A Woman Named Sophie

Deadly Sin

I'd like to think I'm a good person.

I volunteered as a paramedic while still in high school. I forsook big money in Engineering, and decided to become a teacher instead. I wanted to help kids be ready for the future. I volunteer with organizations as much as I can. Even if I have little, I will give what I have to someone who has less (to the chagrin of Wife and others.) I drove a friend to the airport at three o'clock this morning, not expecting compensation (She paid me over my objections) because that is what friends do.

Is it to make up for my Dark side? All the drinking and fighting I did? My inability to cope with the Woman inside of me? Standing by and watching bad things happen and not standing up for what was Right? My encyclopedia of faults as a person?

I don't have an answer to any of that. I wish I did.

Very recently, I spent my day in a waiting room in a Philadelphia hospital with the wife of a fellow transgender woman who was getting Gender Confirmation Surgery. It wasn't the first time I'd done this. It won't be the last. I was asked, and I was glad to help. Her wife and I had a pleasant few hours sharing stories and maybe some secrets, before we went up to the room where the transgender woman would be for the next week. I said "hello" and left, as I didn't want to intrude on that couple's moment.

Whiz Comics #1, art by CC.Beck

There was another reason I left, though.

I like to think I'm a good person (is there an echo in here?) I have many faults. One of them is... sometimes I get Jealous.

That's not a revelation to my Wife. She is quite aware of it. As are past girlfriends. I'm nowhere near as bad as I used to be, though. I've developed a Zen attitude to it- that good things happen to others and not to me because They deserve it and I don't.

But every once in a while... yes, I get jealous. And I am jealous of everyone that can afford Gender Confirmation Surgery. I'm jealous of people who have a spouse who will sit in the waiting room while getting that surgery- who stay through thick and thin.

I don't blame my Wife for how she feels. Far from it. But that doesn't mean I don't get jealous.

I'm VERY happy for my sisters who get the surgery. I truly am. I am glad SOMEONE in this life gets to be happy. But that doesn't mean I don't wish it were me.

Wanna know what's worse? I feel REALLY bad that, at my age, I still feel that emotion. In some ways, I've tried to purge emotions, as they have brought me nothing but Pain. No, I'm not going for Kolinahr. But jealousy is an emotion I've done my best to eliminate. I try to replace it with being happy for that person's success. For being happy that said person found someone. Happy that other people jump effortlessly from high paying job to higher paying job while I can't get hired at Burger King, and am standing by to be homeless.

Here's me: smiling for their success- success that THEY DESERVE. Yay them!

That doesn't mean I don't feel like a total asshole for wishing that just once, it were me.

Because I do.

Monday, January 21, 2019

I've Seen this Face Before

I initially posted this last night on facialbook after a long day. I think I should develop it a little further. Because I have nothing else to do after sending out a bunch of resumes.

By now, most Americans have seen his face. His name is Nick Sandmann. He's in 11th grade at Covington Catholic High School. I'd link to the school, but they've taken down their web page. Can't imagine why.

Why does this hit me so deeply? Because I've seen this spoiled kid's smirk all of my life.

This is the face of every bully who picked on me as a kid, knowing he'd suffer no consequences for his actions. It's the smile of a person who enjoys hurting others. I've written about my bullies, and how they affected my life.

It's the smile of a kid who knows that, no matter what happens, he will lead a charmed life. This is the smile of people like Kavanagh and his ilk, knowing that they could rape a woman at will. (Anyone remember Stanford rapist Brock Turner, who got a slap on the wrist?)

This is a kid who knows that he has tacit permission to be racist from his president- he absolutely believes he is superior to any non-White.

Now, predictably, he is crying "victim" (because that's what being a Republican in the US is about today- claiming that their white superiority is the victim of the big, bad Left Wing Conspiracy.) I won't link to his excuse. Find it yourself.

America's Indigenous people have dealt with this for centuries. MAGAts will say "we conquered them- get over it." Again, if a person in non-white, they are not human to the far right.

