I have been around the block a few times when it comes to unsolicited parenting advice. How to feed the baby, how to get the baby to sleep, how to handle biting, attitudes, the best ways to play with my children and of course, potty training tips. I haven't heard it all, but I've heard a lot. Most of the time, I take this advice with a grain of salt. Today, however, I was rubbed the wrong way for the last time regarding my child's (or children's) hair. So please allow me to explain MY choice in the style of MY child's hair. If you know my children at all, you know they have long hair. They have beautiful hair. Yes, I realize they are boys.
Today, after happily sharing a picture of Liam, I was told by an older female colleague that I "should cut that child's hair. He looks like a girl and you will ruin him if you keep it long like that."
Bless her heart.
Had I not been in my professional setting, here is what I would have said to her:
A) He's my child. The way his hair is cut (or not cut) is determined by the choices of him, his father and me.
As if the above explanation is not sufficient...
B) I choose to raise my children to be individuals. Style themselves, choose their own clothes, choose their shoes, choose their hair style, etc...if they wish. Ryan decided to have his hair cut over the summer. Up until that point in his life, he had blatantly told me he wanted his hair long.
C) Liam requires a headlock to brush his teeth. Do you really think he'll sit long enough to cut his hair? Go ahead... give it a try. But, if you cut my son's ear off... well, eye for an eye.
D) Finally, look around you... the world is changing. It's not 1950. My sons can be and will be accepted just as they are. If you are shallow enough to think that my 5 and 3 year olds will develop a complex because they choose to go against the mainstream, I feel even worse for you than I did prior to your ignorant comment. The only complex they will have is the one created by moronic, judgemental, fools like yourself.
Stop comparing people to your own definition of normal. Normal is relative, folks. My children are happy, healthy, smart, loving and beautiful little boys. Their hair is just a part of them on the outside. Stop making it more than that.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Monday, August 26, 2013
A letter to my son the night before KiNdErGaRtEn
Dear Sweet Ryan,
Here we are. The night before kindergarten. 5 years and 8 months ago we brought you into the world. Tomorrow, your daddy and I will walk you into your elementary school for the first time. Through all the milestones of your life thus far, we have celebrated, laughed, clapped, jumped up and down, and even cried. With each one, you become smarter, more aware of the world around you and more confident. Kindergarten will be no different. I am so proud of the young man you have become. You are smart, polite, generous, empathetic, fun-loving, sensitive, genuine, analytical, cognizant. I could go on.
There are some things I will promise you about this first year of school.
1. I promise you will remember it. You will remember the smell of your kindergarten classroom, even when you're 30. There will be certain smells, sights and sounds that will take you back to this time of your life. You will remember the excitement and anticipation you will feel as you're walking into that building tomorrow. Cherish it. It goes by so fast.
2. I promise your teacher (and all your teachers, actually) loves you. Teachers are gifts. Treat them as such. It takes a very special person to want to spend 180 days of their year with a room full of 5 and 6 year olds. They love what they do, and they love you.
3. I promise you there will be that one kid that gets under your skin. You won't like this child, and that's ok. You don't have to like everyone, but you will play nice.
4. I promise you will learn. A LOT! There are a few things you have been concerned with not knowing. "I can't read" is a common phrase we hear from you lately. You will learn to read along with many many more exciting things!
5. I promise you will LOVE kindergarten! You will make friends that you will keep for the rest of your life. You will learn lessons and have experiences that will continue to mold you into the man you will be.
I'm not going to lie, I have teared up over all the little things leading up to your first day; your last day of preschool, your first day of summer camp, driving by the school in the morning on the way to work. I even cried when I washed and folded your preschool nap time blanket for the last time. Instead of putting it back in your preschool bag, I put it in the closet and that just tore me to pieces. You'll just have to put up with me and my antics. You're my first. I was my parents' first, so I will apologize in advance for my overly-paranoid thoughts and actions you will be subjected to as you go through the next 13 years of school. Fortunately for you, your father is the baby of three. He tries very hard to bring me back to earth.
