I’ve been behind the desk at public and academic libraries since high school. Currently, I’m a sub for a county library system filling in for librarians, clerks and library assistants. I find the job description to be a mix of social worker, security guard and bartender. In between trying not to get trampled upon opening the doors in the morning and trying to get patrons out the doors usually after closing, I can be heard saying some of the following things in no particular order:
Yes, these computers will allow you to check your Facebook page…no your dog can’t wait for you in the bathroom… the career books are this way…the citizenship books are over here…you can borrow 100 books, 100 magazines, 10 DVD’s, 10 music CD’s, 10 books on CD and 10 VHS, yes for free …printing from the computer is $.10 a page…yes, we have a copy machine and yes I have $.45, but no I won’t lend it to you...all 146 copies of the Help are checked out and 288 people are waiting, would you like to be number 289?...have you used the Link + database? It gives you access to an additional 50 public and academic library systems...yes, for free…you can’t eat that in here… no more than two people to a computer...yes, Steven King writes a lot of books…no, we don’t have a fax machine…you can stay here all day and access the Internet on your laptop, yes for free.
In addition to stopping kids from running and adults from ranting on cell phones, I and the other desk workers are holding down the front lines at the libraries of 2011, or like a friend of mine calls them - the ‘braries of 2011. While Austen, Dickens and Tolstoy are still on the shelf, the CD’s and DVD’s and their silly plastic cases get a lot more play and desks of computers fill in the spaces and line the walls. The library system I work for is also sporting self registration, self check-in, self check-out, book vending machines, RFID tags, Wi-Fi, QR codes and apps - stuff that makes CD’s and DVD’s sound so last century.
And who’s in the ‘brary these days? Everybody. From the babies in their urban assault strollers and the old timer asking for the magnifying glass to the woman studying for the civil service exam, the teenager checking out 25 graphic novels and the well dressed middle aged men and women looking for books on resumes, cover letters and starting a new career. It’s a place where kids congregate to inhale edible and drinkable sugar and homeless and social outcasts know the staff by name and the code to the bathroom by heart.
In the episode called “the Library,” Jerry Seinfeld likened the library to the friend who lends you his toys if you would just be his friend. “That's what the library is. A government funded pathetic friend. And that's why everybody kind of bullies the library.”
While most people might not think of the library as tough, someone recently shot a library that I work in and I’m glad to tell you - the library won. The bullet did poke a hole in a window and cracked a panel of the venetian blinds but as it continued on its way it struck a book and was rejected by that book onto a nearby shelf. The library wasn’t open when it was shot. In fact it was a few days before the library staff even noticed the library had been shot. The book is dented and a few pages are ripped but it will continue to circulate and the library is still open, evidence that books and the places that hold them are as tough as the world around them.
Seinfeld does have a point. Libraries do want you to friend them, these days on Facebook, but the point is lost on the fact that in 2011, the library is still straight giving things away. In addition to the materials that are available through the various databases, there are tickets to local museums, zoos and theatres to be printed for - you guessed it - free.
It isn’t all good in the library these days. Privatization is moving in, and bean counters are trying to wrestle away more and more power from community libraries. I’m just a grunt on the front lines and I can’t speak to what is going on in the upper levels, but I can tell you the ‘braries are full of people these days. The American Library Association website features statistics regarding library usage, questions answered by reference librarians yearly and studies conducted by various library systems detailing how money spent on libraries is returned to the community but of all the statistics, the one I like sharing is that there are more libraries in the United States than Starbucks and more than McDonald’s.
So I guess what I’m trying to say is get down to your local ‘brary and get your free stuff. Until the next time here’s a few more lines from the ‘brary archive:
Sir, you can’t have that knife in here...if we have books that will help you break up with your boyfriend and stay broken up, they would be here...no, the library is not selling your personal information to the Chinese...I don’t know what the password to your yahoo account is...the books on how to get meth out of your system by Friday are - let me get back to you on that...the library is now closed! No, you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
expecting a baby: when the expectations have been reset
I’m not sure what chapter number this is in the story of my life but I know what the chapter is called – Expecting a Baby. It started last April when my wife peed on a stick and told me what the stick did. It changed colors apparently. I didn’t actually see the stick, but the color signaled in a new era in our lives. Although this chapter has been happy and exciting for us, the previous chapter was just the opposite. That chapter was called – We Were Expecting a Baby; and Then We Learned What an Ectopic Pregnancy Is. That chapter sucked. It was long and sad and depressing, but we lived and experienced every line and paragraph right to the final page. The chapter went something like this.
