aunt Mary, and my Uncle Jimmy. I remember this moment distinctly because my brother was making a fire and my Dad wanted to take a picture of everyone sitting together.
So - Thanksgiving. I love to eat (Mashed Potatoes...anybody?) and see my loving family. At least I have family, right?
Hello all! I have found some political cartoons that made me chuckle a little. See below:
This one I like a lot - it depicts kids trick-or-treating and the man handing out candy takes half of their candy in order to give it to the kids too lazy to go trick-or-treating for themselves. One of the kids, in her thought bubble, thinks, "oh crap a democrat". Because, everyone, even the kids who are too lazy to go trick-or-treating for themselves deserve candy too. I love being a Republican. But undoubtedly, the best thing about this cartoon is that the font for the dialogue is Comic Sans (We still love you!). Here's another:
I like this one too. Obama is trying to pick up the women's vote with his fellow jackass Democrat. You're welcome, world. Maddie
I recently finished reading The Dumbest Generation by Mark Bauerlein. The title reflects the book. The author certainly had opinions on the future of my generation and was quite willing to step on some toes in getting them out. His argument, however, made some sense. Bauerlein was expressing some concern about the overall capabilities of the younger, more technological savvy generation and how we are losing valuable experiences that mold us into cultured adults, workers, voters, and people. We need to know how to make choices! Solve problems! Be less dumb! As he moves through his argument, he touches on each aspect to link together his overall opinion. He starts the book explaining our lack of basic knowledge and a blatant disregard for the knowledge we don't know. Then he moves into a description of the amount of time we spend in front of a screen instead of, let's say, in a museum. A point Bauerlein addresses throughout his book is the idea of illiteracy and a-literacy. Being illiterate means you can't read at all, no matter if you have a desire to or not. Being a-literate means that you can read just fine, but choose to spend your time doing non-Bauerlein-approved things. Then he rounds out the book by telling us that we are blatantly ignoring tradition, we need mentors to help guide us (i.e. teachers, parents, or other role models), and that if we don't we will have actually lost all that we had gained from our ancestors. Bauerlein often likes to pick a simple point and talk about it for 60 pages, but he does have a point. We are becoming dependent of technology and everyone is beginning to take notice.
The title of this video is so fantasically offensive that I had to include it. Bauerlein also manages to summarize his argument pretty nicely as well. Mark Bauerlein - Young Americans Are the Dumbest Generation:
Two passages I agree with:
"Go to the gym three times a week and the session are invigorating. Go to the gym three times a month and they're painful. As the occasions of reading diminish, reading becomes a harder task. A sinister corollary to the cognitive benefit applies: the more you don't read, the more you can't read" (Pg. 59).
I like this passage because it explains the value of reading in easy terms. Reading comes more easily over time just like working out does. Not only is reading beneficial for the future, it can help me right now; what with all these standardized tests I'm taking for entering college, not to mention my daily schoolwork.
"Books afford young readers a place to slow down and reflect, to find role models, to observe their own turbulent feelings well expressed, or to discover moral convictions missing from their real situations. Habitual readers acquire a better sense of plot and character, an eye for the structure of arguments, and an ear for style, over time recognizing the aesthetic vision of adolescent fare as, precisely, adolescent" (Pg. 58).
This section of the book was one that I marked up a lot. I loved the wording of this last passage and I completely agree with it. Reading is what forms writers. It forms people with initiative, drive, and dreams. My mom always talks about her favorite book, A Wrinkle In Time, by Madeleine L'Engle. She read it over and over and worked hard to achieve more so she could provide for her family better. Books benefit you in so many ways. That's how books work.
Here is a link to an article that I felt was exactly what I was talking about:
"But the effects of their habits will outlast them, and if things do not change they will be remembered as the fortunate ones who were unworthy of the privileges they inherited. They may even be recalled as the generation that lost that great American heritage, forever" (Pg. 236).
I dislike this passage because it puts my generation in one specific category of failures. We are all the same; aimless and without a care in the world apart from Cosmo. It is condescending and offensive. Think twice, Bauerlein.
"It's not under-30-year-olds who have changed. What has changed is the threshold into adulthood, the rituals minors undergo to become responsible citizens, the knowledge and skill activities that bring maturity and understanding" (Pg. 160).
I ask Bauerlein, What has changed? You never cease to confuse. Times have changed but we all mature (to some extent, at least) at some point. He makes it sound like we have no chance.
The effectiveness of Bauerlein's argument relies heavily on who is reading it. If Bauerlein expected the audience of this book to be actual members of the Dumbest Generation, he would have taken some self defense classes. No, he expected his audience to be other concerned 30+ year-olds and parents of under-30-year-olds so they can be aware of the most effective parenting techniques.
Bauerlein also heavily relies on logic for his argument, and is constantly using scientific research to back up his statements. Throughout the book I feel like he is over-convincing me.
I definitely thought the book was credible and had accurate points, but it was offensive and could have been condensed into an essay - not a 300 page book (National Bestseller...?).
