Author Topic: Composition Competition.  (Read 299 times)

Offline H. Godwineson

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Composition Competition.
« on: October 15, 2002, 11:17:51 AM »
I don't know if this idea will appeal to anybody, but I'll throw it out there anyway.  What say we have an unofficial, unserious, good-old-fashioned, auto-biographical essay competition?  We could learn a little more about what makes us tick and which of us has a character most heavily laden with bs.

No politics please.  The stories must be real.  Anything that happened to you personally.  They must be semi-biographical, semi-serious, semi-dramatic, or whimsical.  

After a seven day period, we will vote on who will be the recipient of the highly coveted booby prize.

Ready...Set...Write.


Regards, Shuckins ;)

Offline Wlfgng

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Composition Competition.
« Reply #1 on: October 15, 2002, 11:36:22 AM »
"I rock."


how's that?

Offline Thrawn

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« Reply #2 on: October 15, 2002, 11:41:42 AM »
"Me paper"

"Me win!"  :D

Great idea though.

Offline john9001

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« Reply #3 on: October 15, 2002, 12:21:03 PM »
hell , i do what every time i post

44MAG

Offline H. Godwineson

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« Reply #4 on: October 15, 2002, 01:06:29 PM »
Hmm.  I see that I'll have to start the ball rolling on this one.  Here goes then.


Title:  
Southern Sympathy


Some of you who have read my previous posts may think that I have no sympathy for the sufferings of animals.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  Let me state that I am a product of my upbringing;  American by birth and Southern by the grace of God.  Whatever attitudes I possess can be explained by the last part of that statement.

You see, south Arkansans such as I who were born in the early 1950's were the beneficiaries of a unique cultural influence.  Our parents were raised in the 1930's, during the height of the Depression.  But even before that life was hard.

My grandparents were share-croppers.  My maternal grand-mother was a short, feisty, leathery-tough little woman.  Barely five feet in height, with shoes, she was the type of individual who, when hard-times came a-calling, would draw a line in the sand, stare it in the eye, and make it back down, it's tail between it's legs.  My grandfather, who was about six feet in height, was also tough, rangy, and hard working.  Good natured and sensible, they were a perfect match in every way.

My grandmother had lost her mother at the age of 14.  While the shock and grief still weighed heavy on her, she found herself having to manage a household with a father, four brothers, and a sister.  She had the dreary tasks of hand washing and scrubbing, in what she called "wrench water" every article of clothing of that large family, cooking and cleaning up after all the meals, tending the garden, helping to chop and bring in firewood, and tend the livestock.  She helped with the scalding of the hogs when they were slaughtered, canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, and picked the cotton when it was "in."  Grandmother also made clothes as they were needed and mended them when they were torn.

Grandad was a sharecropper until the drought of '33.  Having cleared only 25 dollars on his entire crop, he and his family were facing a difficult and hungry winter.  He and his brother purchased a champion coon dog and hunted at night with a headlight, a .22 rifle, and a cross-cut saw.  Since coons were scarce, their hides fetched 10 dollars apiece.

Their attitudes towards life were shaped by an immense practicality.  There wasn't a cruel streak in either one of them.

For example, I remember an incident that took place at their house when I was about six years old.

The family had gathered for a social and were visiting at the kitchen table.  My grandparents home was built with timber taken from an old barn.  In those days, before air-conditioning, relief from the summer heat was provided by an immense window fan, measuring about four feet across.

Their yard was full of chickens at that time, a source of fresh eggs and meat, and amusement.  The fan had no screen over it at that time.  On this particular day a young poulet flapped up to the fan and perched on its edge.  If may not have been able to see the twirling blades.  Anyway, the inevitable happened, and it was sucked into that whirling vortex.

My grandmother unplugged the fan and picked the young bird up in her hands.  There were expressions of sympathy from everyone at the table.  She held it gently in her hands and repeated over and over "Pore thang...poor thang." until it expired.


We ate it.



Regards, Shuckins

Offline Wlfgng

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Composition Competition.
« Reply #5 on: October 15, 2002, 01:18:49 PM »
dunno.. mine was brief, to the point, no wasted words.

obviously a clear winner...

Offline SirLoin

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« Reply #6 on: October 15, 2002, 01:54:57 PM »
I used to like frogs when I was a kid.

I would capture a bunch of them do not so nice things like...

Staple them to a fence,slash their green skin and pour salt into the wounds.

Pry open their mounth,insert firecracker..light it and run.

Put a frog in empty "Gold Rush Gum" sack,tie it to a spoke on my bike and ride down the street.

Using the same gum bag(with new frog),I would lower it into the gas tank of my Dad's Ford...I would pull it out 10 minutes later and it would be all "stoned like" from the fumes.

Put frog in oven once and forgot about it.Never forget my mom's reaction to that one.

Dropped frog from bomb-hatch on an R/C plane over a tennis court.

Best one was the Frog in the blender...Around and around it went,until I hit the "Chop" button...Poured frog-shake in backyard..Makes great fertilizer.
**JOKER'S JOKERS**

Offline Goth

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« Reply #7 on: October 15, 2002, 03:57:18 PM »
My God, what kind of monsters are they growing there in Canada??

