Hi, Jack!!

I've decided to write another blog a little sooner than I expected. This is mostly about an observation I made/make whenever people see Jack.

"Hi, Jack! Hi! How are you? Hi, Jack. Hi, Jack! You're so cute. Hi, Jack!"

This is about the extent of people's vocabularies whenever they're talking to Jack. I admit, I'm guilty of doing this too. I just finally thought about how ridiculous it really is. As I observed Lindy talking to her family on Skype, every single one of her family members (well, all 4 of them) took turns saying the "Hi, Jack!" line. You can't help but wonder where Jill went, or whether there's an actual hijacking in progress. Regardless, I thought about how often Lindy and I do the same thing, and I started to laugh about it. Really, I see this kid every day, how many times do I really need to say "hi" to him? Imagine doing that at work. "How's it going Jane? Hi, Jane! You're so cute, Jane. Look at your fat little cheeks, Jane!" Repeat that line a few more times and I'm sure some kind of harassment suit would be in order.

With that said, I'm sure people will continue to do that until Jack finally responds with a "Hi" of his own. In the mean time, I will continue to say "hi" to the little guy every 5 or so minutes. I may say "hey" just to mix it up a little.

A Jump Start

So I guess it's been a while since I've written a blog. I don't even remember what I wrote on the last one. Although, I think I mentioned I was going to update you guys about Lindy's pregnancy. So I'll start with that...

Lindy had the baby.

That was easy. I will now rededicate this blog to my brand-spankin-new-one-month-old-little-boy-Jack. At the rate I write blogs, however, you may be getting a highschool graduation announcement before I write any kind of update. But let me regress back to the beginning:

The Birth.

When Lindy started feeling contractions, it was a very exciting moment. We did all we could to make sure she started labor that very day. We tried many scientifically proven methods...from the internet...to get that baby out. My favorite method was eating spicy food. Lindy hates spicy food, but I convinced her to go to Wendy's to get a spicy chicken sandwich. I never admitted this until now, but I secretly wanted her to just take a couple bites and say, "this is too spicy! you eat it!" Unfortunately, she only left me with one bite. It didn't even have any chicken in it. Don't judge me. I've eaten fast food about 5 times in 5 years. Guys have cravings too. Anyway, eventually she was in active labor. (P.S. I think the spicy chicken only gave her heartburn.)

Whoever said/says that the birth of a baby is a beautiful thing, has never seen a birth of a baby. It is absolutely NOTHING remotely close to being beautiful. AFTER the birth, perhaps, but certainly not during. There were fluids here, there, on the top, bottom, left and right. Lindy's face turned apple red with every push she made. My hand swelled up to the size of a grapefruit as she gave me a death grip. I guess I can't complain since she was pushing an impossibly large baby. Although, I do have delicate hands. Just saying.

When our boy (Jack Thomas Martin) came out on November 4, 2010, I thought "That's my boy!!! What in the world is all over him???" My gag reflex went away in about 2 seconds. It was followed by disbelief, joy, awe, and more disbelief. I just couldn't believe that Lindy and I had become parents. As I watched the nurses clean up our little boy, I couldn't get a stupid grin off my face. Yes, I cried too. It was the strangest feeling. You know how in those stupid sappy movies where people say, "When I first laid eyes on you, I knew I loved you."? I say it's "stupid" because it almost never ever happens that way in real life. You have to get to know each other first, then you grow to love. In the case of having your very own baby, it truly IS love at first sight.

I am so blessed and thankful to have a wonderful wife that could create this beautiful little creature. In just one month, he has changed out lives. Now, I can't imagine a life without either of them. Though the birthing process may not be beautiful. Though births happens everyday, it really and truly is a miracle.

I'm not really much of a poem guy. But there was a poem by Maureen Hawkins in Jack's pediatrician's office that sums up probably what most parents feel.

"Before you were conceived
I wanted you
Before you were born
I loved you
Before you were here an hour
I would give my life for you
This is the miracle of life."

Remember when Tom Cruise was kinda cool? Risky Business, Top Gun and all the Mission Impossible movies were pretty sweet back in the day. However, every time I watch Top Gun on t.v., I keep wondering why I liked it so much in the first place. Sure, the opening scene with Kenny Loggins singing "Danger Zone" in the background can make you feel like you can take on anybody in a fight, but other than that, what is it about that movie that made it so popular? (Other than the manliest beach scene ever, of course.) Back when Top Gun was da bomb, I attempted to replicate the high-five, low-five-behind-the-back all the time. Unfortunately, I just ended up spanking my partner on the low-five-behind-the-back half of the time, therefore, the ritual was promptly retired. Anyway, after much thought, I have no clue why that movie was so great.

