A Childhood Poem (or Something Else I Dug Up)

Hey there,

I'll start by saying that I am not a hoarder though I do have pack rat tendencies. This morning, I was going through a pile of papers that I've kept from my high school years. It was nice to purge my apartment of the excess clutter that had gone unchecked all these years. There were so many memories that came rushing back to me (soccer on the Quad, the prom, that odd year where I had 3 different Chem teachers b/c my original Chem teacher - what was his name again?? - broke his hip after falling off of a stool).

In that chaos of dusty papers and old notebooks, I found this poem. There is a chance it may be from junior high school but the silliness of it brought a smile to my face! Enjoy y'all!

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Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
There's no chance in hell.
I'd go out with you.

Sugar is sweet.
Coal is black.
Do me a favor.
Go sit on a tack.

Snow is white.
Grass is green.
With you, in public,
I'd never be seen.

Flowers bloom.
The river flows.
What do you think I am?
One of your cheap hoes!?

Water is water.
Grass is grass.
Do me a favor
and wipe your ass.

You smell real bad.
You smell like shit.
Go take a bath.
You REALLY need it!

All in all,
what I have to say
is get a life
and have a nice day!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[FYI, this was NOT written to me nor is it about me.]

=)

Hope you all go out and make the most of this Memorial Day weekend! And please take a moment this weekend to remember those folks who have served our country.

Until next time, faithful reader......

Lesson Learned?

I have been slowly unpacking a lot of my boxes. I have too much stuff and no where to put it. But I decided that I should go through some of these boxes to see what I can throw out (or sell on eBay and craigslist).

In one pile of old papers and notebooks I found some assignments I did back in junior high school. Among that pile o' junk I found Christmas cards I had gotten in the 7th grade. There was an envelope with a present drawn on it, meticulously colored in, and with the word "SUPRISE!" on the ribbon tied on the drawn gift box.

Inside the envelope was a nice card, presumably coming from a box of 15 other cards with similar designs and styles. From inside the card, out came a folded up note. The note was written in that neat penmanship - the kind of handwriting most girls seem to have in junior high school - on a small pink Hello Kitty notepad paper with tiny hearts along the top (where, incidentally, my name was spelled out with each letter inside it's own tiny heart).

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"Alan,
You were right I do have some questions I'd like you to answer (You dont have to answer the questions if you dont want to but you do have to answer)
1) If you do like me wouldn't you want to know more about me? (If you want me to like you I would like to know more about you)
2) Why do you like me? (I know they are stupid questions but I have to get them out of my head)
P.S. Please answer them in a really answer if you know what I mean
P.P.S. Please write (or call) back

Love
S-----"
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I found myself experiencing many mixed emotions as I processed what I had just read. This note was written almost 20 years ago. Why did I keep this card (and all my JHS junk) all this time? Why did this card/note re-appear in my life at this precise moment? What can I learn from this?

-- I was amused by how she told me I didn't have to answer... but I had to answer. =)
-- I have always claimed to be signal stupid and not someone who could gauge interest from women in my past. However, in hindsight, had I paid attention to what this girl was telling me in this note, my love life could have been different. Sometimes people want to know more about you because they find you interesting or are simply fishing for information. But it could also be that they might actually like you... not that this is the ONLY indicator but thinking back on moments in my life, I could have avoided confusion and missed opportunities had I learned this little lesson back in the 7th grade.
-- Why did I like her? An important question. Was it simply a physical attraction? Were there personality traits that drew me to her? These are not trivial details... but why DID I like her??...
-- The sad thing about this note is that I don't remember this girl. She isn't in my 8th grade yearbook (trust me, she isn't there. I checked... twice!) which means she probably switched schools at some point. *sigh* Yet another one of my JHS crushes abruptly exiting my life.
-- Nothing ever happened between me and this girl. I honestly cannot remember why... I don't think I ever answered this note. Is it possible I was a snob back then and was turned off by the fact she couldn't spell 'surprise' on the front of the card?? Did I get the card before the winter break and forgot all about the note by the time we came back to school?
-- The important thing about this note, for her, was that it gave her a chance to clean out the clutter from her head. I've realized this past holiday weekend that the clutter in my apartment isn't the only mess I'm dealing with. There is something I've been wrestling with lately and I'm using the emergence of this note as a catalyst for giving myself some piece of mind...

I've said it before and I'll say it again now: I'm a firm believer that coincidences aren't mere accidents. They occur in our lives for a purpose. We just need to be receptive to the reasons for these 'coincidences'. I don't claim to know why this happened to me now at this point in my life, but I do know it opened my eyes to something I should have taken care of a while ago.

