Sandy Frandy

                In high school, I had a teacher whose name was Mrs. Frander. Her first name was Sandra so naturally, we adopted the name Sandy Frandy. She taught my IB Biology course, a two year, college equivalent course at my school. She was older, perhaps in her early sixties and had white hair and big glasses, very librarian like. But she was still sharp as a tack and one of the wittiest people I have ever met.

                Mrs. Frander was by far my favorite teacher because I could tell she was passionate about what she was doing and she tried really hard to teach us what we needed to know in a fun and hands on way. I’m not a teacher’s pet or anything and in fact, I screwed around a lot in her class, but for some reason she took a liking to my class and ended up being a personal mentor for me. She was extremely influential in my college selection process.

                As I said before, Mrs. Frander was a sharp one and loved our class because we were fun. Since it was right after lunch every day, me and my buddy Austin would always come in late and she would make us tell the whole class why we were late. We came up with some pretty ridiculous stories usually involving a bear in the middle of the road that stole our lunch or something. We would just talk out of our behinds until she cut us off and told us to sit down. Then she would start class with some remark like, “this is why drugs are bad class.”

                On the days where I actually got there early, I would draw fun illustrations on the white board, usually involving whatever we were learning about in class that week. My particular favorite was when the dean was going to observe and I wrote “Welcome to FranderLand” on the board and she didn’t notice till class had begun. That took some ‘splainin.

                I know I probably sound like that really annoying kid in class that everyone hates because nothing gets done but everyone did some similar antics including her. Let me tell you, she got her revenge. She loved hands on learning and loved acting out things with biology skits. For our animal behavior lab she picked me to play a rabbit and I had to act out whatever character trait she named. On this particular occasion, she had my sister’s class across the hall come and watch. Pictures can still be seen on facebook.

                During our human development and reproduction unit, she asked for a volunteer to demonstrate the different stages of childbirth. And by asked for a volunteer, I mean she asked for a volunteer and thanked me for stepping up even though I hadn’t said anything. I think this was right after the incident with the dean. Anyway, I had to lay down on one of the lab tables as a girl from my class acted as my birthing coach… totally awkward.

 I’m not sure how she got away with some of these antics but then again, most teachers would have kicked me out after the first two weeks. I think she only let me and my class get away with it because we put in the work too. I never got below an A in her class and it was not an easy course by any means. The whole class was a really tight-knit group by the end of our two years and it was all thanks to Mrs. Frander and her unique approach to learning.

Backpaking

                One of my closest friends growing up was moving away the summer before our senior year of high school. One day he invited me to go camping with his family. It was sort of our last hurrah before he left so I accepted. That week, we made all the preparations and I was over at his house almost every day to help prepare for the trip.

                We were going to Taylor Lake, Colorado, about a five hour drive away. His parents would be sleeping in their camper but Jake and I, along with his brother and his brother’s friend would be in a tent. I still remember the drive in. It was the wettest summer we have had in years and everything was green. The Lake was full and the river flowing into it was moving quickly. As we descended down the pass to get to the lake valley we looked over the water and the grassy plains surrounding it. To our left was a scene out of a movie with the light pouring over the banks of the water and reflecting off so that it hurt to look at it for too long. To our right were massive peaks still capped with snow even in July, glacial from years of continuous packing. The peaks gave way to hills, and hills to small bluffs which rolled all around the valley. It was the definition of pristine.

                We followed the river upstream on an old dirt road until we found a good spot to set up camp. We knew the park was popular for fishing, camping and ATV riding. Jake’s parents even brought some four wheelers for us to explore on. And that’s what we did the whole first day. An abandoned mining town, Taylor Lake has several abandoned shafts that are fun to look at. Obviously we didn’t explore in them, we were better Boy Scouts than that, but it was fun throwing stuff down them and listening to how far they dropped.

                The whole first night, it rained on the tent. This is one of my favorite sounds in the world and I have never slept better. The next day however, the crowd began to show up. You couldn’t hike for more than ten minutes without being passed by an ATV or another group of campers. Jake and I decided we wanted to make this last trip something to talk about so we went back to our site mid morning and packed up our bags. We had run into a ranger or trail guide earlier in the day and he told us about an old ATV trail that had been washed out because of the rain and was no longer passable except on foot. He said it led to a small lake and no one was camping up there because of the trail.

                We told his parents which direction we were going, grabbed a tent and some sleeping bags along with some matches and a tarp. For food, all we brought was two protein bars, a can of baked beans each, and our fishing poles and we set off. Feeling adventurous, we hiked off the trail, but always keeping it within eyeshot; a technique known as a handrail. We literally just picked a hill and started climbing.