On a side note, when I typed up "Top Gun beach volleyball scene" on Youtube, there were more parodies of the scene than the actual movie scene itself. Just thought it was noteworthy.

As for the Mission Impossible movies, I had the pleasure, or rather mispleasure, of watching Mission Impossible 2 last night. I don't know how many of you have actually seen the movie, but it has to go down as one of the best "Accidentally funny" movie of all time. I know it was supposed to be action packed, but I just couldn't get over Tom Cruise flipping like a gymnast every 2 minutes. Seriously, go watch the movie and see what I mean. I was impressed with his long flowing locks, though. It never needed combing even when he was getting blown up, punched, kicked or doing back flips.

I know that I just bashed Tom Cruise this entire blog. I know I have no reason to hate the guy. So I'll stop bashing him now and end my blog here. Besides, he's a great guy and a loving husband. How do I know all this? Check out this clip.

WARNING, the last clip may be too painful to watch for some viewers.

Now that most people know by now that Lindy is pregnant, (I refuse to say "we're" pregnant because I don't carry the baby) I will give a brief recount of the day she told me she was cookin' sumthin' in the oven.

We went to my sister-in-law's house to throw a mini surprise party for her husband. We were there for barely 2 hours and she asked me if I was ready to go. I was thinking "this is crazy, she never asks to leave this soon." For one thing, Lindy loves to hang out with her sister and our two little nephews. So I say, "ready when you are." (Or somewhere along those lines.)

Now, Lindy's family is pretty notorious for extended goodbyes. I've become accustomed to sitting around as if we're not leaving until I hear the third "goodbye" and then I start to get ready to leave. At around the fifth goodbye, we're well on our way out the door. And by the 7th and final goodbye, we're actually driving away.

So you can pretty much guess that I was more than surprised to be up and out of the house after just ONE simple "bye". As we're driving back home, I'm thinking "there's gonna be some baby-making tonight! Chika Chika Bowwow" (That's 70's porn music playing in the background in case you didn't know). Unfortunately, nothing like that happened.

As we're sitting on the couch watching some tube, which is not exactly what I had in mind for entertainment, Lindy looks at me and says, "I've decided to join the gym with you because I know it's important to you...and it will be good for me because we're having a baby." As I'm staring at her trying to comprehend what she just told me, she pulls out a pair of baby socks with my favorite team symbol on the sides of them (the Colts). I was still in relative shock, but once it wore off, I was so happy, but also very skeptical.

It wasn't until Lindy's first ultrasound that it dawned on me that I was going to be a father. Once I saw that first image of the life we created, I couldn't stop smiling. It was such a great and unexpected feeling. I don't show my emotions that well, but the feeling I had that day, there was no way I could have held it back. A little less than 6 months from now, I'll be a father. (I'm sure the Man upstairs is thinking "what did I do???? not Fredo!!)

----This is Lindy's very first ultrasound, therefore, the first images of our baby. You can hear me say "I believe you're pregnant." I really meant it. There was still that very shocked part of me that needed proof. I know, I'm crazy. At the 1 minute mark, you will actually see it move. And yes, I know we both sound like giggly school girls. But you know what? I don't care.

RATS!!! Gym Rats, that is.

I'M SOOOOO BORED!!! I'm sick. The wife is in Kentucky probably hooking up with an old flame (her cousin). I've got no food and I only have two drinks to choose from: cold water or warm water. I'm watching a show on TLC called "Taboo: Drugs" but all I've seen so far are a bunch of jungle men walking around naked. To top it off, my dog just farted so loud she got up and started barking at the door. So this is my night alone. Boy, I think I'm getting old...


I honestly don't have much of a life outside of Lindy. The free time that I have, I spend at the gym. You may be thinking, "Weights, sweaty dudes, sore body...NO THANKS!" I admit, the gym is ALL that, but I've had many different experiences there. I've discovered that there are many different types of gym rats.