It started in the home we had been living in for seven years in El Cerrito, California on a hillside with a view of the San Francisco Bay. I’ll never forget the beautiful look my wife gave me and the hug we shared while our dogs tried to get in on our moment by barking and jumping around us like they do. I checked out “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” and a number of other thick books filled with hundreds of instructions and recommendations. We told those closest to us and were feeling very happy.
We had been planning and were actively trying to get pregnant so the home pregnancy test was taken early on. My wife scheduled an appointment and our relationship with Kaiser of Oakland began. The chapter was moving right along until a rainy Wednesday afternoon when I was on my lunch break and on my way to try a bowl of phở at a Vietnamese restaurant I had never been to. My wife had just walked out of her second doctor visit and called to tell me something was wrong. The doctor was concerned about some hormone numbers that were not at the level they should have been and did not see the embryonic sac when he performed an ultrasound. This did not immediately end our hopes of having a baby, but it did start a long and difficult few months of having to cope with an unsuccessful pregnancy.
We heard the term ectopic pregnancy for the first time and learned that it happens when a fertilized egg gets stuck on its way to the uterus. There are many causes including scarred and damaged fallopian tubes however in our case we never received anything more than speculation as to what the cause was. Inflammation or infections, fertility problems and unusually shaped fallopian tubes all contribute to ectopic pregnancies.
The numbers the doctor was concerned about were for the pregnancy hormone human chorionic gonadotropin (HCG). The levels registered much lower than they were supposed to. Once the fertilized egg implants, the developing placenta begins releasing HCG into the blood. If the pregnancy is ectopic, the levels are released at a much lower rate.
We finally received the bad news by way of a phone call. My wife had gone in for another blood test and while the numbers were up, they were not nearly close to where they should have been. I remember pacing around the kitchen and living room as she talked to the doctor feeling the stress I had only known up to that point while watching one of my teams battle for a victory. But the bottom of the ninth, down by two and two on had nothing on this. 4th and 9 with the clock ticking down couldn’t compare to the stress I was feeling while trying to read my wife’s face and voice. After ending the phone call she told me the doctor recommended an immediate injection to stop the pregnancy.
It was a devastating moment for us, as was the experience of taking her to the hospital and watching her go into a room where she would start the process of ending the pregnancy. She came out of the room in tears, and I had to call on every ounce of strength not to fall to pieces with her. Someone had to keep it together and not just at that moment or for the drive home. I was going to have to encourage her, speak about better times to come and happier chapters and be a cheerleader for the both of us. Over the next few weeks, my wife received two injections and took over thirty blood tests. She was in the lab so often, the staff got to know her and what she was going through.
Turns out ectopic pregnancies happen quite a bit but like other depressing aspects of life, it is not a topic of conversation at parties. It only comes out when someone feels your pain and decides to talk about their experience. Thanks to all of you who opened up and told us your stories. I’m sure at some point I’ll have that conversation from the other side, and I hope I can be as comforting and encouraging as you all were to us.
Helen and I were stuck in a painful place. We wanted to be excited about trying again. We wanted to be happy for our friends when they told us they were pregnant, and we were, but it was hard. The failure of the pregnancy felt like personal failures. Why didn’t it work for us? Why were we going through such a painful period when we were expecting to be so happy and excited? On top of the injections and tests, we were told there was a chance of it happening again. Helen handed the stack of pregnancy books to me and told me to take them back to the library.
We spent the winter months looking and feeling like the Bay Area – grey and dreary. We felt the sting of pain on the wound that wouldn’t heal, poked by scenes of newborns and their families sharing special moments on television and all around us. I shook off the frown on my heart and smiled during story time at the library where I work. We were battered but we were not beaten. We were not about to let a sad chapter alter our stories. We have strong families; people that taught us through their actions how to live in a world that gives and takes at a whim. While the chapter had not turned out like we had hoped, we knew there would be others and that the bad chapters make the good ones all that better.