Native American Journalist Association president Tristan Ahtone wrote:

“In terms of education on Indigenous peoples and history in the U.S., it’s designed to erase us,” he said. “I think back to my high school and I sometimes wonder if I shouldn’t just file a lawsuit against the place, for some of the stuff they were teaching. Not only was it offensive, but it was wrong, incredibly wrong. It should be criminally negligent to teach kids some of this stuff.”

Oh, and Central Americans are descendants of Indigenous people as well: Aztecs, Maya, Olmec, etc. Another reason for the MAGA people to hate them, aside from skin color.

The man facing this hate? Nathan Phillips, Native American Elder and Vietnam veteran. Think he's scared of punk like this after combat experience?

More about the kid, lest I get sidetracked.

He is there to tell women what they can/cannot do with their own body. Because he is superior to any woman. He, and his classmates were bussed there BY THE SCHOOL to participate in a "Right to life" rally. As in "we care about the unborn until they're born, then who cares" rally. Also known as "We white men want to tell women what they can/cannot do with their own body" as I wrote above. He is a right winger by definition, and, by wearing the symbol of racism and hate, is a 45 cultist.

Will there be consequences? Are you kidding? (Again, see "Turner, Brock") Bet this kid already has a lawyer and an agent for the multi-million dollar book deal he'll sign. MAGAts around the country will raise millions more for him. He'll go to a religious school or University of Kentucky, and never pay a cent. I'm sure Fox News has already booked him. After all, he is a hero to racists everywhere.

Still, that smile... that superior shit-eating grin...

I've seen this face all my life, but never more than since 2016. I wonder why?

(That's sarcasm.)

Wednesday, January 16, 2019

An Old Story

This is an old story goes back to spring of 1990. I think it was April. (The journal that has that month and year in it has been in storage for a long time and I have no idea which box it's in.) In any case, it was night and my girlfriend of the time (GF) was visiting. I was living still at my parents house at the time, and we were both going to head down to her place to hang out for a little while. She lived in Wayne. We were each driving in our own cars.

Accident area circled

We were heading east on route 422, right around the Oaks exit, when I noticed a pretty serious car accident in the opposite lane. At least two cars were involved, and there were a lot of other cars and trucks stopped in the area, but no Emergency Equipment yet. GF was ahead of me in her car, but I pulled over- knowing that she knew that I was going to stop. After all, I was still a paramedic at that point.

I ran across the grassy median, and went to the closest car. The driver was a young woman- I found out later she was a college student, but I'll get back to that. She was still alive. In the back seat was someone I knew named Shannon, who who graduated from my high school. As it turns, out she had some first aid training and stabilized the victim.

Knowing that she was there, I then went to the other car, where there were two Burly men doing their best to pull the door open using a crowbar. That car was in far worse shape. I looked inside and there, through the broken driver side window, and I saw one woman laying on the front seat with no seat belt. Her body was pretty banged up. I told them to stop for a second. I reached in and took a pulse from her neck- carotid artery.

There was no pulse, and the body was already getting cold. I couldn't declare anyone dead, but in this case, it was triage. I understood that I should focus my efforts on the living, so I told those two men not to bother and instead focus on traffic control. I gave them directions what and where they should move their big rigs, which were blocking the entire Road. It was my thought that help may be coming from that direction. They moved their Rigs and began directing traffic around on the median.

I went back to the other car. The victim was wearing a Drexel University jacket. I figured she was around 20 years old, and the impact, even though she been secured by the seat belt, had caused both of her eyes to pop out of their sockets and rest on her cheeks. I'd seen this before, and it's never pretty. I did not have the equipment to do anything about that. With Shannon's help, I finished stabilizing the woman's knee injuries and did my best to stop the bleeding.

It seemed like an eternity that we were in there.

It's funny how you see someone who you haven't seen in years, and I was there in front of a person who's literally dying, and we were chatting about high school. What else could we talk about? I mean, there was nothing we could do for the victim at that point.

