I used to be a groupie. Well, this isn't exactly true, but I like to say it. Groupies tend to have the reputations of sleeping with band members, doing lots of drugs, and partying 'til the wee hours of the morning. As this image that this statement presents is pretty sad, irresponsible, and juvenile, my father would hate to hear me make it. "You have your masters degree. You only knew these guys for a few summers." He'd be correct on most of these accounts. Still, I take a huge amount of satisfaction in stating that I was once a rock n' roll groupie. Have you ever just been with a band? They're pretty much awake for most of the night, they usually know and play very good music, rarely judge the actions or lifestyles of others, are unusually honest, don't seem to need much to be happy, and take things at face value. Their hygiene is rather frightening, but they seem to be open to suggestions!
The "band-members" were, at the time, pretty much novices. They played at a few amateur nights and I highly doubt that they came out of the summer with any contracts, record-deals, or money, but I will always claim that my summer with them was highly successful...even if I was the lone individual to profit. As it was the first true summer which I experienced after the occurrence of my disability, one would question the previous statement, but I'd just chuckle in response. Firstly, every person attending this camp was disabled. Usually, participants had spinal chord injuries and, thus, were paralyzed. Being brain injured, I was one of the few exceptions and will always love the camp for several reasons, most importantly, because I was finally introduced to about twenty others like me, who required wheelchairs and other equipment and means of support to help us live. I am from a sparcely populated and rural state, I was not privvy to communicating with or hanging-out with anyone else who had faced a lifestyle-change in the same respect as I had. Secondly, there were about thirty other individuals at this place in Rhode Island (Shake-a-Leg). As there is definitely strength in numbers, it felt positively jubilant to find a community.
The guys to who I am pertaining were not residents, but "counselors" and assistants who earned paychecks from the management at Shake. Two of the three were amateur musicians from Gainesville, Georgia named John and Tim and the third was John's younger brother, Dave (the drummer...of course). Besides being nearly my age (twenty-two at the time), I thought they sounded good and each night they practiced, I heard countless stories about their outside lives and experiences. Touring with a band had never been something which sounded alluring to me but, to this day, I have humorous, completely unrealistic dreams of it as being a viable option to having a sane life filled with responsibilities. The realistic details of being on tour sound fairly horrendous and the image of being stuck in a van with a bunch of unwashed vampires does not sound appeal, but a LIFE with these or similar fellas sounded...really cool. Dave, John and Tim were my "boys".
As my parents had three male children after me, my first boys were, naturally, my brothers. All together, Mom gave birth to five children, the baby being a girl. In this day and age, having, caring for, and feeding five kids sounds completely daunting, bordering on insane. However, the trick is to let them teach and entertain each other. If it hadn't have been for the advent of the ball, Mom would probably still be feeling the side-effects of valium. My father is not a tennis pro. He was never on the team in high school and he went to college in southern Texas, where, I assume, competition is fierce. Still, after relocating to a small town in Eastern Iowa, quite strangely, he found that comparatively, he was very good and taught his children to pursue the game. Immediately, my folks found that a key to having a life which wasn't entirely consumed with children (and their subsequent issues) was linking them with a ball...turning them to organized sports.
So began a journey which continues to follow (or bombard) me. About ten years ago, one of my brothers' ex-girlfriends casually asked if I have ever been to a major league game. "Yeah," I responded, "when we were little, my Grandpa lived in Chicago and would fly us in every summer. He took us to a Cubs' game once." Jaffa (said brother) got animated at the memory and excitedly asked, "First Cubs game: Where'd we sit?...How many innings?...Who pitched?...Who'd they play?...What was the score?"
Of course, he knew all of the answers. I just remembered going to Wrigley Field once.
Sadly, my parents
After a few years after receiving my undergraduate degree, I registered at graduate school at the University of Illinois. After my first year, I relocated into a giant apartment complex, quickly discovering that I had accidentally become neighbors with the school's basketball team. More boys. Honestly, I my relationship with this set was completely casual and I pretty much ignored them..never going to a game or watching them practice.
At this time in my life, I am enrolled for class in a studio called Hot House Yoga. As my disability has deleted much of my balance, getting into and holding many of of the usual yogic positions and holding many of of the positions is an impossibility. Thus, on an almost daily basis, I take an hour-long class of pilates, as it primarily takes place on the floor. Occasionally though, I have the time adequate to participate in yoga and pilates. Both types of exercise are GOOD and each takes place in an over-heated room with experienced instructors who don't seem to mind that I often reform certain movements into ones which procedures which I am able to hold and maintain. After time, I discovered that many of the guys in my yoga class were members of the University of Iowa football team and since my brother makes his living competing in the same sport, we have things to discuss and often swap stories about various players. At this time, I live in a state which cannot financially support professional sports. Thus, much attention is paid to university athletics and those involved and a few friends and I got-together and watched a few football games last fall. Thus, I am a bit aware of the names some of the players (okay...only one) and have a bit of interest in their lives.
As I began this document by stating that I have three brothers, I really owe my readers a better description of them. Hopefully, painting a clearer picture of "the boys" will more clearly demonstrate the importance they have in my life. Jaffa, my oldest brother, is thirty-seven, lives in Denver, is an amazingly thoughtful father and husband, and is, basically, the
In addition to these groups of boys in my life, my three younger brothers have a truly awesome amount of friends. While growing up, the toilet seat was rarely down and the phrase, "Boys! No balls in the house!" will always stand out in my memory.Tennis, basketball, football and golf were favorite endeavors in our household. Sadly enough, if I close my eyes, what immediately pops-up is the image of the oldest of my brothers working on his form and I learned early on that their agendas are unfathomably diverse from anything which I can understand.
However, my disability gave me an appreciation for those who were born with a Y chromosome. Often, at this time in my life, bad public situation don't need a level of deep understanding, lots of questions, or a level of much understanding. Resolutions have a much more urgent sense when a disability like mine joins the party. Higher understanding and a sense of tolerance are nice thoughts, but if there was a fire, explaining the exact reason to take a certain course of action versus an alternative plan becomes obtuse bordering on stupid, but I've found that women have deep questions and this fact may give much more skill in other areas and is something in which I take lots of pride.
Something in which I will always take tons of pride is the fact that I have my bachelors degree from Wellesley College...a womens' college. The scenery of its campus is legendary with all of its stunning beauty and charm. More importantly, the level of academics is beyond excellent. Each of my teachers at Wellesley achieved their doctorate and many of my classmates at that college spent most of their high school careers striving to be accepted. Achieving a degree from that institution left little doubt in my mind that a masters degree was achievable and with that completed, my ego has a small chance of being slighted. When one finds difficulty in walking, talking, or doing the smallest task, nothing can beat having a healthy ego...nothing.
Conversely, possessing three brothers