If there’s a lesson to be learned, I guess it’s in how quickly fortunes can change. We went from a moment in which we were prepared for all the magic and wonders that accompany a new baby to an unexpected detour. We found ourselves at the bottom of the emotional spectrum. It’s truly a rollercoaster ride, this life, and it’s on the peaks when we look down and in the valleys when we look up, that we see all the ground we’ve covered and the long road ahead. It’s the highs and lows that burn into our memories and become the scenes of our lives. My wife and I moved on with our stories because that’s what we do. We are not the giving up type. It simply isn’t in our genes.
Back to the current chapter – we are now living in a house in San Pablo, California on a quiet cul de sac. We were very hesitant about sharing the news that we were pregnant again. It had been such a happy moment when we told our parents the first time, and it was hard to tell them the pregnancy had not worked. We felt a tempered happiness. We were cautious and anxious, not happy and excited like we were the first time. We reached the second and then the third month and slowly started to tell those closest to us. We recently returned from Los Angeles where our families threw us a wonderful baby shower. It was a special weekend for us. My cousin got married on that Saturday and she and her husband and the rest of our families were on hand for the shower the next day.
We’ve taken preparing for childbirth, breastfeeding, new born classes and a tour of the labor and delivery rooms. Our second bedroom is now a nursery fully equipped with a crib and a dresser, and our first box of diapers is in the garage along with a bunch of other stuff that I haven’t figured out how to assemble yet. It has been a challenging year, but it has also been memorable. It will be a chapter we won’t ever forget, not so much for the height of excitement or the depth of sadness but because it was a year in which we faced great adversity and found we had the strength to continue with our stories.
We are expecting a boy in mid-January and we are very excited, but we know this chapter is not yet finished. There are still a few pages left, and we can’t skip to the end to read the final lines so I hope to bring you all another chapter soon, one that will introduce a new character, a character that still does not have a name. And if it does not go as planned, you heard it here first – we’ll go right back to it, because that’s what we do.
My wife found the forum on this page helpful. http://www.ectopicpregnancyfoundation.org/forums/
It started in the home we had been living in for seven years in El Cerrito, California on a hillside with a view of the San Francisco Bay. I’ll never forget the beautiful look my wife gave me and the hug we shared while our dogs tried to get in on our moment by barking and jumping around us like they do. I checked out “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” and a number of other thick books filled with hundreds of instructions and recommendations. We told those closest to us and were feeling very happy.
We had been planning and were actively trying to get pregnant so the home pregnancy test was taken early on. My wife scheduled an appointment and our relationship with Kaiser of Oakland began. The chapter was moving right along until a rainy Wednesday afternoon when I was on my lunch break and on my way to try a bowl of phở at a Vietnamese restaurant I had never been to. My wife had just walked out of her second doctor visit and called to tell me something was wrong. The doctor was concerned about some hormone numbers that were not at the level they should have been and did not see the embryonic sac when he performed an ultrasound. This did not immediately end our hopes of having a baby, but it did start a long and difficult few months of having to cope with an unsuccessful pregnancy.
We heard the term ectopic pregnancy for the first time and learned that it happens when a fertilized egg gets stuck on its way to the uterus. There are many causes including scarred and damaged fallopian tubes however in our case we never received anything more than speculation as to what the cause was. Inflammation or infections, fertility problems and unusually shaped fallopian tubes all contribute to ectopic pregnancies.
The numbers the doctor was concerned about were for the pregnancy hormone human chorionic gonadotropin (HCG). The levels registered much lower than they were supposed to. Once the fertilized egg implants, the developing placenta begins releasing HCG into the blood. If the pregnancy is ectopic, the levels are released at a much lower rate.
We finally received the bad news by way of a phone call. My wife had gone in for another blood test and while the numbers were up, they were not nearly close to where they should have been. I remember pacing around the kitchen and living room as she talked to the doctor feeling the stress I had only known up to that point while watching one of my teams battle for a victory. But the bottom of the ninth, down by two and two on had nothing on this. 4th and 9 with the clock ticking down couldn’t compare to the stress I was feeling while trying to read my wife’s face and voice. After ending the phone call she told me the doctor recommended an immediate injection to stop the pregnancy.
