There is so much more to say...

5th grade Odyssey of the Mind

Yesterday I had the privilege of speaking at my buddy Michael's celebration of life.  His sweet momma asked me to a while back... likely because she knows I've never met a microphone I don't like.  I pointed out that I was better equipped to speak to 4 year old Michael than 40 year old Michael, but you don't go through roughly 37 years of a friendship with someone and not have a few stories to share of your time together.

I shared this as I opened: Dan gave me the laptop that I'm typing on now with one instruction... "Write your damn book."

Well, that's daunting.

Even for someone who loves writing... and who often feels like there is a story in there somewhere... the first step of writing a book is paralyzing.

So eventually, I wrote what I know.

I wrote about Michael.

And to this day, that's the only chapter I've written ...

I shared a bit of my relationship with him yesterday, but there is so much more to tell.  I walked away from the microphone- overwhelmed with emotion and love for my buddy- and realized I left so many things out.  Rather than jump up and say "OH WAIT! I FORGOT....", I decided to share some of that here.  For the rest of it, you'll have to buy my damn book.
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Michael and I met in the late 70's at Hominy Baptist Church- either in preschool or in Sunday School.  We remained friends for all of the years after- even in the times that we argued. #Mistyliker  Michael was, however, the only person I ever hit.  (Other than my brother, of course.)  In seventh grade he said something to me worthy of being hit- and when I went to hit him, he let me.  He knew he was in the wrong, so he stood still and "took it".  And when the teacher responsible for us asked what happened, he quickly said "Nothing."

In 12th grade, we had the privilege of registering to vote in our school cafeteria.  Michael said to me before we went in, "I might as well fill out your card for you... you're going to be a Republican, right?"  I'm guessing he assumed that because I spent more time in Bible Study than in Bent Creek, I would align with the Religious Right.  Whether to prove a point to him or not, I was pleased to check DEMOCRAT on my card.  And even though my Momma told me politics were private, I immediately went to tell Michael that his guess was wrong and I was not a Republican.

Along those same lines, he constantly was unimpressed with my music variety.  He rolled his eyes at my love of Amy Grant and 4Him, and rather than just harass me, he put into my hands new music.  I have a tape he made for me with Red Hot Chili Peppers on one side and Soup Dragons on the other.  I kept it for his handwriting- my cassette player long gone.  That was the first "mix tape" he made me... and why I wrote a RHCP shirt yesterday.  He opened my eyes to music beyond my own preferences- some bands I loved and some I didn't- and I'm grateful that like so many of you, he educated me.  And constantly encouraged me to go see live shows.

One day, someone brought acid to school.  It was the first time I'd ever seen it- and I was surprised at how pretty it was.  I said "If I could afford that, I'd wallpaper my house with it."  Michael said (without skipping a beat) "And I would come and lick your walls." (#justsayno)

Michael was so fun to be around.  His laugh was infectious.  His smile was radiant.  And he never smiled bigger than when he was talking about his kids.  After the football game we saw during our 20th Reunion Weekend, Michael drove me and Emily back to her car.  First, he took Trenton to a youth group activity.  When we dropped him at the church, Michael said "Can you believe my son is going to a church thing instead of a bonfire? I'm so proud of who he is. He's a much cooler kid than I ever was."  And that says a lot, because Michael was the coolest kid I knew.  He raved about Savannah's artistic side.  Every time he mentioned her, he'd say to me "You would love her."  I do, Michael, I do.

So many more stories. Hours of stories- only about Michael.  Many people told me yesterday that maybe he should be the focus of my whole book- not just a chapter.  I got offers for "guest authors" helping write it.  There's something that makes my heart smile to think of that... the story of Michael. The story of us.

Let's write it together, friends.
Let's #makeithappen.

Oh, our alma mater... love thee we do...

Tonight, my mom and I went to see "You Again"... the super silly movie about high school rivalries.  Cute, fun, mindless.

Did I mention that I am at Hilton Head?  And have I told you that this is where I came for Senior Week with my high school BFFs?