Why is this so bittersweet for me, you might ask? You've been in preschool since you were a year old. This school thing is nothing new for you. You adapt well, your extremely sociable, and you make friends easily. The fact is, kindergarten marks the end of an era; an idea that you need me for everything. It marks the beginning of the end of your childhood innocence. By the time you graduate from elementary school, you will know things that I didn't know until I was in high school. You will see and hear things that I have been able to shield you from until now. This is what happens over time. Children grow up faster than their parents did.
With all that said, I am so excited for you, my love. You are brilliant and you will do so well. Remember to always be open to learning, always be open-minded, treat your peers the way you want to be treated, remember your manners, ENJOY this fabulous time of your life and never deny me a hug!
I love you all the way around all the planets and back!
~Mommy
Here we are. The night before kindergarten. 5 years and 8 months ago we brought you into the world. Tomorrow, your daddy and I will walk you into your elementary school for the first time. Through all the milestones of your life thus far, we have celebrated, laughed, clapped, jumped up and down, and even cried. With each one, you become smarter, more aware of the world around you and more confident. Kindergarten will be no different. I am so proud of the young man you have become. You are smart, polite, generous, empathetic, fun-loving, sensitive, genuine, analytical, cognizant. I could go on.
There are some things I will promise you about this first year of school.
1. I promise you will remember it. You will remember the smell of your kindergarten classroom, even when you're 30. There will be certain smells, sights and sounds that will take you back to this time of your life. You will remember the excitement and anticipation you will feel as you're walking into that building tomorrow. Cherish it. It goes by so fast.
2. I promise your teacher (and all your teachers, actually) loves you. Teachers are gifts. Treat them as such. It takes a very special person to want to spend 180 days of their year with a room full of 5 and 6 year olds. They love what they do, and they love you.
3. I promise you there will be that one kid that gets under your skin. You won't like this child, and that's ok. You don't have to like everyone, but you will play nice.
4. I promise you will learn. A LOT! There are a few things you have been concerned with not knowing. "I can't read" is a common phrase we hear from you lately. You will learn to read along with many many more exciting things!
5. I promise you will LOVE kindergarten! You will make friends that you will keep for the rest of your life. You will learn lessons and have experiences that will continue to mold you into the man you will be.
I'm not going to lie, I have teared up over all the little things leading up to your first day; your last day of preschool, your first day of summer camp, driving by the school in the morning on the way to work. I even cried when I washed and folded your preschool nap time blanket for the last time. Instead of putting it back in your preschool bag, I put it in the closet and that just tore me to pieces. You'll just have to put up with me and my antics. You're my first. I was my parents' first, so I will apologize in advance for my overly-paranoid thoughts and actions you will be subjected to as you go through the next 13 years of school. Fortunately for you, your father is the baby of three. He tries very hard to bring me back to earth.
Why is this so bittersweet for me, you might ask? You've been in preschool since you were a year old. This school thing is nothing new for you. You adapt well, your extremely sociable, and you make friends easily. The fact is, kindergarten marks the end of an era; an idea that you need me for everything. It marks the beginning of the end of your childhood innocence. By the time you graduate from elementary school, you will know things that I didn't know until I was in high school. You will see and hear things that I have been able to shield you from until now. This is what happens over time. Children grow up faster than their parents did.
With all that said, I am so excited for you, my love. You are brilliant and you will do so well. Remember to always be open to learning, always be open-minded, treat your peers the way you want to be treated, remember your manners, ENJOY this fabulous time of your life and never deny me a hug!
I love you all the way around all the planets and back!