As I said it seemed like an eternity, but eventually help came. One of the paramedics with whatever fire company had come came to this car, and I explained to them the situation, gave the vitals as I had them, and they took over. Shannon came out of the back seat.

The Drexel woman died the next day.

The cause of the accident was that the one car came up the exit ramp driving the wrong way at high speed. She quickly found a target. She left a suicide note at her house.

In this case, neither survived. Due to one person wanting to commit suicide, another innocent person died. This girl who was around twenty years old at the time would now be around 47. She would be a mother or maybe even a grandmother- but she's dead.

I never really considered that at the time, because she was only a couple years younger than me. I was 23, so I didn't have the perspective that I do now.

That November was my first suicide attempt. If I could've given my life to that girl in the car so she could finish college, have a family, experience life, I would've happily done it. I still would. I still believe her life was more important than mine.

I still see her face at times, especially at night when I try to sleep- eyes on her cheeks.

I had a conversation with one of my dearest friends the other day. I mentioned that my reward for being a volunteer paramedic was PTSD, bad hearing, and a bad back.

Meanwhile, people who never worked or volunteered a day in their life make more money in an hour than I'll ever see in a lifetime.

I hope my Pain has earned me Heaven.

Friday, January 11, 2019

Men of the Skull Chapter 40: Peso Run

Yes, this actually happened. I witnessed it twice.

This chapter is Pure 80s misogyny. Guys assumed that women WANTED to see their junk, and some showed it off. The brutal truth is- some of the girls responded positively. They WANTED what they saw.

There was and is a "rape culture" on campuses. Usually, the more conservative (or "rich") the campus is, then the worse it is. At PSU, usually 1-3 rapes were reported in my time there. Figure ten times that went unreported. All one needs to do is look at the Brett Kavanaugh hearings to see the Entitled feeling of privileged guys who saw women only as recreation. I knew MANY guys like this in college... and after. I'm sad to say some of them were my fraternity brothers.

And what did I do about it? Nothing. If I'd seen attack happening, I would've stepped in, of course, but mostly these happened behind closed doors. However, one attack happened behind our fraternity house, near the dumpster, which was ten feet from the window of the room I occupied at that time. I heard nothing- probably because of drunken sleep.

Not speaking out was Cowardice, pure and simple. I was so different from my brothers, and so desperately wanted to fit in, that I didn't speak up.

Yes, the 80s were fun. But, in some ways, they were a FAR darker time.

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

Chapter 40: Peso Run

Thursday, January 22, 1987 Shultz says

Iran

talks continued

The party was fucking packed! We had a social right before with Chi Omega so there were lots of hot girls. I was in the foyer talking with Garbo when he said “Watch this” and pointed to the Brotherhood Steps.

Down the steps came running one of the brothers- Peso. He was Italian throughout: olive skin, black hair, dark eyes. Even I could tell he was a good looking guy. And if I could tell, the women must’ve drooled over him. And they did.

Wave your hands in the air
Like you don’t care, glide by
The People as they start to look and stare.
Do your dance, do your dance quick
Mama, come on baby, tell me what’s
The Word, ah – word up,

Peso came running down the Brotherhood stairs naked as the day he was born. He jumped the rope at the bottom, ran a loop around the foyer, then ran back up the stairs. He stopped at the landing, raised his arms as in victory, then ran the rest of the way up. Totally naked. Being naked, one couldn’t help but notice his dick. It was huge. He was extremely well hung. I was envious.

So he disappeared and the room broke out into cheers, gasps, and applause. The girls looked wide eyed at each other, talking. Some looked stunned. A few stomped out the door.

I looked at Garbo

“Does he do that a lot?” I said.

“He does it at the beginning of a semester. See, that way all the girls get talking about him.”

“And his dick.”

“Exactly. He gets all the tail he wants, when he wants it,” Garbo said.

“Pretty smart,” I said.

“Yeah. My pledge brother,” he said, and refilled my beer from the pitcher he held.

Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Reply to an Anonymous Comment

On December 29, 2018, at 10:15 PM, an anonymous commenter posted the following on a previous entry:

I know it’s completely outside of the narrative here...but how about I suggest an idea? I suggest this knowing I might be wrong. However it’s worth bringing up. I’m betting you don’t hear this often but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a voice inside of you? How about if the whole Trans thing is bullshit? How about if you walked away from it your life and hope within it improves? Just sayin...cuz I think that totally rubs you wrong. Cuz you’re SO invested in this notion. But...what if you’re wrong?

What if you went back to Lance? Could you get support? Could you re-engage with “wife” and daughter? Could they be receptive? Could you get a job then? Could you have hope then? Maybe being a man wouldn’t actually make you suicidal? I only say this because it’s worth asking...how’s it going doing it the other way? Sounds like it sucks to me? There’s millions of men who don’t appreciate the roles our culture forces us into...maybe that’s you? Why is this such a bogus suggestion? You really don’t need or deserve to live like you are. It’s self imposed. You’re really better than your circumstances.

I replied to the comment saying I'd answer it in a separate entry. And here it is.

There's a lot to unpack here. First let me say that this isn't the first time I've heard this. Or the 42nd. Or... you get the idea. When I first transitioned, I heard this sort of thing a LOT- mostly from "friends" who would soon either disappear immediately or fade away. Actually, from the syntax, etc, I have a fair idea of the identity of "Anonymous."

And, actually, NO this isn't a voice inside of me. I'll come back to this.

I'll tackle this by discussing Anonymous' (henceforth 'A') points separately-ish.

How about if the whole Trans thing is bullshit?

Science says differently. I could post MANY pieces about how being Transgender is BIOLOGICAL not psychological. I'll just post this one from Harvard. Or Michigan. Or something a little less complex.

Of course, I could IGNORE the mountains of scientific evidence and listen to the one or two evangelical doctors who deny the science, but that would make me a republican.

Many transgender people have mental issues, true, as do many cisgender people. Usually, for transgender people, it's because many of us were bullied during our youth, and when we come out... well we get beaten, murdered, insulted (I've been called everything except "Child of God,") and so forth. Not to mention the GOP doing their best to legislate us out of existence.

How about if you walked away from it your life and hope within it improves? [edit] But...what if you’re wrong?

I can no more walk away from this than a black man can walk away from his skin color. It's part of my biology. As for being wrong, see above.

What if you went back to Lance? Could you get support? Could you re-engage with “wife” and daughter? Could they be receptive?

Ok. Let's say I wanted to do so. Say tomorrow I declare to the world that I'm going back to being Lance. First off, everyone who knew me before would still shun me, because I transitioned in the first place. That genie never goes back in the bottle to use the cliche. I'd have to change my name back, assuming I could find a judge who would do so, given that I changed it only a couple years ago. That would be around $600. Then there's the matter of the all-natural DD breasts I have. They would have to go, leaving large scars. That's around $24,000. (Did I mention I love my boobs? I mean, I only waited my whole life for them...) Then there's the matter of "down below."

Would Wife and daughter have me back? As they live with MIL, the answer is "NO." I've written so many times about that situation and I really don't feel like rehashing it. MIL is the one who tossed me out in August 2013, not Wife. Her opinions about LGBT have only hardened with the coming of 45.

Could you get a job then?

I'm 52 years old. I have no idea. I WOULD regain my male privilege, which is a major advantage.

Could you have hope then?

Hope for what? Being male almost killed me, because I simply wasn't one. Which leads to...

Maybe being a man wouldn’t actually make you suicidal?

Ah, and here's the crux of it, isn't it? I WAS suicidal as a guy. (I never considered myself a "man" as I didn't think I met the criteria I set for that title.) In December 2013, I had a choice- transition or blow my head off with a shotgun. I borrowed a shotgun (loaded) and was on my way to my death when I decided I couldn't do that to my (then) five year old daughter. I decided to transition. As I've written before, I don't think I made the right choice.

I only say this because it’s worth asking...how’s it going doing it the other way? Sounds like it sucks to me?