Yep.

In the movie, like most high school movies, someone talks about how those 4 years were hell for them and how they were dying to get out.  Here's my big "secret": I loved high school.  Like, loved it with a big fat Sharpie red heart around it on my Trapper Keeper.  Those of you who went to school with me might remember... it was super fun .  I had amazing friends, was involved in 900 clubs, had the perfect (well, 2 perfect) church experience(s), dated some great guys, and all around just enjoyed it.  I was one of the "good kids" (truthfully) and didn't have a drink until coming here... to this very spot... Senior Week in high school.  Sitting a few hundred feet away from where I am right now, a boy named Josh asked me if I'd like a drink.  I said "no".  Then I thought about it... and said "maybe".  The maybe turned into a "yes" and I chose a path that I would walk for the next year.

I lost a lot of my identity in those next 13 months... I teeter-tottered between who I really was and who I thought I should be to be "Fun Becky".

Let's go back just a little further than high school- Middle School SUCKED.  I hated it.  HATED it.  And, yes, even now as I'm teaching Elizabeth that we don't use the word "hate"... it totally applies here.  Sixth grade I entered Middle School not knowing anything about cliques.  At my Elementary School just months before, the only cliques we had were the smelly kids and the non-smelly kids on the bus.  (One more sidenote?  Even now, God is calling me to hang with the smelly kids... so while I was unable to see it then, I should have chosen my seat on the bus differently.  But I'd get there eventually...)  So I walked in, unknowingly, to Enka Middle and began the precarious role of a girl who wanted to fit in.  I remember my first day of school coming home and saying to my mom, "I need a curling iron... I'm not sure why, but I just know that I do."  I began to curl my bangs (seriously... why?), I began to think more about where my clothes came from, and I began to blow off the people who would not "help" my social ladder climb.

I. was. miserable.

It was so much work... and it was not me.

Eighth grade, Mrs. Wagner pulled me aside and told me what she saw in me that I had to offer to the world and gave me the courage to "do" Student Council.  (That decision alone made such a huge difference in my life... including leading me to my future husband... but that is a post for another day.)  At this point in my school career, I made a decision to rest my tense shoulders and quit living for other people, but to just be... me.

Know what?  It worked.

High school was a good time... and I enjoyed (most) every moment of it.

Then, Summer of 94 hit, and that decision to once again live for other people... had I not learned?  The beginning of college for me was like a repeat of Middle School.  I wasn't comfortable in my own skin.  I began searching out who I "should" be... not who I really was.  I constantly compared myself to other people- how they looked, their GPAs, their boyfriends... and I became, once again, not satisfied with who I was.

Through a series of events, I reclaimed my identity... and while it gets tweaked with time, I feel like I can truly say now: "What you see is what you get."  I claim my awkwardness, my ridiculous mistakes, and my (in the words of Renee') actions that make the nuns blush.

But after seeing movies like tonight I wonder this: whose life did I jack up in high school?  Was there someone I made feel "small" because of my words or actions?  Was I part of the reason that someone else was dying to get out of EHS?  If so, I am sorry.  I am deeply and honestly sorry.  While I can (in all 16-years-later-humility) say that I did run with the popular kids... I pray that I wasn't like the stereotypes I see in movies.  I never saw us that way in the early 90s, and I'm hopeful that my (sketchy) memory isn't failing me here.  But if I did leave a nasty impression on your high school experience... I am so, so sorry.

Tomorrow, I'll sit at the very pool we sat at in 1994 thinking we were tough stuff and so grown up... and I'll see sweet Elizabeth swimming there... and now, I'll say extra prayers for her future.  I'll not just be praying that someone won't make her a Screwdriver on her Senior Week trip.  (Who are we kidding?  She won't be going!  Or, she'll have her Mom, Aunt Misty, and Aunt Christy tagging along...)  What I'll pray for her is that as she stumbles through adolescence she will be kind.  She will be genuine.  And she will be HERSELF... and be cool with that.  It's so much easier that way.