~Mommy
Monday, June 3, 2013
Coming home
A lot has happened in the last few months. Just this morning, as I wrote "June 3" on a work document, I seriously wondered where the year has gone. Then I remember. So far, 2013 has gone to our strong desire to go home. With the exception of a brief 2 year blur in the past 12 years, Fayetteville was home. Shortly before we got married, we moved to Apex with the goal of staying in the Raleigh area. However, a short ten months later, we purchased our first home in the opposite direction we wanted to be. Don't ask me why. I still don't know why we signed and initialled our lives away in 2007 for that house out in the middle of no where in Benson. We were drunk on the first-time homeowners juice, I guess. I have no legitimate reason other than that. So from there, in a relatively quick period of time, we found ourselves right back in Fayetteville. The place, a short 2 years earlier, we so desperately wanted to leave. In a strange way, I felt drawn back even while kicking and screaming the entire way there.
That was 2009. We went back for jobs, a promising future, a set-up for a better life. All the typical reasons for a big move, or a backwards move, as I thought at the time. The moment we made the decision to move back to Fayetteville, we said it was temporary. Knowing what the Raleigh area had to offer, we didn't want to raise our family in Fayetteville. We set a 5 year goal to be back. Back to Raleigh, where we truly wanted to be. After a couple years, new opportunities presented for both Brett and myself and we became comfortable with what we had considered second best. Funny thing though, I loved my job. My job and my friends were about the only thing I truly loved about living there. I worked with some great people and I made friendships that will last forever, but that didn't satisfy the urge to get out.
In December, after making the always grueling, 24-hour, multi-city, multi-family Christmas tour, we decided enough was enough. A decision had to be made: Are we settling in Fayetteville or are we going to commit to moving.... again. Anyone who knows us, knows our moving record. Since we met in 2004, Brett and I have moved 8 times. Do the math. My Fayetteville folks know that is nothing to bat an eye at. However, for us non-military people, it's a bit excessive. With both of us in industries that allow for easy relocation, we set our eyes on Raleigh.
At the end of February, a solid 2 months into my job search, I landed a job offer in Cary for a dual-property hotel role. Two weeks later, Brett received his offer for the infamous Capital Ford in Raleigh. Everything else just fell into place, solidifying this was what we were supposed to do. Everything isn't perfect, but we are now happily back in the Triangle.
Now I know Fayetteville wasn't a backwards move as I had once thought. It was a necessity for us to be where we are now. It's a cliche that everyone hates, but I firmly believe, "there is a reason for everything." Our reason for Fayetteville was progress and growth in our marriage, in our careers and within each of us. We are stronger than we were before we left.
The boys are adjusting remarkably well. We have been busy discovering our new city. We've visited several parks, explored some nearby bike trails, shopped, walked the streets of downtown Raleigh, visited the farmer's market and the flea market, attended a hockey game, re-
visited museums, and we're still going. It will take us years to mark everything off the list of things we want to do. Most importantly though, we are close to family. We are finally home, and it feels so good.
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That was 2009. We went back for jobs, a promising future, a set-up for a better life. All the typical reasons for a big move, or a backwards move, as I thought at the time. The moment we made the decision to move back to Fayetteville, we said it was temporary. Knowing what the Raleigh area had to offer, we didn't want to raise our family in Fayetteville. We set a 5 year goal to be back. Back to Raleigh, where we truly wanted to be. After a couple years, new opportunities presented for both Brett and myself and we became comfortable with what we had considered second best. Funny thing though, I loved my job. My job and my friends were about the only thing I truly loved about living there. I worked with some great people and I made friendships that will last forever, but that didn't satisfy the urge to get out.
In December, after making the always grueling, 24-hour, multi-city, multi-family Christmas tour, we decided enough was enough. A decision had to be made: Are we settling in Fayetteville or are we going to commit to moving.... again. Anyone who knows us, knows our moving record. Since we met in 2004, Brett and I have moved 8 times. Do the math. My Fayetteville folks know that is nothing to bat an eye at. However, for us non-military people, it's a bit excessive. With both of us in industries that allow for easy relocation, we set our eyes on Raleigh.