It was a devastating moment for us, as was the experience of taking her to the hospital and watching her go into a room where she would start the process of ending the pregnancy. She came out of the room in tears, and I had to call on every ounce of strength not to fall to pieces with her. Someone had to keep it together and not just at that moment or for the drive home. I was going to have to encourage her, speak about better times to come and happier chapters and be a cheerleader for the both of us. Over the next few weeks, my wife received two injections and took over thirty blood tests. She was in the lab so often, the staff got to know her and what she was going through.
Turns out ectopic pregnancies happen quite a bit but like other depressing aspects of life, it is not a topic of conversation at parties. It only comes out when someone feels your pain and decides to talk about their experience. Thanks to all of you who opened up and told us your stories. I’m sure at some point I’ll have that conversation from the other side, and I hope I can be as comforting and encouraging as you all were to us.
Helen and I were stuck in a painful place. We wanted to be excited about trying again. We wanted to be happy for our friends when they told us they were pregnant, and we were, but it was hard. The failure of the pregnancy felt like personal failures. Why didn’t it work for us? Why were we going through such a painful period when we were expecting to be so happy and excited? On top of the injections and tests, we were told there was a chance of it happening again. Helen handed the stack of pregnancy books to me and told me to take them back to the library.
We spent the winter months looking and feeling like the Bay Area – grey and dreary. We felt the sting of pain on the wound that wouldn’t heal, poked by scenes of newborns and their families sharing special moments on television and all around us. I shook off the frown on my heart and smiled during story time at the library where I work. We were battered but we were not beaten. We were not about to let a sad chapter alter our stories. We have strong families; people that taught us through their actions how to live in a world that gives and takes at a whim. While the chapter had not turned out like we had hoped, we knew there would be others and that the bad chapters make the good ones all that better.
If there’s a lesson to be learned, I guess it’s in how quickly fortunes can change. We went from a moment in which we were prepared for all the magic and wonders that accompany a new baby to an unexpected detour. We found ourselves at the bottom of the emotional spectrum. It’s truly a rollercoaster ride, this life, and it’s on the peaks when we look down and in the valleys when we look up, that we see all the ground we’ve covered and the long road ahead. It’s the highs and lows that burn into our memories and become the scenes of our lives. My wife and I moved on with our stories because that’s what we do. We are not the giving up type. It simply isn’t in our genes.
Back to the current chapter – we are now living in a house in San Pablo, California on a quiet cul de sac. We were very hesitant about sharing the news that we were pregnant again. It had been such a happy moment when we told our parents the first time, and it was hard to tell them the pregnancy had not worked. We felt a tempered happiness. We were cautious and anxious, not happy and excited like we were the first time. We reached the second and then the third month and slowly started to tell those closest to us. We recently returned from Los Angeles where our families threw us a wonderful baby shower. It was a special weekend for us. My cousin got married on that Saturday and she and her husband and the rest of our families were on hand for the shower the next day.
We’ve taken preparing for childbirth, breastfeeding, new born classes and a tour of the labor and delivery rooms. Our second bedroom is now a nursery fully equipped with a crib and a dresser, and our first box of diapers is in the garage along with a bunch of other stuff that I haven’t figured out how to assemble yet. It has been a challenging year, but it has also been memorable. It will be a chapter we won’t ever forget, not so much for the height of excitement or the depth of sadness but because it was a year in which we faced great adversity and found we had the strength to continue with our stories.
We are expecting a boy in mid-January and we are very excited, but we know this chapter is not yet finished. There are still a few pages left, and we can’t skip to the end to read the final lines so I hope to bring you all another chapter soon, one that will introduce a new character, a character that still does not have a name. And if it does not go as planned, you heard it here first – we’ll go right back to it, because that’s what we do.
My wife found the forum on this page helpful. http://www.ectopicpregnancyfoundation.org/forums/
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Volunteering – The New Philanthropy
Since 2005 I’ve been a volunteer driver for the Meals On Wheels program in and around Berkeley, California. I had no idea what kind of impact I could have on people’s lives on a weekly basis when I first started, and since meeting and talking to the dozens of elderly and disabled men and women on my routes, I can’t imagine a time when I wouldn’t be a volunteer in some way or another.