Big style. Know why? Because so many people HATE people like me just for existing. They fear that which is different, and that fear leads directly to hatred. Mostly it's guys who give me the most grief- they're worried about people judging them for being civil to someone they think is "gay" or "trying to trick them."

There’s millions of men who don’t appreciate the roles our culture forces us into...maybe that’s you? Why is this such a bogus suggestion?

Which roles do they resent? Acting like human beings? Treating other people, like women and LGBT, with respect? Men are still top of the heap. Stop whining for f**k's sake! ;)

You really don’t need or deserve to live like you are.

I agree. Maybe if there were no GOP or faux Evangelicals, people would keep their noses out of my life and let me just Live. Can't have that, can we? Nope- because fear and hate generate votes and money for their churches and parties. That means power.

It’s self-imposed.

No, it isn't. No more than skin color or genetics are self-imposed. The only thing I did was to start living my Truth instead of lying to myself and the world.

You’re really better than your circumstances.

Thank you- that's kind of you to say. That begs the question "do the circumstances make the person?" Would Superman still be super if he never faced a crisis? "Hero's journey" and all that?

I could write on this topic for years. In fact, I have. Between this blog, TG Forum, New York Times, scholarly journals, talks I've done... wow. Guess I should get a life!

Oh wait- I already did. It isn't easy ("Being trans is life on 'hard mode'" I once heard) but at least I'm living my Truth instead of the lie.

I hope I've answered your questions. Be well!

Wednesday, January 2, 2019

Men of the Skull Chapter 39: Lies

This chapter was painful to write. It's not like I had problems with the details- because I didn't. I remember this with crystal clarity.

It isn't every day when a person compromises everything they believe in- the very foundation of their self... to someone they really care about.

I flat out lied to her. I lied to her face. And she knew it.

Over the decades, I became quite adept at lying. After all, I lied to myself my whole life, and lied to everyone else until I started admitting my Truth to myself, my Wife, and, in march 2014, to the rest of the world.

Lies have consequences. They eat at one's soul.

I absolutely believe that even if I lost everything (and I have), I'd still have my Word. I held that as sacred.

And, on that miserable evening, I looked into the gray eyes of a woman I really cared about, who I wanted to be with... and lied.

I never forgave myself for that. I don't think she's forgiven me either. I know she didn't while we were still in college. We're still friends now, and a lifetime has passed- she may even have forgotten it.

I never did.

So, here it is- another moment where I'm an absolute a**hole. Not the last either. I became very adept at that over the years as well.

*********************************************************************
Chapter 39: Lies

Thursday, January 15, 1987 Scientists say trash-to-steam safety not automatic

“We need to talk,” Judy said.

Shit. I’d already figured out that those words meant nothing but bad was coming my way.

It had been a strange up and down kinda two days. The day before, Mark got a call from Rich. Rich said he wasn’t coming back. He’d continue paying his part of the rent, though. Now the tiny apartment was just two of us, and it seemed so much bigger. As a bonus, Rich wasn’t going to reclaim his desk until the end of the semester.

So Mark was out at the gym when Judy arrived, bundled against the cloudy cold State College dusk. I was typing homework on the Mac when she showed.

“We need to talk” she said as she removed her jacket.

“Ok. What’s wrong?”

“Can we sit down?”

Jan. 15, 87 Collegian. The "Den" was, at the time, the "greek" hangout.

I pointed to the couch and love seat but she shook her head ‘no.’ So, I pulled the chair in from the kitchen. I sat at the one in front of the desk. The kitchen light was the only light on in the place, so it was as dim as the cloudy sky outside.

Once we were settled, I asked again.

“So what’s up?”

“Did you have sex with Virginia again?” Judy asked with the cold tone I’ve heard too often.

I felt that familiar ache in my chest, like everything was crashing down and finished. Virginia and I talked after the last time and promised each other never to mention it to other people and deny it ever happened if asked. This was mainly because I still wanted Judy, but I didn’t tell Virginia that. I couldn’t lie to Judy. I mean, after all that had happened, and I was hoping that everything was going to start coming together…

You don’t have a choice. If she finds out, you’ll lose her forever.