At the end of February, a solid 2 months into my job search, I landed a job offer in Cary for a dual-property hotel role. Two weeks later, Brett received his offer for the infamous Capital Ford in Raleigh. Everything else just fell into place, solidifying this was what we were supposed to do. Everything isn't perfect, but we are now happily back in the Triangle.
Now I know Fayetteville wasn't a backwards move as I had once thought. It was a necessity for us to be where we are now. It's a cliche that everyone hates, but I firmly believe, "there is a reason for everything." Our reason for Fayetteville was progress and growth in our marriage, in our careers and within each of us. We are stronger than we were before we left.
The boys are adjusting remarkably well. We have been busy discovering our new city. We've visited several parks, explored some nearby bike trails, shopped, walked the streets of downtown Raleigh, visited the farmer's market and the flea market, attended a hockey game, re-
visited museums, and we're still going. It will take us years to mark everything off the list of things we want to do. Most importantly though, we are close to family. We are finally home, and it feels so good.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Random Ramblings
Warning: I'm exhausted and not really in the mood to write creatively, so this will probably come out a bunch a rambling. Nonetheless, I feel the need to get some thoughts out of my head and on to "paper". It's been so long since I've blogged. It's been so long since I've done a lot of things because of our move back home.
Here I sit at the top of the stairs. I'm guarding the doors of Bubs' and Blue's rooms and their access to the living room. They will inevitably try to con me into "one more show", or beg to accompany me on the couch while I write. I periodically stare at the three baskets of laundry I should be folding rather than boring you with my words. Oh, and I still haven't cleaned up from dinner. Some nights I give up and give in. They go to bed entirely too late and the next morning my children are replaced. They awake as vicious little monsters who refuse to get dressed, eat breakfast or brush their teeth. So here I sit. Repeating I love yous and good nights in between the requests to "shhhhhhhhh."
The evening began with Liam's routine temper tantrum as soon as we walked in the door. God bless the 2-year-old. Today's trigger was exiting the jeep. He's a master manipulator and decided he would test his limits by requesting to get out himself, which led to him crawling in the rear of the jeep and playing with the umbrella. Having my arms full of stuff, a killer headache and needing to pee only added to my frustration. He didn't approve of my solution to restrain him in a football hold to get him in the house. I'm sure our neighbors think I'm a stellar mom. I'll be waiting for trophy.
Sometimes I wonder why I was chosen to be a mother. When I was little, I always saw myself as a wife and mother. I never had huge dreams about my career or traveling or any other aspect of life. But motherhood I was sure of. I had the names of my children picked out by the time I was in middle school and by high school I started visualizing my wedding even though I had no idea who the groom would be. My plan was to have 2 boys and 1 girl. Names? Dominic, Andrew and Rebekah. My tastes have changed.
My house is consistently a wreck. We leave at 7:00am every morning for school and work. The boys and I get home around 6:15pm every evening. I don't have as much time with them as I would like, even though sometimes I feel like I need to run as fast as I can away from them. Our evenings are consumed with making dinner, eating dinner, play time, showers, cuddles and bedtime. Most of the time the husband isn't home. He's busting his butt at work so he can one day have a relatively normal schedule. Cleaning isn't first on my list of priorities. Pop up visitors, even family, makes me anxious. I worry about being judged on my homemaker skills. I'm not a homemaker. Currently, aside from the laundry and dishes I've already mentioned, there are toys from wall to wall in the playroom (which happens to be the living room in this house), there is dirt on the floor in the kitchen and laundry room from the dogs (why do I mop?), surfaces are dusty, there is random 'stuff' throughout the house, and we won't discuss the bathrooms. I wouldn't necessarily consider it a choice to live this way. I prefer to call it a requirement of raising two small boys. I could spend my time chasing after them with a dust rag, bottle of Windex and the Dyson, or I could spend my time making memories along side them while looking beyond the mess.