I was once asked by Mrs. C, who lived in a small house on a beautifully tree lined street just North of the Berkeley campus, to hang a picture on her wall. The nail was already in place, and I hung the wire over it and adjusted the picture so it was straight. On my way out, I noticed a framed Life Magazine cover. I asked her about it, and she told me it was of her in the late 1930’s. She used to live in the Los Feliz area of Los Angeles, and when I told her I grew up not too far away from there, her face lit up and we spent the next few minutes talking about the area she grew up in and the city she loved so much. She moved to Berkeley in the mid-80’s and complained to me every week about the cold. I can still see her wrapped in a blanket and wearing a wool hat in the middle of summer.
I learned to be patient when knocking because Mr. H is hard of hearing and Mrs. G has bad knees. I know Mrs. R will greet me with a “God bless you,” Mrs. W will ask me where I’ve been because she’s hungry, and when I ask Mrs. J how she is, she’ll respond with “just waiting on my meals on wheels.”
Back in 2006, I used to deliver to a Mr. W on the first floor of an apartment building in North Berkeley. Each day he opened the door with a beaming smile, his hands out in front of him ready to receive his food. Mr. W was an elderly black man, blind, and about as happy as anyone I’ve ever met. His forehead showed no wrinkles of fear or concern, his eyes wide and glazed as they wandered, his soul rich with a life and experience I had no knowledge of, but one I’m sure could fill a Dostoevsky size book and tell of Hemingway like stories. Each day, after placing the food on his hands, Mr. W would ask me in for a game of chess. I would tell him I had other meals to deliver, and he would understand. He always told me to come by another day when I had more time. I said I would, but never did. I don’t have many regrets when I consider my years with Meals On Wheels, but not accepting the invitation to a game of chess, and I’m sure what would have been an interesting conversation, is definitely one I’ll never forgive myself for.
Volunteer based organizations are feeling the economic crunch along with everybody else, and they aren’t expecting any bail-outs. With the decline in staff and financial assistance, organizations around the country are looking for new methods of raising the necessary funds.
This last October 17th, I rode my bike in the first annual Wheels for Meals fundraiser for the Alameda County Meals On Wheels program along with my wife and a friend. It was a perfect day for a ride, the cool morning giving way to a warm afternoon in Livermore, California. Over 400 riders registered for the event, and it was a great opportunity to donate to the program while getting some fresh air and exercise on a beautiful fall Saturday.
There are hundreds of rides, runs, marathons and half marathons across the country raising funds for programs like Meals On Wheels and for vital research into cures for diseases like diabetes (Tour de Cure), lymphoma and leukemia (America’s Most Beautiful Ride) and AIDS (Aids Life Cycle – A 7 day ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles), many of which offer training and fitness advice.
The decision to undertake a challenge like riding a century (100 miles) or running a marathon (26 miles) can be extremely rewarding. The hours of training and the sacrifice of time, money and energy seem daunting at first, but pale in comparison to the satisfaction of crossing the finish line knowing you’ve done something not only for the for yourself but for a greater cause.
Want to help out where help is desperately needed? Have some time to give, but not the money? Maybe you have a few extra dollars, but not a minute to spare. Either way, volunteering or donating to an organization is a great way to participate in the age old, and sometimes lost art, of helping someone in need.
Consider volunteering or taking part in a run or ride and become a new age philanthropist. In an era when we rely heavily on donations for what many consider basic necessities, volunteers are the new foot soldiers in an army determined to keep alive the good will behind many organizations that make it their business to help others.
Spending a little time each week volunteering has become such a part of my routine, I don’t think of it as anything more than what I do on Tuesday mornings between 10:30 and 12:00. I may never know what it feels like to write a big check for charity, but I know what it feels like to receive a genuine and heartfelt “thank you” from someone who truly means it. I hope you too can feel that satisfaction and accept the challenge of becoming part of the new generation of philanthropists. Meanwhile, I’ll be looking out for the next Mr. W, and this time you can be sure, I won’t pass up that game of chess.