Offline H. Godwineson

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« Reply #8 on: October 16, 2002, 10:14:41 AM »
Sirloin,

Sheesh!

Shuckins

Offline loser

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« Reply #9 on: October 16, 2002, 12:56:55 PM »
When i was about 8 years old i got my head stuck under a turning merry-go-round. It hurt

I vote for Wlfgng.

Offline gofaster

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I posted this under another thread, but it'll fit here, too.
« Reply #10 on: October 16, 2002, 01:32:36 PM »
I foam at the mouth whenever someone says that marijuana should be legalized. I think tobacco and alcohol should be removed from sporting events, including corporate sponsorships of sports teams, stadiums, and competitions.

My dad made it through military service without smoking. He didn't pick it up until he got in to law school, and he smoked then just to keep himself awake so he could study more. By the time he had kids, he was a "5 seconds from chain-smoking" smoker, meaning that there was only a 5 second lull before the next one was lit. He smoked Marlboros, the same brand featured on the sides of race cars.

He was a party guy in high school, and became one moreso in college. He drank in the military, but in the military its a sign of manhood if you can drink the hard stuff and drink it big. As he got older, he got better at hiding it. A plastic hipflask in his briefcase, a bottle in the trunk, a bottle in the garage workshop, the bottles in the kitchen, and a few at his office; he was never far from it. I just assumed that's what all parents did. Mom didn't get concerned about it until the IRS audit and subsequent investigation by the Bar Association regarding office financials and mishandling of escrow funds to cover expenses. Can't blame her, though. Her father had been an alcoholic as well, so she had grown up in that environment and didn't know any better, same as me. My dad lost his business license and an old friend got him checked into rehab the week after I checked in to my college dorm my freshman year. They divorced a year later, not so much out of animosity but as a way to protect my mom from financial ruin. We still took vacations together and spent Thanksgiving and Christmases together, but they kept separate houses and separate accounts. As my mom learned more and more about what my dad had been doing with the family money, she became more and more bitter about it.

He eventually had to close his practice when his clients left him - who wants a drunk for a lawyer? He went to work as a paralegal for a former law partner for 1/3 of what he had been earning, and that was still generous. I credit that partner for probably saving my dad's life.

Years of smoking and drinking caught up to him in his 50's and he started having periods of black-outs. Doctors weren't sure what the root cause was - either brain damage from the booze or respiratory and circulatory problems from the smoking. He had a fatal seizure in the parking lot of an ABC Liquors on a Friday afternoon in September and was rushed to the hospital where he passed away at the age of 56.

A few years later my grandparents (his parents) passed away. While talking about their funeral, my mom made the cryptic comment that my dad never really wanted to be an attorney, that he had only done it to please his mother because she had decided that her sons were going to go to the University of Florida and become attorneys. They did - my dad set up practice in Tampa and my uncle set up practice in Ft. Myers. My uncle kicked his booze and tobacco habit by trading those addictions for better ones: tennis and golf.

My grandfather had worked for the railroad, a demanding employer with a job that required long periods away from the home, working odd hours. My grandfather smoked cigars and spent the last 20 or so years of his life relying on a nebulizer (a glass tube filled with medicine with a squeeze ball on one end that vaporizes the medicine and shoots it directly into the patient's lungs). He died in his 70s. Like most couples that have lived together for long periods of time, there was a lot of shouting between my grandparents over things I considered trivial: the toast is overcooked, the bacon is undercooked, the tv is too loud. But they never argued with the grandkids, so long as we didn't break anything or hurt each other. Well, there was the time my cousin and I started mixing cleaning solutions together to see what would happen, but now that I'm older and know what's in those bottles, I can see that it was justified.

One day my mom mentioned that my grandmother had never approved of my dad's marriage to her. My mom came from a family of farmers with no money - her father was usually drunk or missing and her mother had to raise 8 kids. Well, actually 7 because my Mom spent the first 5 years of her life being raised by her great aunt because of her mother's indigence. My mom worked hard and got through college on academic scholarships. So here's my father, flush with GI Bill money with a solid middle-class background, who had been popular in high school, lettered in football and baseball, going through law school, and he's dating a backwoods lower-class girl in the low-income, low career potential nursing program. Its not hard to see that there could be some truth to my mom's statement. My mom got her Master's degree, plus 30 hours towards a PhD and became a professor of nursing, making good money at a community college. In the end, it was my mom that ended up saving the family.

So can I hate my dad, or my grandparents, or my mom? Not really. They showed me a lot of traps to avoid. Not just smoking and drinking, but of judging people on the surface, or creating false expectations, or restricting children from pursuing a career, or of not seeing the impact they have on others. But I guess that's just part of being human.