Last night we had a rare evening with Daddy home. We had dinner together then headed to the park on our bikes. Ryan has recently graduated from training wheels on his bike. I met another mom today who's child will be entering kindergarten this year. We compared stories and she asked me how I felt about Ryan going to school this year. I paused for a second and then answered, "I can't think about kindergarten. I'm still recovering from the removal of the training wheels." I know he's going to school in 3 months, but I haven't given it much thought yet. Anyway, back to the park... (see, I told you I'm rambling) While Ryan can ride on 2 wheels, he hasn't completely mastered it yet. Before last night, he still couldn't push off and ride without my assistance to balance. He and Brett worked together for an hour last night and I'm happy to say he's mastered it. With a little more practice, we're ready to hit the trails around our house. Watching him learn from his daddy and finally master something he was struggling with gave me goosebumps. There were tears, falls and scrapes, but that child was hell bent on success. He has a double dose of stubbornness and persistence from his parents. Seeing him put it all to good use makes me proud. The experience gave me flashbacks of when my Deddy taught me to ride my purple bike with pink tires in our backyard. I love that I now know how he felt that day when I took off without him holding on. This is practice for all the times I will have to let go and let him ride as he grows older.
When I think about how horrible a house keeper I am at this time in my life, I do my best to push it aside. My children aren't going to care about a messy house. Hell, they make the mess! I don't want to miss my boys' childhood milestones because I'm worried about pop up guests. We're too busy making forts, cooking together, doing science experiments and exploring our new city to worry with a spotless house. You're more than welcome to stop by, but if you're going to judge me, wait until the boys are off to college to come over.
Don't get me wrong. It's not like the clutter doesn't get to me. I can't stand it actually. My OCD gets in the way of me completely being ok with a messy house. Hence the anxiety with guests. So I've come up with a couple remedies: Alphabetize the spices and sort the closets by color. This is normal, right? The boys' closets look like brand new boxes of crayons. All colors grouped together from lights to darks in the correct color order. I guess I have to grab hold of some aspect of our home in order to feel secure, while the rest of the place falls into the miniature hands of our children.
Oh well. Such is life. I doubt my children will dwell on the mess. Hopefully they will remember how much fun we had.
Here I sit at the top of the stairs. I'm guarding the doors of Bubs' and Blue's rooms and their access to the living room. They will inevitably try to con me into "one more show", or beg to accompany me on the couch while I write. I periodically stare at the three baskets of laundry I should be folding rather than boring you with my words. Oh, and I still haven't cleaned up from dinner. Some nights I give up and give in. They go to bed entirely too late and the next morning my children are replaced. They awake as vicious little monsters who refuse to get dressed, eat breakfast or brush their teeth. So here I sit. Repeating I love yous and good nights in between the requests to "shhhhhhhhh."
The evening began with Liam's routine temper tantrum as soon as we walked in the door. God bless the 2-year-old. Today's trigger was exiting the jeep. He's a master manipulator and decided he would test his limits by requesting to get out himself, which led to him crawling in the rear of the jeep and playing with the umbrella. Having my arms full of stuff, a killer headache and needing to pee only added to my frustration. He didn't approve of my solution to restrain him in a football hold to get him in the house. I'm sure our neighbors think I'm a stellar mom. I'll be waiting for trophy.
Sometimes I wonder why I was chosen to be a mother. When I was little, I always saw myself as a wife and mother. I never had huge dreams about my career or traveling or any other aspect of life. But motherhood I was sure of. I had the names of my children picked out by the time I was in middle school and by high school I started visualizing my wedding even though I had no idea who the groom would be. My plan was to have 2 boys and 1 girl. Names? Dominic, Andrew and Rebekah. My tastes have changed.
