Standing Outside the Fire

The great thing about coming back home to Long Island is the off-chance, the random occasion, that you see somebody out whom you haven't seen in ages, and whom you are actually happy to encounter. This happened to me tonight at Applebees with an old friend of mine, Dennis Regan.

Dennis and I were in Scouts together, so we saw each other every Tuesday for 6 or 7 years (if not more), in addition to all the camping trips and other weekly events that we Scouts used to partake in.

One time, on a trip to Washington DC, Dennis and I formed a band with a couple of other of the guys; we called ourselves the Hot Scouts of America. We even wrote a creed, in the form of a Batman & Joker-sort, out of cheese-in-a-can written on Ritz Crackers, which proclaimed that we were the Hot Scouts and any intruders shan't mess with us. Man, we were cool.

Dennis and I really haven't stayed in touch since he delivered the convocation at my Eagle ceremony in 2004. I was really glad to have one of my best friends in the group induct me into this selective group that we had all striven to be a part of ever since we joined, as Cub Scouts, back before we had any sense of what Scouting was or what it would mean to us.

Scouting taught me how to be part of a community; it taught me how to give back to others and how to let myself have fun at the same time; it taught me values and morals--personal integrity--that I carry with me from day-to-day, wherever I go; it taught me how to appreciate others and all that other people do for me.

I hope Dennis looks back on his Scouting experience as fondly as I do. It's something I don't talk about too often, but something I'm damn proud of. It has made me who I am today, without a doubt. And it's funny, in the ironic/"this must be a sign or a symbol for something" kind of way that earlier today I finally--after three years have passed--hung up all of my Eagle Scout plaques in my room, as a constant reminder of the values and good memories in my life that I should cherish and keep with me always.

As I finish typing this rather reminiscent blog, it is only fitting that the shuffle on my iTunes brings up the one song that will always remind me of Scouting: "Standing Outside the Fire" by Garth Brooks. Now, I'm not really one for country, but the Baiting Hollow Scout Camp would always play this song at their end-of-the-week campfire, where they showed clips from the week to all the campers, who got the opportunity to hoot and holler at the counselors who became friends that week, or their fellow Scouts who were caught in the act of goofing off.

But I can use Garth Brook's song as a metaphor to my own life: a reminder to constantly stand outside the fire, and look at both my own reflection in the flames and the images of those people who are surrounding me, joining me in my campfire in my camp, where I am the counselor, constantly stealing glances to my clipboard, planning activities, and living my life one day, one week, one summer at time, with the help and support of those who currently surround me (my campers) and those who are there to surround me and support me for the long run (my counselors-in-training). Everyone I meet has their choice of camper or CIT; they have to learn stand outside the fire themselves and make their own choice.

Sometimes, you just need to run into someone from the past like Dennis Regan to remind you to take a step back and see where you've been and where you're going.

Speed Limit LI

Driving down the road, looking into my rear-view mirror, I see the reflection of trees coming through the sunroof onto my sunglasses, trees that pass by with each mile per hour; and I am singing soulfully with the windows down, my hand out the window, feeling the air whip by with each mile per hour; and I know that I am home in Long Island, where the trees overhead and the wind all around and the music in my ears all remind me that this is where I should be, for each mile per hour in a day, everyday.

Where the Ocean Meets the Sky

Sometimes on lonely nights I like to take a drive to the beach and stare out onto the water and think. Tonight, since I'm in Delaware and the closest "beach" is an hour and a half away--and not just a drive down Nicolls Road to Corey Beach, as it would be at home--I decided to drive to nearby historic New Castle, where Delaware Avenue collides with the Delaware River in a fantastic view of the Delaware Memorial Bridge that connects this small state with New Jersey.

I don't know exactly what it is about the ocean--or any body of water for that matter--that leaves me basking in wonder and amazement. It may be the salty air, or the marriage of land and water, or the infinite distance that is the horizon. Sometimes it is the reflections of streetlights or the light of the moon bouncing off the water, or the sound of the choppiness in the waves, or the 10-foot long reflection of my body being stretched along the water, a shadow being cast by the light of the moon onto the massive canvass of the ocean; whatever it is, I am at home around the beach or water.

Tonight, as I was walking along the path adjacent to the Delaware River in New Castle, I was remembering a phrase that my dear friend Cos had uttered to my friends and I nearly three years ago to the day. It was after a long night of heavy drinking down the Jersey shore, where we rented a house on the beach in Long Beach Island for a week--ten guys, recent college freshmen, on vacation together with no inhibitions and endless supply of beer and food.

It was one of the best weeks of my life.

One night during that week, we were all sitting on a bench on the beach, facing the ocean, feeling blissfully peaceful (and no doubt foolishly drunk), when Cos uttered his now-infamous proverb: In 5, 10 years, this is where I want to be. This is where we all should be. We want to be there--(pointing out to sea)--where the ocean meets the sky.