To find an organization to donate to or volunteer with, visit:
www.volunteermatch.org
http://serve.gov/
http://www.allforgood.org/
http://www.mtv.com/serve/
http://www.truist.com/
http://socialactions.com/
To find a ride or run visit:
http://www.teamintraining.org.
http://www.bikethewest.com/
http://tour.diabetes.org/site/PageServer?pagename=TC_homepage
http://www.aidslifecycle.org/
I was once asked by Mrs. C, who lived in a small house on a beautifully tree lined street just North of the Berkeley campus, to hang a picture on her wall. The nail was already in place, and I hung the wire over it and adjusted the picture so it was straight. On my way out, I noticed a framed Life Magazine cover. I asked her about it, and she told me it was of her in the late 1930’s. She used to live in the Los Feliz area of Los Angeles, and when I told her I grew up not too far away from there, her face lit up and we spent the next few minutes talking about the area she grew up in and the city she loved so much. She moved to Berkeley in the mid-80’s and complained to me every week about the cold. I can still see her wrapped in a blanket and wearing a wool hat in the middle of summer.
I learned to be patient when knocking because Mr. H is hard of hearing and Mrs. G has bad knees. I know Mrs. R will greet me with a “God bless you,” Mrs. W will ask me where I’ve been because she’s hungry, and when I ask Mrs. J how she is, she’ll respond with “just waiting on my meals on wheels.”
Back in 2006, I used to deliver to a Mr. W on the first floor of an apartment building in North Berkeley. Each day he opened the door with a beaming smile, his hands out in front of him ready to receive his food. Mr. W was an elderly black man, blind, and about as happy as anyone I’ve ever met. His forehead showed no wrinkles of fear or concern, his eyes wide and glazed as they wandered, his soul rich with a life and experience I had no knowledge of, but one I’m sure could fill a Dostoevsky size book and tell of Hemingway like stories. Each day, after placing the food on his hands, Mr. W would ask me in for a game of chess. I would tell him I had other meals to deliver, and he would understand. He always told me to come by another day when I had more time. I said I would, but never did. I don’t have many regrets when I consider my years with Meals On Wheels, but not accepting the invitation to a game of chess, and I’m sure what would have been an interesting conversation, is definitely one I’ll never forgive myself for.
Volunteer based organizations are feeling the economic crunch along with everybody else, and they aren’t expecting any bail-outs. With the decline in staff and financial assistance, organizations around the country are looking for new methods of raising the necessary funds.
This last October 17th, I rode my bike in the first annual Wheels for Meals fundraiser for the Alameda County Meals On Wheels program along with my wife and a friend. It was a perfect day for a ride, the cool morning giving way to a warm afternoon in Livermore, California. Over 400 riders registered for the event, and it was a great opportunity to donate to the program while getting some fresh air and exercise on a beautiful fall Saturday.
There are hundreds of rides, runs, marathons and half marathons across the country raising funds for programs like Meals On Wheels and for vital research into cures for diseases like diabetes (Tour de Cure), lymphoma and leukemia (America’s Most Beautiful Ride) and AIDS (Aids Life Cycle – A 7 day ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles), many of which offer training and fitness advice.
The decision to undertake a challenge like riding a century (100 miles) or running a marathon (26 miles) can be extremely rewarding. The hours of training and the sacrifice of time, money and energy seem daunting at first, but pale in comparison to the satisfaction of crossing the finish line knowing you’ve done something not only for the for yourself but for a greater cause.
Want to help out where help is desperately needed? Have some time to give, but not the money? Maybe you have a few extra dollars, but not a minute to spare. Either way, volunteering or donating to an organization is a great way to participate in the age old, and sometimes lost art, of helping someone in need.
Consider volunteering or taking part in a run or ride and become a new age philanthropist. In an era when we rely heavily on donations for what many consider basic necessities, volunteers are the new foot soldiers in an army determined to keep alive the good will behind many organizations that make it their business to help others.