I cannot lie to her! She’s…she’s

She’s gone if you tell the truth.

Shit. So what did I say?

“No,” I said.

I lied to her.

I looked straight into those beautiful gray eyes and lied. I felt terrible.

“Are you sure?” Judy said.

“I think I would know it if I got laid,” I said. “Why?”

“She’s been acting very strange. Sometimes she’s very happy, sometimes very difficult. The last time she acted this way was after the two of you hooked up.”

Jan 15, 87 Collegian

“Oh. Wow. I didn’t notice.”

“Are you sure you didn’t have sex with her again, Lance? I won’t be angry.”

Bullshit! I remember the last time.

“Yes, Judy, I’m sure. I’m not about to make that same mistake twice.”

“Do you think being with her was a mistake?”

“We talked about this. It hurt you. I never want to see you hurt.” I felt bad enough already.

She looked at me for a moment. She must’ve known I was full of shit.

“Would you like to come down for dinner tonight?” she asked.

“Sure! I need to finish this bit of homework first though. It’ll take me maybe twenty minutes. Wanna wait?”

“No. I’ll go ahead.” She stood and went to the closet for her coat. I watched her ass for a moment, and then followed. She turned to look at me. Her eyes were cold- cold as that night at the Lion.

“I’ll be there in about an hour I guess” I said.

She left without saying a word.

I felt absolutely horrible. I just lied to the person who meant more to me than, well more than anyone in the world. Lied to her face. I felt sick. I wanted to puke- no shit.

I felt hollow. The familiar plastic dummy hollow… no it was worse. I wasn’t plastic. I was hollow…

Hollow

Like a Skull.

Friday, December 28, 2018

Walking in a Graveyard on a Rainy Late December Day

I did this via speech to text, and did a light grammar/spelling edit, so this is unfiltered Sophie sh*t.

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

I'm walking in the graveyard behind the Valley Forge Chapel. I come here often for the quiet; for the solitude, and to say prayers over those who stones are old and so probably don't get Prayers anymore.

It's been a difficult few days. I'm almost out of my unemployment benefits, and things may go downhill fast. Even Linda, my roomie and bestie sees the handwriting on the wall, because if I can't afford to live there, that will put her out as well, and that hurts me more than words.

Yesterday, Linda drove me to Limerick to pick up my car, which was getting some service due to a recall. We drove through the town I grew up in- Spring City, and also through Royersford (which is the same town really just across the river.)

It was sunset into dusk when we passed through. I couldn't help but think about all I've seen since I left Spring City those many years ago; about the people I've met, the places I've seen, things I've done- the changes in my life. I thought about those I knew who never left this area-who settled here after high school (assuming they finished.)

Spring City (via Google maps.) The circle is where I grew up.

I can think of few worse fates than to be stuck in Spring City. Somehow, I managed to avoid that fate, but now, as my life closes in on me, I think about how many of these people are doing so much better in their life than I ever have or ever will. They have families- they have places to go; they are happy, maybe, not knowing what's out there. What's the old saying? Ignorance is bliss.

Walking here always lends me perspective. You can buy your lots long in advance here if you wish, so you would know exactly where your body will rot. and where it will lay in perpetuity. Some of the stones here are very impressive. There's one in particular that I'm looking at right now. It has an arch and in that Arch is an angel reaching down from heaven, pulling the soul of the deceased to Heaven. On that stone is the wife's name as well, but she's still alive- her husband long passed. I can't imagine her pain.

There's a lot of Gaelic crosses here as well, and a lot of very old graves next to which trees are growing- the roots feeding upon the Dead.

It's raining harder now. I'm standing in front of the graves of two different children- both infants. One has a small Christmas tree, and the other a statue of an Angel. That child was born at the end of July and died in September 4th in the same year. Again, I can't imagine the pain that those parents have endured.