The most noticeable type are the Screamers/Heavy Grunters. You know exactly how many reps they're doing because they're yelling it out. You also know that they're lifting extremely heavy weights because they sound like they're fighting a losing battle in the toilet after ordering "extra spicy" food at their local Indian restaurant. I do have a very fond memory of this type because it still makes me laugh thinking about it. I was at a local gym when this Arnold-looking guy was doing squats with 400 pound weights (yeah, that's a lot even for a freakishly strong little man like me). He was on his 8th and last rep, he screams "EIGHT!!!!" and then lets out a "RAHHHHHHHH!", drops the weights about hip high, still screaming "RAHHHHHHH!" and the weights bounces off the ground and crashes into the mirror...breaking it. At that point, he sounds like: "RAAAHHHHH----OH SH..!" Awesome :)

Another is the "I-Look-Too-Awesome-Flexing-In-Front-Of-The-Mirror-To-Notice-You-Need-To-Get-By-Me" type. These guys (just like the screamers/heavy grunters) are the ones that single-handedly keep GNC stores in business. Even if they're not in front of a mirror, they're easy to spot because they're usually wearing their little sister's wife beaters. Well, wife beaters or hoodies with the arms cut off.

The other type is the talkers/cellphone users. I honestly think that they're just there to socialize and check out hot girls/dudes. They're also easy to spot because they'll be sitting/standing in the same spot/machine working out their lips for a good 10-20 minutes. I remember wanting to use a machine once but there was a couple currently using it. So I decided that I'll just save that machine for my last exercise. I never got that chance because after 45 minutes, they were still there talking.

There are more types, but the last type I'm going to talk about are the Studiers. These are probably the most annoying types. They roam the facility doing typical exercises, but they have this apparent need to observe everyone around them. On occasion, they would forget what set or rep they're on because they're staring at someone that seems to be amusing them. Like the guy on the top of this blog, for example. I have a hatred for these types. They would attempt to gather information about certain individuals at the gym, analyze them and place them in categories or "types", then probably make those poor individuals the main topic of their blog. These types are the lowest of the low. It's hard to spot them at the gym because they're always moving around. They're also small in stature so they tend to get lost in the crowd that consists of Arnold look-a-likes. If I ever see one though...that person better watch out.

Passing Time

I was told that I like to use parentheses (parentheses are these lines that look like crescent moons that you put on the outside of sentences when you have a thought about a particular word or sentence that was just previously written) on my blog. (Personally, I disagree with that thought). With that little information in mind, I will do my best to limit my uncontrollable urge to parenthesize (yes, i know it's not a word). Anyway, on to the blog.

Lindy and I are currently on vacation in California (you know, the Golden State.) We made it safely, but one flight was anything but comfortable. From Charlotte, NC to Los Angeles, CA, we were not assigned seats next to each other for some reason. I didn't really mind because we have managed to switch seats with people in the past. Unfortunately, our luck ran out on this flight because BOTH our seats were center seats. Honestly, who would switch you seats if they're going to end up in the middle of two strangers? (maybe people with uncontrollable urges to parenthesize everything they type).

It ended up being the most uncomfortable flight. I honestly envied the guy to my right because he was passed out the entire flight. Well, he did wake up for a couple seconds when the flight attendant hit his head with the cart. The woman to my left busted out her 10-year-old-20-pound laptop and clicked away. All I heard for a good hour was "tap tap tap tap tap tap..." As she was tapping along, she would cross her left foot over her right leg and rest it on my thigh. Today, I noticed that my left thigh was starting to itch. She may have given me athletes foot on my thigh. Crazy. I did my best to pass the time. I would doze off on occasion, but not for long. I kept track of the time that has passed by watching Lindy on the aisle across from me. She had a pattern that was easy to pick up.

Approximately ever 30 minutes, she would change what she was eating. So for 30 minutes, she would just be reading her book. 30 minutes after that, she'll open up her bag of Cheetoes and eat that for a bit. (I can always tell when she has moved on to the Cheetoes because you can hear her crunching.) And then 30 minutes after that, she'll move on to Twizzlers and then cycle back to reading. Every time I would wake up from my power nap and see that she has moved on to another snack, I knew about how much time has passed. That was my form of entertainment for 5 hours. Watching Lindy eat.

That's all I have for now. I'll write more about our ACTUAL trip when we're done. Right now, I'm purty tired.