Spending a little time each week volunteering has become such a part of my routine, I don’t think of it as anything more than what I do on Tuesday mornings between 10:30 and 12:00. I may never know what it feels like to write a big check for charity, but I know what it feels like to receive a genuine and heartfelt “thank you” from someone who truly means it. I hope you too can feel that satisfaction and accept the challenge of becoming part of the new generation of philanthropists. Meanwhile, I’ll be looking out for the next Mr. W, and this time you can be sure, I won’t pass up that game of chess.
To find an organization to donate to or volunteer with, visit:
www.volunteermatch.org
http://serve.gov/
http://www.allforgood.org/
http://www.mtv.com/serve/
http://www.truist.com/
http://socialactions.com/
To find a ride or run visit:
http://www.teamintraining.org.
http://www.bikethewest.com/
http://tour.diabetes.org/site/PageServer?pagename=TC_homepage
http://www.aidslifecycle.org/
Friday, October 16, 2009
Me, U.S.C. and Notre Dame – 1986-2009
As a kid, I waited with great anticipation for Christmas morning and my birthday, and the days my family went to Disneyland. They were the special days that I looked forward to, the big days the rest of the 365 simply got in the way of. In 1986, I was 12 and my life consisted of elementary school, Star Wars figures and break dancing pants, and if I was good, the Cosby Show once a week. Then on November 29, 1986, I watched as Notre Dame kicked a field goal with 2 seconds left to beat U.S.C., and fall Saturdays would never be the same for me. I felt something new that day. It wasn’t the pain I felt when I crashed my bike and scraped my arm. It wasn’t like when the bell rang and I had to freeze but I had to pee so I did, and well you know, kids can be cruel. No, it wasn’t even like being hit in the shins with a baseball bat. The pain was much, much worse.
I knew about college football, watched games with my dad and tried not to get in his way when he stormed out of the TV room. He’s a U.S.C. alum and played in the band during the “Glory Days,” like he used to say. I liked the U.S.C. uniforms and that band that looked like it was always having so much fun. Over the next few years my passion for college football and the Trojans grew, and I found new days to look forward to every year. The U.S.C. - U.C.L.A. game was big, especially living in
After watching U.S.C. lose in 1986 by 2 points, I watched them lose by 11 in 1987. In 1988, U.S.C. and Notre Dame were undefeated and ranked #1 and #2. It was before the internet, and I read every article in the L.A. Times a dozen times. I was sick that Saturday (and so was U.S.C.’s quarterback Rodney Peete,) and we couldn’t go to the game, but I’ll never forget watching Tony Rice run the option up and down the field as Notre Dame went on to win 27-10.
I remember thinking that God could not allow me to feel that pain again, that I had paid in tears and anguish for three years, and U.S.C. would surely prevail in 1989. But what I failed to realize, even though my dad would often remind me, is that God was on Notre Dame’s side, and Touchdown Jesus was more than just a mural. The ball bounced different for the Irish, and if it was super natural assistance I was looking for, I needed to find a new religion. Consequentially, 1989 was one of the worst losses I can remember. That year was especially painful because I had been arguing with some friends at school who were big Notre Dame fans. The following Monday morning as I sat in homeroom, I could hear them chanting my name from down the hall. Needless to say, they let me have it. It was a close game. Todd Marinovich threw an interception in the end zone at the end of the first half, and U.S.C. came up short as they tried unsuccessfully to score late in the 4th quarter. That night, some Notre Dame fans who were friends of the family stopped in front of our house and honked and shouted for a few minutes. I was in bed, the house was dark, and the pain was unbearable.
In 1990 U.S.C. lost 10-6. I remember the long walk back to the car from the Coliseum, and that it was raining, or was it just the tears running down my face? In 1991 U.S.C. lost 20-24 and thus ended my junior high and high school years – 1986-1991; U.S.C. 0 – Notre Dame 6.
Things were different in college. I was on my own, living in the dorms with co-ed bathrooms and having the time of my life. But some things didn’t change; U.S.C. 23 – Notre Dame 31. In 1993, U.S.C. lost again 13-31, and in 1994, Keyshawn Johnson and Coach John Robinson led the Trojans to South Bend with S.C.’s best chance in years to beat the Irish. But late in the first half U.S.C. got stopped at the goal line and the result was a 17-17 tie. You would think I was happy U.S.C. didn’t lose to Notre Dame, but expectations were high that year for U.S.C. with Keyshawn on the cover of Sports Illustrated, and the pain didn’t go away. In 1995 U.S.C. got to the Rose Bowl for the first time since 1989, but they lost to Notre Dame that year, 10-38.