                A few hours in, the trail was still visible but seemed extremely far away because we had climbed so much. Our legs burned from the incline and just over every hill was another one that reached slightly higher. Around dinner time, we had been walking for about six hours and there was no sign of the lake anywhere. The snowcapped peaks were a lot closer, but behind us was nothing but miles and miles of dense forest. We hadn’t seen anyone in hours, we had found the isolation we were looking for.

                After downing the protein bars, we decided that if it started to get dark, we would find the first flat place to camp out where we could still see the trail and just find the lake in the morning. Right before the sun began to set behind us, the trees were getting smaller and scarcer. The diminishing light had us both nervous that we wouldn’t be able to set up camp or find firewood so we said we would climb over the next hill and we what we could see. As soon as we reached the top, it was as if the world opened up before us. There was the lake. It was small, only about two hundred yards across at the widest par, but it sat right at the foot of the snow capped peak at tree line as if someone though it would be funny to put a lake way up where all other water is frozen. You should have heard us hootin’ and hollerin’! We had made it. With just enough light left we got the tent up and found some dry wood, which wasn’t so bad since it hadn’t rained up that high in a few days. With the fire burning we sipped our baked beans straight from the can, like free men. They might as well have been a gourmet meal. The next morning, we were not in any hurry to leave, after all, it was all downhill from there. So we plopped ourselves down and cast a line each. And wouldn’t you know it, we each caught some small lake trout. Talk about a feast.

                Eventually, we figured his parents would worry if we weren’t back by dark so we packed up and moved out. We took the washed out trail back- we had already accomplished what we came to do. Our feet moved us lower but our spirits were never higher. We had done it. We found out later the trail was something like 6 miles to the lake but our route was definitely longer because of topography and we gained something like two thousand feet in elevation. It was quite an experience. The perfect send off for my friend, and a great story to tell at dinner that night.

The Doctor and the Doctor's Wife

This, like most other Nick Adam’s stories, is a coming of age tale. Even though Nick isn’t even in the story until the very end, the message of the story is one that every young man must come to grips with eventually.

                In the story, Nick’s father gets into an argument with a guy named Dick over some lumber that Dick accuses Nick’s father of stealing even though it is just driftwood left over from a logging company. Dick tests the Doctor’s patience not only by accusing him but also by intimidating him and calling him “Doc” in a condescending way. Eventually, he is pushed too far and he threatens Dick saying, “If you call me Doc once again, I’ll knock your eye teeth down your throat.” It is obvious Dick is just looking for a fight because he responds with, “Oh, no, you won’t, Doc.”

                Furious, and knowing he was defeated, Nick’s father retreats back up to his house. While in his house, he is further emasculated by his wife who is a “Christian Scientist” and warns him not to cause any trouble with Dick and calling him “dear” in a very emasculating tone repeatedly. It is obvious from their situation and the fact that they sleep in different bedrooms, Nick’s father cannot please his wife and is somewhat under her control.

                Finally, he leaves to go get Nick to come home for dinner but the two take the long way home to see the black squirrels in spite of his instructions. It is clear that Nick is still the one thing he still has control over.

                To me, this story is one I think every man can relate with. It is about the first time you realize your father isn’t perfect. He is just human and makes mistakes just like every other man on earth. Boys grow up revering their fathers. We want to dress like them, look like them, do what they do, and we follow every example they lead by. It reminds me of that song by Rodney Atkins that goes, “I’ve been watching you, Dad, ain’t that cool? I’m your buckaroo, I wanna be like you…” Although that song portrays a positive father-son relationship, the point is that young boys see their dads as the coolest.

                Obviously, this is not true. As much as we love our fathers, we all have to admit that none of them are perfect. They aren’t the big strong heroes, the I’m-not-afraid-of-anything super men that we see them as when we are kids. This realization is also a tough one to come to grips with.

                I think it is interesting that Hemingway would pair this story, portraying the shortcomings of Nick’s father with Indian Camp where he is portrayed as the hero. In both cases, pride seems to get the best of Nick’s father but he only lives up to it in the first story. The second story is Nick’s realization that his dad is a coward.

Indian Camp

Hemingway’s Nick Adams is an interesting character to read about. The autobiographical connotations of the stories are pretty obvious, but reading some of the stories, they might as well have been stories written for all men. Looking back over my brief twenty years, I can think of a story that relates to almost every one of the Nick Adam’s stories.

                Indian Camp tells the story of a time when Nick, his father, and his uncle go to help an Indian woman giving birth in a nearby camp. Nick’s father is a Doctor and is the only one who is able to keep cool under pressure and who is trained to deliver the baby. The woman was experiencing intense pain and was screaming so loud that the other men of the village left to smoke cigars where they couldn’t hear it. The only man remaining was the woman’s husband who lay on the top bunk of the infirmary because he had an axe wound from a few days earlier.