Never-Ending Cycle Ending-Never

Here's a little story about a man and his Iphone:

Nott E. Nuff bought an Iphone as soon as it came out. He thought he was the shizznit because he had the latest fad. However, his glory didn't last long. The next "big thing" was the Iphone 3G. Of course Nott E. Nuff had to get that too. Unfortunately, he couldn't simply replace his old Iphone for the 3G. He had to give up his old phone and pay even more to upgrade. "It's better than the one I have, so I'll pay" he said. Unfortunately for him, the 3GS came soon afterwards. Even though he was irritated by the fact he had to pay, yet again, to upgrade, he did so anyway. "Now I'm set for life!" he exclaimed.

...barely a year later, the Ipad showed up.


Can you relate to Nott E. Nuff's story? I know I can.

I graduated high school expecting to work right away. After seeing the mediocre jobs available for high school grads, I decided college was my only option. It took a little longer to graduate than I expected, but hey, I did it (with some help of course). It was definitely one of the most rewarding things that I've ever done. Walking out of class after taking my last exam, etched a grin on my face that remained there for hours. I didn't walk on my graduation. Didn't want to and didn't care. I just wanted that diploma. As soon as the diploma was in my hands, I thought, let the employers start knockin'.

Now I've been on many different trips in my life. I've been on vacations to exotic places (and some not). But I think about those trips on occasion and I remember there's a souvenir that almost all vacation destinations carry. I'm talking about the shirts that say something like: "My friend went on vacation to (Name you place) and all I got was this stupid shirt." This is what I feel about a bachelor's degree: "I paid $50,000.00 to qualify for a good job and all I got was this stupid piece of paper that says I graduated."

Employers today are looking for higher education. Everyone seems to have a college degree nowadays. So what do you do? Pay another 15k-30k for a masters? What if that's not enough? I guess you upgrade. By the time you're done with all your educational "upgrading," you can owe well into the 6-figures.

Right now, I'm at a crossroads. Do I stick with my "Iphone" or do I upgrade? I just know if I invest more time and money into higher education, "Ipad" will probably show up.

100 views / Honeymoon

In celebration of my 100th blog view, I would like to dedicate this blog to my 4 readers. Thank you for visiting my blog multiple times per day, allowing me to achieve more views than I thought I would ever get. It's surely an accomplishment that is in par with receiving my college diploma. (And now, off to my second blog in 2 nights. WHAT???)

Paris, France was everything that Lindy and I hoped it could be. The Eiffel Tower, the Louvre (and that glass pyramid thing), Notre Dame, and the body odor was all there. It was magical. Our three day trip was like a fairy tale.

Lindy and I took a train from Stuttgart, Germany to Paris. You buy the tickets, and it's completely up to you to find your train. Nobody checks to see if you're in the right one or not. That is, of course, until you're about 10 minutes away from your destination. I kind of wonder what they would do if we had just hopped on the train without purchasing a ticket. I would imagine something like this.

Our hotel was nothing short of spectacular. After checking in, the receptionist told us to take the elevator up to our room. Problem was, we didn't see an elevator. Lindy and I looked at each other confused. She pointed at a door in the corner of the lobby (the lobby, by the way, was about the size of a walk-in closet). I look at her like she's crazy and I say "I think that's a closet." I guess the receptionist could sense we were confused and told us that the closet was, in fact, the elevator. We make our way to the elevator and noticed there were no "up" or "down" buttons. "Open the door" the receptionist tells us. Wouldn't you know it, the door opened like a conventional door. When we saw the inside, it was shocking. It was like walking into a coffin. There was no way we both could have fit in there, even with our small luggage. But we did! I pushed our floor number, and the elevator began to move...and so did the walls. Apparently, the elevator was more like a lift. We pressed close to each other so we didn't accidentally get scraped by the walls.

We came to a stop, and nothing happens. The door doesn't open, so we just stare at the door for about a minute until I start feeling claustrophobic and decided to push the door open. We forgot it was manual. When we went back downstairs to go out and explore the streets of Paris, we saw a family of 4 disappear into the closet/elevator. They were never heard from again.

Our room was even better. The bed came up to my knees (and I'm really short so you can only imagine). The pillows were sewn on to the bed because I guess people steal pillows there on a regular basis. The t.v. was about the size of a hand-held t.v. and the remote was screwed onto our headboard (I guess people steal these too). It was really interesting trying to turn the channel because you're looking at the opposite wall while trying to find different channels. Lucky for us, there were only 2 channels.

