My truck is beginning to show its age.  Ten years. 85000
miles.  Not fast.  Not pretty.  Not automatic.  But
always trustworthy.  Always loyal.

Until today.

We had some overheating issues.  Which led to breakdown
issues.  Which lead to frustration in Brian’s life.  My truck
gurgled, clanked, and fizzed as I drove it to the mechanic this
afternoon.  I spent the long, slow drive there praying that I
would make it.  I didn’t. 

I began to think hateful, hurtful thoughts about my piece of a car as I
waited for a tow truck.  But I stopped myself.  You see…we
have been through a lot.  This is the truck, and i refuse to give
my truck a name, that I was afraid to drive when I was 16, that took me
and Jake to the driving range when I finally got the courage to drive
it, that took me to highschool dances, that moved me to college, that
survived three days at grannies, and that WILL move me home when I
graduate.  The flood of memories almost made me tear up as my
vehicle was pulled up onto the tow truck.  Kind of like seeing an
old family member in the hospital.  Maybe that is a stretch. 
But I swear I heard my truck moan in pain as it was chained and hoisted
up.

I then spent some of the evening over at my sister’s well-decorated
loft apartment. (I am stealing her car for a few days)  I saw a
large wooden sign above the door that read:

“let it sneak up on you”

I asked what “it” was.  She replied, “love.”  Of course.  Let love sneak up on you.

Seriously?  Let me preface my comments by admitting that I know
very little about romantic love.  Never experienced it.  But
I am not so sure I want love sneaking up on me.  I freeze up and
get into panic mode if I get anywhere close to love.  The last
thing  I need is to picture love as this creature lurking in the
shadows,  creeping up behind me closer and closer, just waiting to
pounce on my unexpecting back.  How about “let it kindly introduce
itself to you”?  Or “let it prepare you for its appearance and
meet you head on”?  Again, what do I know.

Feel free to leave your thoughts on this cute quote.

Feel free to leave your favorite memories with my truck.

Ben Taylor sounds a lot like his dad. 

I had a brief adult realization today.  I was walking from my
truck to my apartment, just getting home from a long school day. 
My tie around my shoulders, my shirt sleeves rolled up, my coffee mug
and bag in hand.  For that one moment, as I walked into the door,
I reminded myself of my dad, and I smiled.

I survived.  A monumental day.  The day that a friend
referred to as ‘the last day of my education and the first day of my
career.’  It is nice to think about it that way.

I began my student teaching experience early this morning at Midway
High School.  A very nice school, but seemingly
conservative.  I did not so much mind the daily shirt and
tie.   No problem.  But then asked to shave my
beard?  Remove my manhood?  Seriously?  A no facial hair
policy?
Well, it turns out they were serious.  So my plans of being a
well-respected, older, slightly intimidating math teacher vanished as a
summer’s worth of facial hair falls into the bathroom sink.

* cue song *

Back to high school.:  Algebra II.  11th grade.  
Five class periods per day, beginning with “enrichment hour” at 7:30
a.m.  I could not think of anything less “enriching” than waking
up at 6:00 to get ready for school.  Again, what can I do? 
Despite the questionable starting time and dress code, I am still very
excited about this experience.  More stories of algebra, awkward
high school situations, and ties are sure to follow.

Lucas, this is for you:

Sorry I couldn’t make this happen earlier.

A Calm Between Storms,

turning old projects, my residence, into a place I do not mind calling home.

A Championship Haircut Experience for men and boys in an exciting sports environment…

AND free, unlimited neck trims!

What is this place?  Heaven!?

A new semester.  A new neck.  I feel pretty.

One last time, I am returning to Waco for the beginning of another
school year.  I am thinking back to around this
same time, three years ago.  What a different place I was
in:  I was excited.  Not nervous, but extremely
anxious.  New apartment.  New roommates.  New
club.  New classes.  And a whole new experience. 
Fortunately, that year lived up to all of my expectations and
more.  As did the following year.  As did the following year.

I leave Monday. 

I’m not that excited. 

At least not that same sophomore excitement.

Do not get me wrong.  I am thrilled to see friends that I have
missed over the summer.  I am blessed to be living in the
apartment I am in with the roommate that I have.  I am sure this
coming semester will be challenging as well as valuable.

But friends are leaving.  Making big decisions.  Starting their careers.  Turning big pages.  Basically writing
new books.  And it seems as if mine is a slow read.  But I
have faith that what will follow will blow away all expectations.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In tribute of two friends who have shared my summer and will be
greatly missed.  Know that my game is destined to crumble in your
absences.

24 hours.  36 holes. 

Possible? 

I say, what better way to send Lucas home from his North Texas Summer of Fun? 

Bee sting on my hand, and I am still swinging.

Further evidence that this has been the most random summer to date:

Lucas and I spent last night alone in an unoccupied Plano mansion overlooking an amazing golf course.  We did not know the owners, nor did the owners know that we crashed at their place, or almost lost their dog, or watched a DVD in their state-of-the-art movie theater.

We then spent the wee hours of the morning scaring the death into a dozen children.  Sneaking into their rooms, hitting the lights, screaming, sounding an air horn, and capturing it all on video.  Reactions of terror and confusion are priceless.

I will spare you details or explanations of these events at the risk of sounding like a burglar or a criminal.  I promise you I am neither.