Until next time, faithful reader......

The Glory Days of My Childhood (Part 2)

For Part 1 of the story click here.

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The details of the second game of the tournament are lost to me. The only thing I remember is all the shit talking that took place prior to the game. All the talk centered around how it would be 8-4 vs 8-5 in the finals, an honors class final.

It turns out that 8-4 lost their semifinal game so there would only be one honors class in the finals, either 8-5 or 8-3. The only detail that I recall was the outcome of our semifinal game. My class won the game. I vaguely recall it being a close game. 8-5 had their chances but they threw too many deep balls and executed poorly when it mattered most.

Now my class, 8-3, was in the finals. We were the least likely of all the honors classes to make it. You could go so far as to call us the Cinderella story of this tournament. We even had guys from other honors classes asking if they can be ringers on our team. Clearly, we made it this far without them and I wasn't about to go into the finals with a new team full of egos. We were going to win or lose on our own!

It was the morning of the final game. It was also the last day of classes before the winter break. I woke up and it seemed like any other school morning: I was slow to get up. I kept asking my mom to come back in 5 minutes so I can squeeze in a little extra sleep. I finally decided to get up, not because of any sense of responsibility: I had to pee pretty badly. I swung my legs out of bed and tried to stand up. I had a tremendous shooting pain throughout both my feet and part of the way up my shin. I couldn't walk.

I would have asked for help from my mom but I didn't hear her nearby. We lived in a duplex apartment and I suspect she was upstairs, though I don't actually know where she was at the time. I figured the pain would pass the same way the pins-and-needles sensation goes away when your leg falls asleep. I dragged myself across the floor and down the hall to the bathroom commando-style, forearm over forearm. I slowly propped my body to an upright position first using the knob on the bathroom door, then the sink, and finally with the towel rack on the wall. I was doing some strange form of dips using the sink and towel rack to hold my body up while I pivoted to try and sit on the toilet to relieve myself. I was not only humiliated for having to go to such extremes to get to the bathroom but I was also really scared. When I finished, I called out for my mom and I remember feeling like it took her forever to come over to the bathroom. I didn't have the will to drag myself back to bed.

She came over and helped me back to my bedroom. It was clear I wouldn't make it to school that day. Normally, I wouldn't care about missing a day of school, especially when it meant an extended vacation, but this time it was different. I felt like I was letting my guys down. At the same time, I was concerned about what was afflicting me. My father, who woke up hours after my sister and I left for school, was surprised to see me in the house that morning. He tried soothing my feet by soaking them in a warm Epsom salt bath. It didn't help but at least he tried something (one of the few things I give him credit for in our life together).

My only course of action now was to go see the doctor. By the time I went to see the doctor, my feet felt better and I no longer had any pain. I was able to put my weight on my feet once again ans walk normally. Whether this was due to the bed rest or some other stroke of luck is unknown but we took no chances. My mother called a cab for us to go to the doctor's office.

I was embarrassed to be in the doctor's office explaining to him the pain I felt in the morning only to have him question my ability to walk into his office unassisted. It turns out he had a strong hunch as to what was wrong with me and insisted I see a cardiologist as soon as possible. He scheduled an appointment for me with one of his colleagues (and friend) a day or two later.

I was out of the doctor's office and home by 3 o'clock. I was feeling better and I was only a short walk away from school. If I left the house around 3PM, I knew I could make it in time. I seriously considered going to school to play in that final game. In the end, I decided against it. It was partly due the fear of the pain returning while I was on the schoolyard. I also didn't want to explain to my math teacher why I wasn't in school for class but was there for the game. To this day, Mr. Kralick is my all time favorite teacher and he was also the referee for the football games. He was an intimidating SOB and I honestly didn't want to deal with him after the morning I had. All I could do was hope that my guys did well.

After seeing the cardiologist, I was diagnosed with rheumatic fever (if you want more info, click here). My doctor told me that had I waited a few more days I could have had severe damage to my heart. Had I waited a few more days, I could have died from this. It's hard for me to put myself in that position again. As a 13 year old, it was almost impossible to imagine what dying truly meant. I knew enough to know it was serious but every time I think back on that diagnosis it chills me to the bone. I could have died! All my experiences since then would be unknown to me. The people whose paths I've crossed would have been altered forever, for better or worse.

Consider what you are doing at this very moment. This would never be happening since there would be no RaUM, no Alan, and I suspect neither one of us can imagine what our lives would be like had I not gone to the doctor, had I gone to play that last game, had things been different on that fateful December morning.