My house is consistently a wreck. We leave at 7:00am every morning for school and work. The boys and I get home around 6:15pm every evening. I don't have as much time with them as I would like, even though sometimes I feel like I need to run as fast as I can away from them. Our evenings are consumed with making dinner, eating dinner, play time, showers, cuddles and bedtime. Most of the time the husband isn't home. He's busting his butt at work so he can one day have a relatively normal schedule. Cleaning isn't first on my list of priorities. Pop up visitors, even family, makes me anxious. I worry about being judged on my homemaker skills. I'm not a homemaker. Currently, aside from the laundry and dishes I've already mentioned, there are toys from wall to wall in the playroom (which happens to be the living room in this house), there is dirt on the floor in the kitchen and laundry room from the dogs (why do I mop?), surfaces are dusty, there is random 'stuff' throughout the house, and we won't discuss the bathrooms. I wouldn't necessarily consider it a choice to live this way. I prefer to call it a requirement of raising two small boys. I could spend my time chasing after them with a dust rag, bottle of Windex and the Dyson, or I could spend my time making memories along side them while looking beyond the mess.
Last night we had a rare evening with Daddy home. We had dinner together then headed to the park on our bikes. Ryan has recently graduated from training wheels on his bike. I met another mom today who's child will be entering kindergarten this year. We compared stories and she asked me how I felt about Ryan going to school this year. I paused for a second and then answered, "I can't think about kindergarten. I'm still recovering from the removal of the training wheels." I know he's going to school in 3 months, but I haven't given it much thought yet. Anyway, back to the park... (see, I told you I'm rambling) While Ryan can ride on 2 wheels, he hasn't completely mastered it yet. Before last night, he still couldn't push off and ride without my assistance to balance. He and Brett worked together for an hour last night and I'm happy to say he's mastered it. With a little more practice, we're ready to hit the trails around our house. Watching him learn from his daddy and finally master something he was struggling with gave me goosebumps. There were tears, falls and scrapes, but that child was hell bent on success. He has a double dose of stubbornness and persistence from his parents. Seeing him put it all to good use makes me proud. The experience gave me flashbacks of when my Deddy taught me to ride my purple bike with pink tires in our backyard. I love that I now know how he felt that day when I took off without him holding on. This is practice for all the times I will have to let go and let him ride as he grows older.
When I think about how horrible a house keeper I am at this time in my life, I do my best to push it aside. My children aren't going to care about a messy house. Hell, they make the mess! I don't want to miss my boys' childhood milestones because I'm worried about pop up guests. We're too busy making forts, cooking together, doing science experiments and exploring our new city to worry with a spotless house. You're more than welcome to stop by, but if you're going to judge me, wait until the boys are off to college to come over.
Don't get me wrong. It's not like the clutter doesn't get to me. I can't stand it actually. My OCD gets in the way of me completely being ok with a messy house. Hence the anxiety with guests. So I've come up with a couple remedies: Alphabetize the spices and sort the closets by color. This is normal, right? The boys' closets look like brand new boxes of crayons. All colors grouped together from lights to darks in the correct color order. I guess I have to grab hold of some aspect of our home in order to feel secure, while the rest of the place falls into the miniature hands of our children.
Oh well. Such is life. I doubt my children will dwell on the mess. Hopefully they will remember how much fun we had.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
We're a Family
When you were born you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life in a manner so that when you die the world cries and you rejoice.
I don't know who those words belong to, but there isn't a truer, more profound statement to live by.
He was walking across the main room of the student center of my college during the set up for our new student orientation. I was a sophomore, the new Editor of the campus newspaper, a senator of our student government and a member of our local sorority. I was setting up the booth to recruit new students to join our newspaper. I noticed his sense of pride and ownership in this event. He walked up and down that room and his stride suggested he was untouchable. When the students started shuffling in, it didn't take long for him to come over and introduce himself to me. How I had not met him during my freshman year, I have no idea. Maybe because I was your typical freshman, enjoying her new found freedom with blinders on.
"What's up," he said.
"Not a lot. Recruiting new people to write for me," I answered back.
"Me too. You want to come join us in SAC?" he said quite confidently as if I had been wasting my time for the past year.
"Umm, no. I can't." Then I listed all the extracurriculars I had already committed to, not to mention my overbearing course load I had signed up for.