                Nick’s father really steps up in this situation and begins directing people and giving everyone a role. It is clear he is a talented physician and a strong leader. He, unlike anyone else, is able to just tune out the screaming, saying it doesn’t matter; he doesn’t hear it because it doesn’t matter. Eventually he delivers the baby successfully. A new life has been brought into the world and it is the most natural and beautiful thing in the world and it just happened at the hands of his father. However, when checking on the father in the bunk above everyone, they find he has slit his throat, unable to bear his wife’s agony. Nick, who was brought along to learn a valuable lesson about life ends up experiencing death at a very young age.

                On the way back, Nick’s father is very proud of what he has done and seems unaffected by the death of the man. Nick however is not so easy going. On the way back he asks his father seven questions. Only one of them had to do with birth and life. The other ones are almost all about dying. This is a story about the first time a young boy experiences death. His father is calm and cool and answers all the questions in what seems like a wise and honest way. When asked if dying is hard he says he doesn’t think so but it all depends. The story ends with Nick feeling quite sure he would never die, a strange idea for a young boy who has just had a brush with death to have.

                When I was a boy, I was fortunate enough to never have to witness a death let alone a gruesome suicide first hand like Nick did. However, I remember the first time I was introduced to death. While I was probably a little more desensitized to it than Nick was, it still sparked questions in my mind. I think it is very important for children to ask these questions so they aren’t naïve and for their parents to answer them truthfully so that their children don’t grow up with ideas about important things, like death, that are irrational or wrong.

                This is also a good coming of age story because Nick suddenly learned a new reality although he didn’t feel like he wanted to accept it. Everyone dies. That can be a tough realization for a young person who has known only life so far. But one’s mortality is something everyone must accept eventually.

Eleven... and 10, and 9, and 8....

The story Eleven by Sandra Cisneros was one of my favorites from this semester. It was so easy to relate to. Everybody has a day where they wish they could cry about something that made them sad, scream and laugh because something made them happy, lash out because something made them angry, or just run to their mother’s arms because they are scared. But we can’t because we have to act our age.

                When Rachel is forced to claim the sweater as her and even worse yet, put it on, she feels like a great wrong has been committed against her. She feels embarrassed because the sweater is so nasty and everyone in the class thinks it’s hers. She feels angry at both her teacher, Mrs. Price, and some of her classmates, Sylvia Saldivar, and Phyllis Lopez. And most of all, she feels sad because today is her birthday and no one is there to stick up for her and she can’t act ten anymore because now she is eleven even though she feels three and wants to be one hundred and two.

                I will be the first to admit, even though I’m twenty, I still have days where I feel five because I just want to cry. Or I feel fifteen because I do something stupid and know I am going to have to pay for it. There are also days when I’m just tired of taking crap from people and I wish I was a lot older because then no one could tell me what to do or that I’m wrong. Much like Mrs. Price, I would be right because that’s just how it works.

                I have to check myself though when I feel like this. Those days when I wish I was older so I can be done with school because my classes are hard or be working so I can make money are a test. I really don’t wish I was older. I really don’t want to trade all those days from this day till then just to be done with a class or have a job or a family because even though I’m having a bad day, my life is still good, it still matters, and I know I don’t want to miss anything. What I got out of the story was that it’s ok to feel all the ages that are inside how old you are, and it’s even ok to show it sometimes. Yes, we have to act our age, but sometimes life just sucks and bad days just happen. At these times we can and should compose ourselves appropriately, but sometimes you just have to act one of your younger ages.

The Lottery

                From the very beginning of The Lottery by Shirley Jackson, I felt myself uneasy and tense while reading it. The first page establishes an ominous tone and it is obvious this happy town has a dark feeling. You just know something bad is about to happen.

                One thing that stuck out to me right away was the duality in the story. The children had just been released from school and the freedom weight “uneasy” on their minds. This was odd because I am always ecstatic when school lets out for the summer. The contrast in the names of characters was also kind of odd. Mr. Summers and Mr. Graves carry completely different tones.

                The story also gives the reader a feeling that the town is old and bound in its traditions. The black box and Old Man Warner are representative of this. It also says people who wish to progress and do away with certain traditions are “crazy fools.” Even though some people wish to do away with certain rituals, they remain because they have always been around.

                As the story progresses, the characters seem to not think much of this “lottery” they are about to take part in. There are children playing, women gossiping, and one woman just plain forgot that the lottery was that day. Overall it seemed not to be that big of a deal; it was just that thing that people showed up to once a year because they had to.