It's raining even harder now. The sound of rain is always brought me peace. I don't know why. Maybe because it's the sky crying (to use the old cliche.). Maybe it's washing away the dirt in this world. Someday I will hear it no more. Someday, I'll be the Dirt washed away. I'm okay with that. I really am.

As I said, Death holds no fear to me: it's a friend.

2018 is coming to an end. I was with a friend of mine last night, and she told me that she can't wait for the year to end, because it's been one of the worst years of her life. I must say that my year has not been good at all either. I spent most of it unemployed. However, it is still not as bad as 2013. I still have no idea how I survived that year.

Heading back toward my car, and looking up hill, I see the Crypt of a Flying Tiger. There aren't any of those left on this side of the Veil. Maybe thirty feet away is the grave whose stone is shaped like a drum kit. The person beneath it died in his early twenties by suicide. I can't imagine how his parents feel, but I can't judge him. I was 24 when I first attempted suicide. I think about everything I would have missed- my daughter, my wife, some of the best people I've ever met in my life. And some of the worst decisions I've ever made.

I usually visit this kid just to say hello; to tell him that I understand, and that I hope that his pain has gone away. Much like when I visit Lisa- when I go down to Baltimore and visit the place where she left us, and I talk to her.

The year is ending and I'm in a far worse place than when it began.

God help me.

Be well.

Monday, December 24, 2018

Men of the Skull Chapter 38: Spring Schedule

After the first semester, I needed to get my act together. I thought I'd done well, but the "D" in EDPSY really crushed me. Lesson learned- go to every class.

What I didn't know was that, while I'd do better academically from then on, my "best" semester was behind me. Maybe it was the magic of discovering this new (to me) campus- or perhaps it was the amazing spirit of a Championship football season. I think it was because the excitement of meeting new people- a few women in particular. My GPA would improve, and eventually I would live in the house with my fraternity brothers, but that magic was over.

But then, I was happy to be back home- home at Penn State, after holiday break. A new semester lay ahead- a blank paper, if you will. I was content at that.

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

Chapter 38: Spring Schedule

Monday, January 12, 1987 Senator blames Reagan

I needed to much better this semester. During the new semester I’d start my first student teaching assignment. Because of that, my schedule was very strange. The student would take up a full day either on Tuesday or Thursday, so I couldn’t schedule any other classes on those days. That meant that Monday, Wednesday, and Friday would be very full days.

ENGL 100: English Language Analysis 9:05- 9:55AM. Diagramming sentences- something I’d never done
ENGL 212: Intro to Fiction Writing 10:10-11:00AM. I was looking forward to that one
EDTHP 115: Education in American Society 12:20PM-1:10PM. Oh boy! Sounded thrilling!
ENGL 444: Shakespeare 3:35PM-4:25 PM. This could be cool
SPCOM 100A: Public Speaking 4:40PM-5:30PM Required for all Penn Staters

I applied, and was turned down.

That was a lot of shit to stuff into a day, and a lot of very heavy books to haul around.

Those left my Tuesdays and Thursdays open for:

CI295 Introductory Field Experience for Teacher Preparation. This was the first student teaching course. I was going to sit around and observe a teacher at work, and then the class would meet in small groups to discuss our observations.

This also meant that either Tuesday or Thursday would be free days. Now most people would use that opportunity to catch up on homework, sleep, laundry, etc. Me? I saw it as an opportunity to have another night of partying without worrying about waking up the next morning.

Still, I had to buckle down. The last semester was my worst ever, academically. If I wanted to graduate, much less eventually have any kind of career, I had to do much better.

Collegian, January 14, 1987

Winter at Penn State meant a lot of grey days. It was as if God used up all the world’s color for the autumn and had none left for a few months until he restocked. Low dark clouds and drizzle or flurries were the norm. A sunny day was so rare that it was almost reason for a party. I’m sure it was for someone somewhere. If nothing else, the bad weather was reason enough to stay inside and do homework.

Or drink, or have sex, or…