"Here. Write your name on this list. Come to our first meeting and just try it out. We're a family. You'll love it." He handed me a a yellow legal pad with a place to write my name, email address and phone number. He wrote in black ink, and it was borderline chicken scratch.
I didn't even really know what the Student Activities Committee did. Like I said, I had blinders on. I had gone to many campus events, but didn't really pay any attention to how they were put on. I wrote my name on that pad of paper and promised I would attend the first meeting. Nothing could have convinced me at that moment that writing my name down on that paper would have changed my life the way that it did. It was one of those crossroads decisions that would pave many roads through the rest of my life.
That man's name is Chris Ryan. Today is his birthday. He would have been 51. He passed away during a soccer game on campus in 2003. He left behind a beautiful, wonderful wife and three boys who have grown to be absolutely, incredible young men who are extensions of my family. He also left behind a legacy and decades worth of students who were a part of his campus family; his SAC family. Never have I met someone who touched so many people. Because of him, we are all a family, hundreds deep and miles wide.
Today, with seeing all the tributes, quotes, and pictures honoring Chris on Facebook, I wondered if he knew just how much he had impacted everyone he encountered. I wondered if he knew about all the people that would miss him when he was gone, even almost 10 years later. My hope is that he looks down on all of us with incredible awe over the passion people still feel when we remember him. I hope he knows how much each and every one of us love him and (I think I can speak for everyone) thank him for a job well done. He wasn't lying when he said "We're a family" and even in death, he has kept our world together. To me, that is beyond amazing.
Happy Birthday, Chris! You deserve to rejoice.
I don't know who those words belong to, but there isn't a truer, more profound statement to live by.
He was walking across the main room of the student center of my college during the set up for our new student orientation. I was a sophomore, the new Editor of the campus newspaper, a senator of our student government and a member of our local sorority. I was setting up the booth to recruit new students to join our newspaper. I noticed his sense of pride and ownership in this event. He walked up and down that room and his stride suggested he was untouchable. When the students started shuffling in, it didn't take long for him to come over and introduce himself to me. How I had not met him during my freshman year, I have no idea. Maybe because I was your typical freshman, enjoying her new found freedom with blinders on.
"What's up," he said.
"Not a lot. Recruiting new people to write for me," I answered back.
"Me too. You want to come join us in SAC?" he said quite confidently as if I had been wasting my time for the past year.
"Umm, no. I can't." Then I listed all the extracurriculars I had already committed to, not to mention my overbearing course load I had signed up for.
"Here. Write your name on this list. Come to our first meeting and just try it out. We're a family. You'll love it." He handed me a a yellow legal pad with a place to write my name, email address and phone number. He wrote in black ink, and it was borderline chicken scratch.
I didn't even really know what the Student Activities Committee did. Like I said, I had blinders on. I had gone to many campus events, but didn't really pay any attention to how they were put on. I wrote my name on that pad of paper and promised I would attend the first meeting. Nothing could have convinced me at that moment that writing my name down on that paper would have changed my life the way that it did. It was one of those crossroads decisions that would pave many roads through the rest of my life.
That man's name is Chris Ryan. Today is his birthday. He would have been 51. He passed away during a soccer game on campus in 2003. He left behind a beautiful, wonderful wife and three boys who have grown to be absolutely, incredible young men who are extensions of my family. He also left behind a legacy and decades worth of students who were a part of his campus family; his SAC family. Never have I met someone who touched so many people. Because of him, we are all a family, hundreds deep and miles wide.
Today, with seeing all the tributes, quotes, and pictures honoring Chris on Facebook, I wondered if he knew just how much he had impacted everyone he encountered. I wondered if he knew about all the people that would miss him when he was gone, even almost 10 years later. My hope is that he looks down on all of us with incredible awe over the passion people still feel when we remember him. I hope he knows how much each and every one of us love him and (I think I can speak for everyone) thank him for a job well done. He wasn't lying when he said "We're a family" and even in death, he has kept our world together. To me, that is beyond amazing.
Happy Birthday, Chris! You deserve to rejoice.
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