Fast forward to my return to school in January. It was a new year, I had been treated for the pain and was taking daily doses of penicillin. I'd be required to get a shot of penicillin every month of my life until I turned 18. It was preventive treatment to stop any recurrence of the disease. I don't recall ever catching a cold or being sick in any way shape or form from that moment until I became an adult. It was awesome!!

I had no idea what happened in the final game of the football tournament. I was eager to find out how it went. When I walked into homeroom at the start of the day, I was greeted by several of my classmates. They then immediately started peppering me with questions. Where was I that last day of class before the break? How could I abandon them? Why did I leave them on their own? What was so important that I missed the ONE GAME that mattered? I didn't quite understand why I was forced to answer all these questions until someone finally told me what happened in the game I missed. We got massacred. Destroyed. Humiliated. Outclassed. Run over. You're welcome to continue inserting relevant adjectives here.

They were venting their frustration at losing and blaming the loss on my absence. I must admit I was flattered, a bit upset they were saying it was my fault, but it definitely made me feel good since they felt I was important enough to be considered the primary reason we lost. Never mind the fact that we weren't even the best team in the tournament. I often think back to that time of my life and wonder what would have happened had I played in that game. I'll never know. But it's nice to imagine us finishing what we started and become the 8th grade football champs that year.

Once I explained to my classmates why I missed class that day they all fell silent and started apologizing for blaming me. After a few minutes, all the talk of the game and my illness was forgotten and we moved on. But for me, the memory lingers. Occasionally it creeps back into my consciousness and brings a smile to my face.

We played our hearts out and, whatever my influence may have been in our two wins, we won as a team. More importantly, I'm now in good health and I'm alive to tell the tale. I don't mean to over-dramatize that point but I have always been one who has taken my health for granted. That experience I had in the 8th grade always humbles me and reminds me how lucky I am to be where I am now.

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For years, this was one of my favorite stories to tell. This was my "Al Bundy" football story. I hadn't told it in years and I don't even know why it came back into my consciousness recently. Hope you liked it.

And for those of you who are wondering... YES! It really did happen to me. =)

Until next time, faithful reader......

The Glory Days of My Childhood (Part 1)

It was December in the middle of the 8th grade. The snow hadn't fallen yet that winter but it was beginning to get cold enough for it to happen soon. In my Junior High School, there was an intramural football tournament scheduled between several 8th grade classes. The tournament was to last 3 weeks and would be completed before the winter break.

I was in one of the four honors classes at my school in the 8th grade. Needless to say, none of the honors classes were given a chance to win because we were the "nerds" - despite having several athletic guys in our four classes. Of all the honors classes, my class (8-3) had the worst chance of all. You see, each honors class had it's own concentration, a specialty if you will. One class (8-4) was the band class, 8-6 was the art class, and there was the computer class (8-5). My class was the chorus class. Not only did we have the fewest numbers of boys out of all the classes in the 8th grade but we were also seen as inferior due to our status as choir boys. The only honors class not to participate in the tournament was 8-6.

When we put our team together, made up of practically every guy in the class - not all were athletic - I became the de facto leader of the team. My goal was to make sure we didn't get overly embarrassed in our first game and that we had fun playing in, what most expected to be, our one and only game. Yes. I admit I thought we were going to lose, as well. There were 7 others teams/classes in the tournament that we would have a tough time beating even on our best day.

In our first game we faced a solid opponent in 8-17. There were a lot of tall guys in that class and we clearly had our work cut out for us. If things looked bad for us before the tourney, things looked even bleaker when you sized us up in that first match-up. It was probably the worst possible match-up for us. Compared to 8-17, we were under-sized and a bit slower overall.

They got an early lead on us and my focus as the "coach" was to make sure everyone got to play (since we were unlikely to play again). I even took myself off the field to allow my classmates to get in the action. As I managed the game from the sidelines I started noticing two things about our opponents: (1) they were extremely cocky, especially after getting the early lead and (2) on defense, they only focused on our best players. I called in a few basic plays from the sidelines telling our QB to drop short passes to the "scrubs" (though I'm pretty sure I didn't call them that to their faces). The strategy paid off. We started moving the ball down the field very easily on 8-17 and even scored our first touchdown.

This is where their cockiness came into play. They began throwing bombs to the endzone on every play to quickly regain their lead. Our defense managed to keep them from scoring. In their frustration, they started getting upset at each other. With every completed pass by our QB, with each touchdown we scored, they became increasingly frustrated. They didn't have the "mental toughness" to stay in the game and play as well as they did in the start. We took advantage of that, mixing up our passing plays: short/long, sidelines/middle of the field, stars/scrubs.