In 1996 the madness finally ended as U.S.C. needed the newly introduced over time to beat the Irish. I fell back in my chair and let out a sigh more than a decade in the making. I was 22 years old. From 1997 -2001 U.S.C. and Notre Dame traded punches until a wet November evening in 2002 when Carson Palmer and U.S.C. unleashed years of built up angst and beat the Irish 44-13.
U.S.C. beat Notre Dame by 31 points from 2002-2004, and in 2005 the two teams provided us with one of the greatest games in the history of college football. I remember watching in silence as U.S.C. faced a desperation 4th and 9 with time running out, and I refused to let out any emotions as Dwayne Jarrett snatched a pass from between the arms of a Notre Dame defender and ran down the field. I remained stone faced as Matt Leinart fumbled the ball out of bounds, and it was only when Matty fell into the end zone and the referee’s arms went into the air that I threw my hands up and screamed like I was 12 again and riding Space Mountain. In 2006, U.S.C. won 44-24, and in 2007 the Trojans handed Notre Dame their worst defeat in the rivalry, 38-0. Last year U.S.C. continued to punish the Irish winning 38-3.
I should feel vindicated. The lopsided victories, National Championships and Heisman Trophies should be enough to balance out the years of losing, but as old wounds healed, new ones emerged. The 2005 game was exciting as Notre Dame tried to break the losing streak to U.S.C. and the Trojans were in the middle of a championship run, but lost in the hype of the Bush-push and the N.B.C. jingle was Desmond Reed. In 2004, Reed was a stand-out special teams player who returned kick-off’s, punts and even forced a fumble while rushing the punter. He was a back-up running back that looked as exciting as any player I’d ever seen at U.S.C.
In 2005, while fielding a punt, Desmond Reed’s cleat got tangled in the grass at Notre Dame Stadium, and he sustained an injury that not only derailed his career, it left him with lingering nerve damage. Reed does not blame Notre Dame or Coach Weiss, and much has been written about the length of the grass that day and the motivation behind why it was so long. All I have to say is the grass was long that day, and now Desmond Reed has to wear a brace when he runs. I haven’t forgotten, and I don’t think the Trojans have either.
This Saturday U.S.C. and Notre Dame will face off for the 81st time. Writing about my experience with the rivalry stirs up many emotions. I have great memories of watching the games, wins and losses. As sports fans, we spend money on tickets and jerseys, time sitting in the rain through media time outs, and energy as we ride the roller coaster of the game for four quarters. When our teams are winning, the sun shines brighter and the beer tastes better, but for those great moments of ecstasy, we pay with last second losses and sometimes a decade or more of disappointment.
While Christmas day and my birthday have lost their luster over the years, I know I will have some trouble falling asleep tonight, and I’ll probably wake up early tomorrow. I’ll enjoy the moment right before kick-off as the two teams line up, the dark blue jerseys of Notre Dame and the bold cardinal helmets of U.S.C. I’ll look for a glimpse of Marcus Allen on the sideline and Dr. Bartner as he leads the Spirit of Troy. I’m even looking forward to seeing that silly little leprechaun. I’ll savor the images and the sounds regardless of the outcome, knowing I’m lucky to have 23 years of memories, good and bad, and I’ll go to sleep Saturday night with a smile and already anticipating next year when we get to do it all over again.
Looking back on my 23 years of watching the U.S.C.-Notre Dame game, I don’t regret the pain, the tears or the agony. I relish the moments of glory and triumph. I’ll watch this Saturday with the emotion of a 12 year old combined with the experience of more than two decades of watching the storied rivalry. Thanks dad for introducing me to college football, thanks Rodney Peete and Johnnie Morton, Junior Seau, Tony Rice and Rocket Ismael. Thanks Coach Robinson, Coach Tollner, Coach Smith, Coach Holtz and Coach Carroll. Thanks Matty and Reggie and thanks Desmond.
Fight On and Beat the Irish!
Monday, May 21, 2007
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