The room was so small, that when you walk into the bathroom, the bathroom door hits the bed. The door opened just wide enough for us to walk in to do our business. You can literally take a dump, brush your teeth, take a shower, do your hair, make the bed, and watch t.v. all at the same time. If the hotel was going for convenience, well, you can't get anymore convenient than that.

After reading all that, you would think we had a miserable time. Actually, it was one of the best times I've ever had. Lindy and I laughed about it then, and we still laugh about it to this day. While Paris is known for fashion and riches, we had no job, no money and no clue. We lived off baguettes and water. Our main and only mode of transportation was our feet. But we saw all the attractions that lure tourists. I would do it all over again without changing a thing.

A bad week...

Here's a story about an old friend of mine named Glenn. He was soft-spoken, friendly, and liked by pretty much everyone. He was a graduating senior when I was just a sophomore in high school. I would always sit behind him during pre-calculus and we would take turns copying each other's homework. (I'm sure I've painted a good picture of myself during my high school years). On Friday, January 26, 2001, Glenn saw me jogging home after soccer practice and offered to give me a ride. I asked him what his plans were after graduating and he told me that he had plans to enlist in the Army. It was a 10 minute drive, but that's all I remember talking about.

Two days later, my mom was giving me a haircut and asked me if I heard about some kid that committed suicided. She thought he went to my school. The kid's mom found him dead in his bedroom. I told her I didn't hear anything about it, and that was that.

I was chatting with a friend of mine online later that day, and apparently, word got around about this guy from our high school hanging himself. I remember that conversation like it was yesterday.

I asked her, "do you know his name?"

She says, "Glenn, I think. Glenn Brazzel? I don't know how to pronounce his last name."

"wait...not Glenn Gr***** is it? because I know him..."

"yeah, that's him. I'm sorry."

"no, that can't be right. he wouldn't do that. no, you better be wrong. he better be in class monday copying my homework."

"i'm sorry...i'm pretty sure it's him but i could be wrong."

My heart sunk, I started to sweat, and teared up all at once. I hopped in the shower so I could clear my mind, but all I could do was cry. I wasn't sobbing, because I was still confused. I still didn't believe what I was told.

I hopped out of the shower and got dressed. Then I just lay in my room with the lights off for about an hour. I hear the door open and my mom comes in my room. She sees my face and asks me if I had been crying. "No, I took a shower and the gel from my hair got into my eyes." (yes, that is word for word). As she walks out of my room, I ask her if the guy's name was Glenn. "Yeah, that's him!" And I reply, "That's what I heard..." Then I sobbed.

The next day at school, nobody wanted to do anything. My marine biology professor, in particular, couldn't even hold it together. I remember her saying through free-flowing tears that, as his teacher, she should have sensed that there was something wrong and that maybe she could have helped him or gotten him help. She felt somewhat responsible for what happened. We didn't do anything in class that day. I think most of us in class had been crying all night. As a matter of fact, most of the school had been crying.

Everyone someway or another felt responsible for his death. Why didn't we know? Why didn't we see the signs? I don't know to this day. I found out that he died the morning after he had given me a ride home. Even at that moment, I had no clue there was anything unusual. It's been almost 10 years since that happened, and I still can't believe I didn't see any signs. He looked fine. He looked happy. He had plans for the future...

I know that this hasn't been the most uplifting blog. But this was an event that I think about more frequently than I should. I know that his death was no one's fault, but sometimes one can't help but feel a bit responsible.

For those of you that wonder what my definition of a bad day is...this was a bad day. Actually, it was a bad week.

I lost my phone number...

I remember when I knew at least 30 phone numbers off the top of my head. Take out the (900) numbers and I knew about 20 phone numbers. Still pretty respectable considering I only paid 12 of those people to give me their phone numbers. How many phone numbers do I know today? Three, Tres, Trois, Drei. I know how to say the number 3 in more languages than I know phone numbers. (You might have to read that last sentence a couple more times for it to make sense. I did.) The 3 numbers are: Mine, Lindy's, and Work. No, 911 doesn't count. Or is it 119? Ever since Zack Morris started sporting that 20 pound cell phone, the whole world changed, because everyone wanted to be as cool as Zack Freakin' Morris. (You mean you didn't??? LOSER!).

I remember when I brought my first cell phone to school. This was back when people were still using beepers, so obviously, I was way ahead of the game. During lunch, I made a huge show of pulling out my cell phone in front of everyone sitting at my table. "Gotta take this call. You couldn't hear it cause it was on vibrate." Actually, no one was calling. I just wanted to show it off. I talked to the invisible man with a louder than normal voice so I could get more people's attention. The highlight of the show was when I said, "hold on a sec, you're breaking up a bit." That's when I pulled out the antenna. (Can you say, show-stopper?)