I'm currently employed by a telecom company as a contracts negotiator. I didn't go to law school because I didn't want to be a lawyer - I got hooked on computers after I graduated with my degree in Criminal Justice. And yet I still ended up in the legal profession with a law degree from the school of hard knocks. My brother ended up being a lawyer, complete with license, client base, and stress. He's also a party guy, a real social animal. My sister got her PhD in education and works for Georgetown University in Washington DC. She's a social animal, too. I guess to some degree we're all trapped by our parents' expectations the same way we get our personalities from our parents. Doctors say alcohol addiction is linked to chemical reactions tied to DNA inherited from our parents. They say a contributing cause is having an addictive personality. I just hope my siblings learned about the traps. I'd hate to see my nieces and nephews follow that same roller coaster ride.

Offline Sandman

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« Reply #11 on: October 16, 2002, 01:41:51 PM »
Last year, I attended the reunion celebrating the 20th anniversary of my high school graduation. It's an odd thing. I could go the rest of my life without seeing my classmates again and it would probably have little affect on my life. Why do we go? I was happy to see many of the people and some might even still be friends if I lived in the area but I haven't lived near my hometown in over twenty years. I do not feel that I REALLY know them anymore. We are all different, vaguely familiar but different. Maybe it's just curiosity. Sure, I'm like everyone else. I want to see who's fat, who's bald and who's virtually unchanged but after the initial voyeuristic thrill of people watching, what's left? Casual chat about what we have become and the exchange of child photos. I guess I'm disappointed. Neither of the two guys I ran around with in school went. One had the lame-ass excuse that he couldn't find a sitter and the other is dead, struck by lightning while fishing in Florida. I ended up spending most of my time with my twin brother, something I do as often as possible anyway.
sand

Offline boxboy28

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« Reply #12 on: October 16, 2002, 02:00:49 PM »
ALright after reading gofaster essay im gonna have to throw mine in the mix but im at work now and will get to it later!

gofaster great BIO

Box
^"^Nazgul^"^    fly with the undead!
Jaxxo got nice tata's  and Lyric is Andre the giant with blond hair!

Offline MrLars

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« Reply #13 on: October 16, 2002, 02:05:12 PM »
Quote
Originally posted by Sandman_SBM
, what's left? Casual chat about what we have become and the exchange of child photos. I guess I'm disappointed. Neither of the two guys I ran around with in school went. One had the lame-ass excuse that he couldn't find a sitter and the other is dead, struck by lightning while fishing in Florida. I ended up spending most of my time with my twin brother, something I do as often as possible anyway.


My HS reunions have always been fun. Our first was the 15 year one and what we did was do what we did in HS to have fun...went surfing. It was great to see all my old buddies, laughing at the ones that have given into the shortboard craze was my favorite memory.

We met at the beach the day of the dinner/dance and had some great storys to tell that evening. The day after the dinner/dance was a picnic at the beach < more surfing > where everyone brought their kids...

We liked this format so much that we used it for our 20th, 25th, 30th and 35th...when the surf doesn't cooperate we have fun on skimboards or even 1/2 & 1/2 football  < 1/2 in the water & 1/2 out >.

Of our whole class only 1/3 of us < 60 people > surf...most of the rest of the class has a bad case of middle age spread now days... ;)

Can't wait untill our 40th, get to thumb our noses at those that thought that surfing was for bums:D

Offline midnight Target

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« Reply #14 on: October 16, 2002, 02:57:19 PM »
My Dad...

His father was killed in a horrible train accident in 1928. Dad was 2 years old. His mom eventually remarried (4 times), but Dad was usually on his own. His little brother came along 13 years later, and he helped raise him too.

Dad joined the ROTC in High School and was the highest ranking cadet in the school. It was 1943, and he was actually offered a commision as infantry lieutenant right out of high school. He decided that he wanted the Army Air Corps instead (smart move probably) and joined up at the age of 17. Trained as a radioman/navigator in B-25's he spent the entire war Stateside. He discharged in 1946 and married his high school sweetheart in 1947. They proceeded to have 4 childern (I was the last) over the next 10 years.
 
Dad went to work at Motorola as a draftsman, and stayed with the company for 25 years. When an opportunity came to transfer to California he took it. He was never able to go to college, and rose through the ranks because of his ingenuity and hard work.
He had some other jobs after that, usualy as an unlicensed engineer. Then Mom got sick.

She had cancer for 9 years before she passed, and he gave up whatever career he could have had to stay close to home and to maintain his insurance. When she died we all felt the loss despite the relief that she was finally without pain.

About a year later, my Dad's little brother called. They had a product that required a display system. Would Dad mind designing something that might work?

No problem, he had come up with many unpatented inventions over the years, and loved this kind of challenge. So he designed the display in about a week. My Uncle took it to his customers, and they loved it. He immediately sold 900,000 of them (not an exaggeration).

Well My Uncle's boss (the Chairman of a very large publishing co.) calls my Dad. We need you to get these things built. He says. We will set you up with your own company and fund the project as long as you can deliver.

He delivered. In fact, the Chairman just kept consolidating Dad's company into larger and larger aquisitions until Dad was the CEO of a 500 million dollar a year manufacturing firm.

All of these things happened to him when he was in his late 50's. He made enough to retire to a beautiful 3000 sqft home on Lake of the Ozarks, with his own dock and bass boat. He deserves it all.