                When the Hutchinson’s receive the “winning paper” it becomes evident from Tessie’s reaction that this lottery is not one anyone wants to win. They narrow down the names to one person and eventually Tessie is chosen. She becomes hysterical saying that it isn’t fair and it isn’t right. The tension mounts and finally you learn she has been chosen to be stoned to death.

                I can definitely see why Shirley Jackson received so much criticism when she wrote this story in 1948. It was unsettling. I put the anthology down and just said, “Wow, that’s messed up.” The first time I read it. It was also criticized because it challenged tradition and rituals which in our culture and arguably every culture in the world are institutions with a lot of authority. To break the status quo is to rebel and resist. People don’t like that; people don’t like change.

                If there is one thing this story taught me, it is that we need to both individually and as a society, examine the things in our lives we accept without question to be true or right or moral. When we look back at history, there were times where this was absolutely more than necessary. It often resulted in violent change but good change nonetheless. The first example that comes to mind is the institution of slavery. Slavery had been around for centuries if not longer and was brought to this country as early as the first settlers. It was not until the nineteenth century that people started to question how right it was to own another human being. The result of this question was the bloody Civil War, but had it not been fought, we might still have this evil institution around today.

                This story was progressive to say the least and I can see why it made people mad, but it teaches a valuable lesson. For the most part I think tradition is a good thing, but skepticism is essential in today’s ever changing world.

Jack in da Box - Week 6 Conversation Partner

Like usual, I got out of class Friday afternoon and text Khedir to make sure he could still meet. He told me he still wanted to but that he was starving and craving fast food. He asked me if I wanted to go to Jack in the Box with him and said he’d drive. So we went. It was lunch time for Pascal High School and it was really crowded and Khedir is not the loudest guy on earth and that made it especially difficult for him to make his order. I helped him out a little bit and we found a spot to sit. He offered to buy me something but I had just eaten but not wanting to insult him I took him up on an iced tea.

                We got to talking about stuff and I asked him what his favorite fast food place was. He really likes Jack in the Box but not McDonalds. I told him my favorite place was Carl’s Jr. which I doubted he would know about because I’m pretty sure there are like two of them in Texas but surprisingly he had. I told him they used to sponsor some fundraisers we did for my Cross Country team in high school and we were always getting coupons for free burgers which was ironic because we were a Cross Country team. I also made myself vehemently clear that I thought Whataburger was complete poo and hardly qualified as food. Luckily for me, he sided with me on my passionate stance.

                Next I asked him if he finally got his score for the GMAT test back and he said he missed the minimum requirement to get into the MBA program by only a few points and it was mostly due to the English section. This was pretty bad news to hear and I felt bad for him because I know he had been working so hard to prepare for that test and because his English has gotten so much better in just the eight weeks or so that we have been meeting. I asked him what he was going to do and he just said that he was going to retake it again in a few weeks and hope he scores higher. I really hope he does because you can tell just from talking to him that he is an insanely smart guy. It’s just that English is his third language next to Arabic and Somali.

                I asked if there was anything that I or anyone at TCU could do and he said no, he just has to work on English a little bit more, specifically written English. He then asked me about the test I have to take to get into med school. I told him it was called the MCAT but I that I don’t have to take it till next fall. He wanted to know a little more so I told him it has five sections; Biology, General Chemistry, Organic Chemistry, Physics, and a Written English section. It is scored out of 45 points and really anything over a 30 is a decent score.

                We both talked about how dumb it is that so much of your future comes down to standardized tests. But I guess it’s the only way they have to measure people’s aptitudes and knowledge of the subject on the same scale. Still, it is frustrating.

                We chatted for a little while longer while he took down his double cheeseburger and the hit the road. During the drive back, we mostly just complained about Texas drivers. Sorry to anyone reading this who happens to be from the Dallas Ft. Worth area, but nobody knows how to drive here. Khedir maybe wasn’t the best driver on earth but at least I didn’t have to take away his phone like I do for some of my friends before they drive.

                He dropped me off in front of Milton Daniel and I thanked him again for the tea. I told him we would try to meet again but that the next few weeks were crazy busy for me. He felt the same way so we said we’d try. That never really worked out but we still text each other occasionally and I think I’d like to keep in touch with him next semester. I usually see him at the library about once a week anyway so it shouldn’t be that hard. Maybe I’ll take him up on that burger sometime. Until then, I can honestly say I learned a lot from talking to Khedir, who by the way is trying to adopt the name Eric, so if you ever meet him, that might be how he introduces himself. It was interesting to see what a person from another country but educated in the United States thinks of us. They have a very interesting perspective because they have literally been inundated with both cultures and can see the good and the bad in both. This is a valuable resource and not one that should be underestimated in today’s increasingly small world. We are at the forefront of a major shift from national sovereignty to globalization and the unique outlook that people like Khedir have should not be taken for granted.