I talked on the phone, or rather, to myself for about 2 or 3 minutes. But that was long enough to be the envy of one person. My principal. She was so jealous she took it away. She was mad... I couldn't understand her anger. Maybe it was because she was still using a beeper, or that she heard my friends and I making fun of her earlier for spelling "BONES point" instead of "BONUS points" on the board when she subbed for our algebra class the day prior.

I met with her after school and tried to sweet talk her into giving me my cell back. It didn't work, of course. She told me the only way I could get it back was if my parents wrote a note for her. Easy! All I did was asked a friend with neat handwriting to write the note for me, and I was already a master at forging my parents' signatures. (You get to be pretty good at forgery when your report card never contains any vowels.) The next day, my cell phone was returned.

After 6 years of owning a cell phone, I can't, for the life of me, comprehend how I managed to survive without one for so many years! I use it to find out where people are, what they're doing, what they're wearing, etc... (I know, we have Facebook for that). Cell phones are very useful in so many ways. For example, if you're supposed to meet your date somewhere and they're late, you can simply call them and ask them where they are. Most of the time they're stuck in traffic, but sometimes they don't answer at all and they avoid you for about a week and when you see them again, they say they forgot you had a date and that they never received a call. (No, I never had that experience...)

Anyway, cell phones are great. Especially if you're talking to your girlfriend and you can sense she's about to break-up with you. Just hang up and tell her later that your phone died. Most people find it harder to break-up with someone in person.

"Cell Phones: Making excuses, break-ups, and lies easier since Zack Morris."

Random Thoughts

So I decided to start a blog. It's mostly going to be random things that go on through my head when I'm running (because you have a lot of time to think about stuff when you're running), when I'm up late because I'm having trouble sleeping, or when I'm at work in between texting friends and family while on the clock. I wanted to document my randomness because I know one day, I'm going to be old and forget things. My memories of certain parts of my life have already started to fuzz. Can you imagine what my memory will be like when I'm too old to even wipe my own...face? That will be a sad day. Can you imagine the zits??? My thoughts tend to jump sporadically and can be triggered by a number of things:

Today, for example, I walked by ROLL: (a bike store, for those of you who don't know) and thought about my first time riding a bike. I don't exactly remember how old I was, but I'm going to guess around 4 or 5 years old. Now, I didn't start out riding with training wheels or anything like that. We were pretty poor and I shared a full-size bike with my uncle. My uncle sat on the bike seat and I sat in front of him on the frame of the bike. I don't remember what it felt like to straddle a bike frame, but I'm going to say that it probably wasn't very comfortable. I'm sure wedgies were a very common occurrence also.

So my uncle is peddling along and he let's me hold onto the handlebars. I remember thinking that it was pretty easy. Our street, however, were full of animals. Within a few seconds of taking control of the bike, all these CHICKENS start running and flapping their way in front of me! But with my 5 seconds of experience of riding a bike, I expertly maneuvered around them. Unfortunately, my victory was short-lived as a GOAT crossed my path... That's right, a goat. I hit it straight on and I start flying over the handlebars. I don't remember what happened to my uncle, but I'm sure he bailed right before the chickens crossed the road because I don't remember him being injured at all.

As the 4 or 5 years of my life flashed before my eyes, I braced myself for the inevitable pain. I land face first onto the road (which is probably why I have a flat nose). Actually, I blame my mom's genes for this nose, but hey, it does the job. Anyway, I managed to keep all my teeth, but my right front tooth was pushed back behind my left front tooth. This is a true story. My parents paid quite a bit of money to fix my teeth. Ask them for the receipt, I'm sure they'll show you.

As I get older, I remember less and less about my childhood. But this memory tends to stick with me. I may not have all the facts, but this is what I think I know. I think about my life back in the Philippines pretty often. It is where I was born and where many of my family members still live. Talking to them sometimes takes me back to when I didn't know a single English word and I looked like one of those kids from "Feed the Children" commercials. It takes me back to when my favorite toys were spiders and tires. Looking at where I am now, I wouldn't trade this life to go back to that. However, even though I didn't have much growing up in the Philippines, I had some of the best times of my life there. And I wouldn't trade my childhood for anything.