We managed to pull off the upset in our first game against a solid team. We did it by playing smart and making it a complete team effort. When word got out of our win, everyone considered it a fluke. The other two honors classes won their match-ups so no one considered 8-3 a threat. If anything, it would be an easy win for our next opponent in the semi-finals: the most athletically talented honors class, 8-5.

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What happened to 8-3 in the semis? Will the boys in 8-3 overcome another difficult match-up? What befell our blogging hero that changed the tournament (and his life) forever?

Stay tuned for part 2 of this true story.

Until next time, faithful reader......

Thinking back (or My Life After High School) - Part 1 of 2

I'll get right to it today....

I'm often bitter of people that don't have to "pay their dues". This sentiment is born out of a resentment that I have since I didn't have parents that could provide me with the opportunities that others seem to have. Mommy and daddy weren’t able to take care of me during my college years. Quite frankly, I had to eat shit for a while before I could get to a place where I was relatively comfortable in life. I can say with a certain sense of pride that everything I have now, for better or worse, was earned, literally, through much blood, sweat and tears. Please don’t think this is something I want others to experience because I don’t. But it annoys me when others have the support that I didn't have whether it is financial, emotional, or academic. It's been a long road but I am beginning to feel a sense of fulfillment now that I haven't had before.

It all started when my parents separated when I was in high school. I won’t go into the details as to why they separated or why my mother, my sister, and I moved out of our apartment. During my senior year, the three of us lived in a room that we rented on a weekly basis. Yes... you read that correctly. It was a single room where we somehow managed to set up two twin sized beds with the rest of our stuff carefully arranged in the remaining space. The kitchen and bathroom was shared with other renters and it was a miserable experience. But it kept us away from the dangerous man I used to refer to as “Dad”.

My senior year at Bronx Science, arguably the most important of the 4 HS years, was spent with more pressure than any teen should ever experience. The academic and social pressures of taking the SATs, applying for colleges, going to the prom, etc. were compounded with the worry of what we would be eating each night for dinner or managing my personal spending to make sure I didn’t put any financial pressure on my mom. I still wonder how we survived those years. I remember many days that I went without eating lunch. I would mooch off of friends to survive the day. I was really skinny back then. I was an active kid (handball during free periods, soccer on the quad during lunch) but the main reason I was thin was because I didn’t eat.

Fast forward to the first year out of high school when I was in my second semester at NYU. I had done pretty terribly in my first semester because I wasn’t really focused on my studies. I had a job at an electronics store and knew that I needed to work more hours to be able to help my mom out with the expenses. We had moved into an actual apartment by this time (a basement in a private house a block away). I ended up dropping out of NYU during that second semester. I hated to do it but I needed the money more than I needed the education.

I hated dropping out of NYU for several reasons. For one, I feel like I cheated myself out of a chance to get a degree from a well known school. Secondly, I hated giving up on college only because I needed to work and earn money to live. It’s one thing to have a part time job to cover frivolous expenses. But I had to work to help pay the rent, to have food in the fridge, to help my mom in any way I could since she now had two children in college each with their own expenses. I had very little financial aid and had a lot to pay back in student loans, with nothing to show for it. I managed to pay off my NYU student loan several years ago and even paid the last 1/3 of the parent loan my mom took out for me as well. I felt guilty that she put had to her name and credit on the line for a kid who, essentially, wasted his time while in NYU. She worked long hours sometimes 6 days a week to get us to where we were. She dealt with the aggravation of talking to my father, who tried to exploit the fact that he was helping to pay for my sister’s college expenses as a way to be a part of all our lives again. [Side note: By this time, I had stopped speaking to him and didn’t want anything to do with him. I certainly wasn’t going to take his money thus giving him an excuse to get back into my life.]

To be continued next time, faithful reader......

Finals Week (or Lap #1 Complete)

During the last week of actual classes (this doesn't count finals week which is a totally different beast altogether), I walked into both my classes with camera in hand. I took pictures of them both as I walked through the door. Some were shocked, some laughed, some didn't even flinch even after noticing what I did.

I wanted to get a snapshot of my classes to have a physical item attached to my memory of this Spring 2009 semester. I didn't want to rely on my "mental picture" of the classes from my first semester as a college professor (some of my colleagues would argue I'm not a professor at all unless I'm a full time instructor). I figured an ACTUAL picture (or, in this case, pictures) would serve the purpose a wee bit better.

I gave them a chance to object or protest over me taking the pics. I agreed that if anyone DID object, I would delete them on the spot. Thankfully, no one objected... in either class. If anything they were supportive of my decision to take (and keep) the picture once I explained why I took it. I'm not planning to post them on Facebook or have them appear on this ol' blog. Nor will I have a digital frame in my office to have them on permanent display there. It'll stay in my archives and every once in a while I'll take them out and have a quick look at them.