We all proceeded to vision ourselves in 5 or 10 years down the road, being in this same place of contentness and resolve, that we bought into Cos' madness and repeated his oration of being where the ocean meets the sky, until we all doubled over laughing at the absurdity of the statement.

Despite the absurdity, now three years later, I am still facing the water, striving to be where the ocean meets the sky, wanting to own that feeling of infinity, of limitlessness, of bliss with a hint of uncertainty, and hope that, whether in Corey Beach, New York; Long Beach Island, New Jersey; or here in New Castle, Delaware; I'm on my way.

Last Night

On the last night of my four years as an undergraduate student, I find myself sitting by myself on a street corner, waiting for a bus to come around and take me home.

The bus would never come.

After chatting over the phone with an old friend, I start walking past the bus stop, and chat idly with a fellow bus-patron, also waiting patiently (more patient than me) for our transportation.

I find out that Gokuhl is from India, studying here in Delaware for his masters in Hotel, Restaurant, and Institutional Management. We start out discussing the bus and its very late schedule. We make our way to India and America, and his opinions on the two. I find out Gokuhl is a foreigner who absolutely loves everything America has to offer, its land rife with opportunity and ambition; this is reassuring to me, someone who is gravely worried about the state of our nation, viewed through the eyes of outsiders.

We decide to ditch the bus and walk back to our neighborhoods together, since we're heading in the same direction, and we doubt we will encounter any other reasonable company for the remainder of the time waiting for the bus (which never actually came).

On our walk back, Gokuhl and I discuss the problems we have with the American Woman, international relations, and racism, a topic I tend to gravitate towards. I hate that racism exists in our country, and, although I can't put my fingers around a specific cause, I am committed to the cause for stopping it altogether. Gokuhl had an interesting take on racism: that it should be accepted by all that it is inherent and innate within/among all of us, that we are all appealing to the differences we have with people around us, and that it should be viewed as a reflection of our society and our people.

This is a view I've never really discussed before. Is racism so common these days that it can be blamed outright on society itself? Is there nothing we can do to prevent or deter people in our society for having this predicament and this predilection towards racism and racist remarks? As I sit here, on the night before my graduation, this is what is running through my mind. This is what I need on graduation for the conferral of my degree, the state of mind that will be conferred along with my diploma, into my life as an educator and as someone who appreciates us all for who we are - individuals and Americans.

The Past Four Years: A Look Back

Today, as I was running along the James F. Hall Trail here in Newark, Delaware, observing the towering green trees, their branches drooping over the path, I started thinking about how far I've come over these past four years of college.

The song was "You Never Know" by Dave Matthews Band. The lines,
"I find it hard to explain
How I got here
I think I can I think I can
but then again I will falter...
dream"
made me look up at the sky, trying to discern what the order of the clouds meant, each one blending into one another, the sun trying to peek its way through, like the light seeping through the window shades as night gives way to morning.

As I saw this effluence of light, I was transported to my state of mind four years prior. Instead of running four miles three times a week, while listening to the joyful noise of Dave on my iPod, my only exercise in Albany, New York, was my two-mile treks to Stuyvesant Plaza, where I would visit The Book House or Starbuck's, while listening to the soulful sounds of Jonny Lang on my CD player, looking at Po Bronson's self-help book, What Should I Do With My Life?, for any answers it could give, and observing jovial friends, strangers, mingle over a cup of coffee.

I was in a different world back then: overweight, depressed, gloomy like the foreboding skies and weather forecasts that abounded in Albany. I used to listen to that sadness-laden music, and read those self-help, life-inspiring books, as if the troubles they told of were my own.

Now after three years living in Delaware, knowing what I should do with my life, I can take those depressing texts--the songs, movies, books, for which sadness is a theme--and channel that sadness into a positive process of finding a way out. As a teacher, I can educate others through these texts that explore these types of themes, that the end justifies the means, that we are here to pursue happiness, and that one day it will come, and having that knowledge is all we need to get us through each day with the hope that that one day will come, and on that day, the sun will shine through the clouds right down upon us, where each of us is standing, basking in the glory of our lives.

A Toast to My Major

Here's a toast that I gave last night at my English Education Graduation Ceremony:

Tuesday has always been our day.

We first came together on a Tuesday: sixteen faces, some familiar and some not, looking to figure out exactly how we were going to teach in only a few months. And here we are eight months later, on our final Tuesday: sixteen certified friends and (almost) certified teachers coming together to commemorate our accomplishments in student-teaching over these months.

We've certainly encountered hardships along the way, but we've had the benefit of a trusted guide: Deb Alvarez. Dr. Alvarez, whom we have fondly renamed Alvie, has been with us through all the debacles and triumphs, giving us meaningful advice that has helped us through our first experiences truly teaching teenagers the art of the English language.

Nestled in our alcove of 107 Memorial, we came together as a family, supporting one another with open ears, open arms, and open mouths (for those weekly snacks).

Dr. Alvarez taught us crazy methods, entertaining us with experiences that were both horrifying and hilarious, but which always contained a lesson at the end. It was almost as if our class, by itself, was one of Dr. Alvarez's anecdotes: we were an allegory for the entire teaching profession, huddled inside Plato's cave, peering our inexperienced heads out, trying to discern what the shadows on the wall meant.

The fire in our cave continued to burn brighter into the spring semester, and the shadows slowly became shapes. Standing here now, in the highlight of our experiences, we can finally understand what Dr. Alvarez was teaching all along; we have become enlightened.

Now it is our time to leave Tuesday behind, to go out into the world and keep that fire burning. We must present our lives to our students, offering them shadows to figure out with our support. We must strive to enlighten. I think Taylor Mali says it best, and I want to leave each of you gambrinous, pusillanimous, zucchetto-wearing whipjacks with his wisdom. When asked "What Teachers Make," he says with conviction: "I make a goddamn difference! What about you?" Congratulations: this is a profession rich in rewards, and I wish you all the best.

My Senior Will

I taught my 12th grade class for the last time last Monday. I wanted to go out on a good note and do an activity that kind of summed up everything I've taught them this semester. So, I decided on a summative activity, where I had the students reflect on the themes of the works we've read and then write their own senior will. This turned out to be an activity they loved, one that showed their power as writers and as thinkers (they're a deep group!)

I wrote a senior will of my own, since, as I shared with them, I am a graduating senior as well! Here it is:

The first theme I’d like to write about is overcoming racial divides. One of the most deplorable characteristics of our country is its disposition towards racism and prejudicial biases. We all need to get together as one, as Americans, whether black, white, yellow or brown. We saw this theme of overcoming racial divides in The House of Sand and Fog with the Behranis trying to assimilate into the culture of the US. In my own life, I try to bridge the gaps between the races in this country by accepting everyone I meet and influencing everyone I meet to be as acceptant as I am.

The second theme I chose to write about is excessive pride. Pride is the #1 fault of this country, and we are all to blame. I mean, who doesn’t want to be proud of accomplishments and skills? I certainly am. But, in spite of this, I try not to let pride get the best of me. One of my favorite quotes is from the ancient philosopher, Boethius, who advises, “If then you are master of yourself, you will be in possession of that which you will never wish to lose, and which Fortune will never be able to take from you.” I try to be myself, and not succumb to fortune or excessive pride. We saw pride in Paradise Lost and Gulliver’s Travels, but it is a theme found in many texts we read and movies we see, often acting as the fatal flaw of the main character.

I, Mr. Weston, being of sound and disposing mind and memory, on Monday, April 30, 2007, do make and publish this, my senior Will:

I give, devise, and bequeath to my parents, Mr. & Mrs. Weston, the following: unconditional love and support, equal custody of all my accomplishments and successes, and unending gratitude for their support these four years, plus two epic tailgates and countless needed visits to Delaware.

I give, devise, and bequeath to my roommates Matt Hayes, Matt Nilssen, and Dan Wanger, the following: dance parties in the fourth floor of Harter, throwing pizza at windows, bouncing the ball off The Dude in the Towers, breaking bread at the “fashion don’ts” parties, 351 Apt. #1 & 2 and its yellow couch covers, bread in the oven, garbage couch, and overall good times.

I give, devise, and bequeath to my sister, Amanda Weston, the following: my ridiculous sense of humor and ridiculously good taste in music, movies, and television (including the following: Dave Matthews Band, 24, Arrested Development, etc.); our recent tradition of Dave Matthews Band concerts, including last summer when we were 7 rows from the stage; and the tolerance and respectfulness that is making her into a really good, respectable person.

I give, devise, and bequeath to my English Education (XEE) friends at the University of Delaware, the following: hardcore support, 3:30 at Grotto’s every Friday, shoulders to lean on, ears for listening to any and all complaints, and constant laughs with Alvie in 111 Memorial.

I give, devise, and bequeath to Dr. Theilacker, the following: the immense support and mentoring I needed to get me where I am, the encouragement to help start me on my career, and the knowledge of everything teaching and everything English.

I give, devise, and bequeath to Pat Armetta, my boss and good friend, the following: instilling in me the desire to work hard and be successful, the opportunity to manage a business and learn the importance of business ethics, and the overall desire to help and support others.

I give, devise, and bequeath to Jeremy Whiteman and Meg Rector, the following: endless good times working at Trabant Delivery, you guys made that hassle of a job into a fun time to get together with friends; concerts, seeing Kristen and the Noise (an excellent performer) and Martin Sexton; and the unending support of two good friends.

I give, devise, and bequeath to Isaac Ramaswamy, the following: the strong belief in the success of others; the desire to help others, even with nothing to gain for yourself other than the joy of seeing someone else succeed.

I give, devise, and bequeath to everyone else I have met at the University of Delaware; my friends back home in Long Island; my students at Howard High School; and my cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents across the board, the following: my unending love and eternal gratitude for always being there for me and supporting me in all my endeavors. This, and all of the future, is for all of you.