I took the pictures because I know that when the day comes that I begin questioning why I teach, or if I ever begin feeling extremely frustrated with the profession, I will have the pictures as a reminder of how I felt this first semester. Two great classes!! I couldn't have asked for anything better.

It is with a heavy heart that I say goodbye to them this week (the dreaded "Finals Week"). I am ecstatic that the semester is coming to an end allowing me the chance to enjoy my summertime off. Yet, at the same time, I am feeling a great sense of melancholy at knowing I won't see my "kids" again, all together in the same classroom. I told my classes this and it bears repeating here: If my classes in the future are half as good as these two have been, I will be a lucky man!

I expect to be teaching for a while. Hopefully it won't only be stats but I wouldn't mind it if that's how things worked out. There's also a chance that all my teaching years may not even be spent at Queens College. But I know I love what I do and this semester I have looked forward to every single class meeting (even the morning class which, for those of you who know me well, was torture since I'm not a morning person).

If any of my students from the Spring '09 semester happen to be reading this, thank you for being a part of one of the best times of my life!!!

Until next time, faithful reader....

Recipes I Want to Try Out (and the next MCB)

Welcome once again to the latest in the world of RaUM,

Every time I go to my aunt's house in Newark, the family is treated to a wonderful meal where everyone eats well, there are drinks a-plenty, and enough desserts to make your belly burst. Some of the desserts are staples available at every gathering while others are experiments that may or may not make the rotation for the next get-together. One of the new additions to the dessert list is a modified cheesecake. It's basically a thin cheesecake cut into small squares like a brownie. Being a bit of a cheesecake junkie, I had to ask my aunt for the recipe. Turns out it's a Paula Deen recipe that my aunt adopted after watching the Food Network one day: Savannah Cheesecake Cookies.


(Here's the pic from FoodNetwork.com)

It is delicious! The decadence of a cheesecake without the heaviness that can come sometimes accompany a large wedge of cheesecake. I personally love how the crust stands out so much more. For me, it's the thing that brings the whole cheesecake together. A bad crust can ruin a piece of cheesecake for me (let's be honest for a sec... a lot can go wrong with a cheesecake.. it's not limited to the crust). The pecans are a nice touch and add a nice texture to the overall "cookie".

It's super easy to make. It bakes quickly. And can be easily decorated to look very pretty on the table though this dessert still looks inviting even without any garnish!

I will definitely give this one a shot the next time I have company over.

Another recipe I've been dying to try my hand at (and have been very lazy to start up) is ajiaco. Now granted, with the weather warming up this isn't necessarily the optimal meal so if it's gonna go down, it has to be soon. For those of you who are not familiar with ajiaco, click here.

(This is one 'interpretation' of ajiaco)

One of the few vivid memories I have of being in Colombia - both as young child and later in my pre-teen years - was the seeing the dining room table (and occasionally a side table) full of food. A delicious spread of food for the entire family. All those years spent in the kitchen, perfecting recipes with generations of Gonzalez children, allowed my grandmother to present us with the magic that is her cuisine during my stays there. I regret not being more curious about the prep work and doing more hands-on cooking while I was there. The only recipe I really "learned" was how to put together empanadas just before you throw them into a pot full of hot oil. Which, for the record, is a great lesson in and of itself... lol.

Years ago, I scoured the internet trying to find a recipe that reminds me of my grandmother's style of ajiaco. My mother had also attempted to make one using my father's faulty memory for the ingredient list. It was ok... but it needed something... more. It's hard to say what was missing. I think I'll just go back to some Colombian recipe sites and just pick one recipe and use that as my baseline ajiaco. If any of you have suggestions for where I may find a good recipe (or have a family member willing to give up their own personal recipe), please pass the info my way.

The last recipe in my "Top Three" that I want to try soon is another Food Network inspired meal. This one is by Ellie Krieger (star of Healthy Appetite with Ellie Krieger): Succotash with Grilled Scallops and Parsley Drizzle.



Need I say more? How awesome does that look?

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This weekend's MCB (2-27) features two songs you may be familiar with already - Jason Mraz's I'm Yours and Mercy by Duffy. Boxer Rebellion makes another appearance on this list with Flashing Red Light Means Go.

Enjoy, ladies and gents!

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Between grading lab assignments for my two classes and going out just about every day this weekend, I don't expect to post until maybe midweek at the earliest. Those of you who suffer from withdrawal symptoms when I do not post... you've been given fair notice. Then again you can always re-read previous posts. ;)

Have a great weekend!!! See you for the next entry...

Until next time, faithful reader