Broke My Trunk
I went to Sam’s Club last night to pick up a 2′x4′ table for my office, a filing cabinet for Kiara, some SlimFast, some Osteo Biflex, and some gum. While there I also found a 5 pound bag of Runts (my favorite candy [except for the banana ones.]) I managed to get it all in my trunk, except for the filing cabinet. I tried to squeeze it into my back seat, but failed miserably. It wouldn’t go by about 2 inches. I tore open the box in hopes that there was at least that much packing material in the box. There was. I was able to fit the filing cabinet in my back seat, but just barely. Then I took the empty box, folded it up, and crammed it into my trunk. I then closed my trunk quickly to make sure that the box wouldn’t unfold itself.
I drove across the parking lot to Bed, Bath, and Beyond to get a container for my 5 pounds of candy. That went well, and I got a bag for my one item, so that I could cram all of my smaller Sam’s Club goodies into it. I got the trunk open, did the bagging, and put the bag back into the trunk. The box for the filing cabinet tried to escape while I was doing this, and I should have just let the damn thing go. I managed to cram it back into the trunk, and get the trunk closed on it.
I drove across the parking lot again to a Office Depot to pick up some push pins, and some Post-It Notes. I also picked up a game that reminded me of Star Control, so I wanted to try it. I went outside with my loot from Office Depot, and tried to pop my trunk. No luck. I tried my remote button, and the release button (it’s a button, not a lever) on the inside. No dice. I tried hitting the remote button while pulling, pushing, and doing lots of swearing. Nothing.
I decided to give up and go home. I got home, and Kiara and I offloaded the filing cabinet from my back seat and into her office. Then we went out to tackle the trunk. My back seats fold down, but the releases are in the trunk. We felt all around the seats to try to find an inside release, but we totally failed. They’re just not there. We gave up on that and walked to the rear of the car. As we got to the back of the car, Kiara pointed at the keyhole in the back of my trunk and asked, “Have you tried the key yet?”
D’oh!
I’d never used my key in any form on my car (except to start the engine), so I didn’t think of it this time around. Fortunately, the key worked like a charm. We carried my load of stuff into the house, and I went back out to see about fixing my trunk. I figured the box caught a wire and pulled it loose. It was dark out, so I was just using my hands to feel for loose wires. I didn’t feel anything at all, so I’m not sure what is wrong. I’m going to give a whack at it Saturday during the day, so that I can have some daylight to look at it. If I can’t figure it out, I’ll take it to the Saturn dealership, and hope that it’s not too expensive to fix.
Missing Them
While growing up, I spent most summers with my grandparents. I also spent most spring breaks there as well. Some of my earliest memories of them are at their house on Kentucky St. playing in their backyard.
My grandfather had setup an old Honda 50cc motorcycle with no wheels or engine on blocks. I’d spend hours on the thing making motorcycle noises with my mouth, and pretending to race it. I’m sure that, somewhere, there are photos of me wearing an oversized helmet while “riding” the motorcycle. My grandfather always made sure that I wore a helmet while riding motorcycles, and this was ingrained into me at a young age on a motorcycle that wouldn’t even move.
I also remember painting the wooden fence at my grandparents’ house white one summer. I must have been around 5 years old, going on 6. I don’t remember how much my grandfather paid me to do the work, but I do know that it was the first money that I ever earned.
While I was going to kindergarten, my mom would drop me off at my grandparents’ house in the morning. I’d crawl into bed with my grandfather, and we’d watch the morning news while my grandmother made me some oatmeal and toast for breakfast. We’d sit in bed while eating breakfast and talk about the news. I remember that my grandfather would always ask me what I thought about various news articles. We would sit and have intelligent conversations about world events. Looking back on it, this was a great thing that my grandfather did for me. It helped me develop an open and analytical mind at an early age. This really helped me in later years when I was on the debate team in junior high and high school.
When I was around 6, my grandfather bought an old Air Force barracks from the city, and had it moved out into the country. He worked on it for over a year to install walls, flooring, plumping, wiring, carpet, stairs, and everything else that goes into making a building a home. When I was 7, they moved from their small house on Kentucky street to Rankin Highway. I remember going out there to visit my grandfather while he worked on “The Big House”. I probably wasn’t much help at my young age, but I would follow my grandfather around while he did all sorts of tasks. I just wish that I had been more cognisant of events. I could have learned so much from him while he was doing his tasks.
Once my grandparents moved into The Big House, I’d spend countless hours there. The motorcycle that had its engine and wheels missing was rebuilt by my grandfather. He got me a helmet that would fit properly, and I’d spend hours racing around the teardrop shaped driveway that they had on their property. I would always imagine that I was in a motorcycle race with various cartoon characters. I’d have a running commentary in my head, and I didn’t always win. It seems like Scooby Doo always won the imaginary races. I think he somehow cheated.
With all of the room that my grandparents had at The Big House, they got a pool table setup upstairs. I’d spend hours shooting pool and learning the skills necessary to become a good billiards player. I’m rusty these days, but for as long as I was tall enough to see over the edge of the table, I was shooting pool. My arms were too short to use a full-sized stick, so I would take the front half of a stick and use just that. It severely limited the shots that I could take, but I learned to adjust for my restrictions. Years later, at a family reunion, I remember sharking a table and beating all comers. The deal was that the loser had to buy the winner a beer. I was underage, so the deal was if I lost, I bought a beer for the winner, but if I won, the loser had to give me five dollars. Over the course of the week, I ended up with almost $200 in my pocket.
Another thing that the extra room in the house gave me was the ability to wrestle with my grandfather. We’d get on the floor and grapple. We’d roll around on the ground, and have a good laugh while doing it. My grandfather could have easily pinned me and declared himself the winner, but not once did he do that. He always let me win. This is just one small example of the generosity and kindness that he showed me over the years. Growing up, I never did know that he let me win. It wasn’t until I was in high school, and I was thinking back on things that I realized this.
We’ll fast forward to when I was 12, going on 13, and I decided that I didn’t want to live with my mom any longer. I won’t go into the details, but I will say that I had finally grown old enough to realize that I didn’t feel safe in her house. Don’t worry. My mom has cleaned up her act, and is now one of the greatest people that I now these days. Anyway, I moved out of my mom’s house, and in with my grandparents. I never did ask them if I could do it. I just moved in during the summer, which was normal. When it came time for school to start, my mom showed up to take me home. I, being a typical teenager, rebelled against my mom. I demanded that she let me stay with my grandparents, and I made a big show over it. Not once did I ask my grandparents if I could stay with them. I just assumed that they would let me. I assumed correctly, but I wish that I had at least asked them if it was ok for me to stay with them. My grandfather calmed us both down, and told my mom that I would be staying with them for the first week of school. We could get together and talk it over on the weekend when everyone was more calm and collected. I nervous the whole first week of eighth grade that I would have to go back to my mom’s house. When the weekend came, we all sat down around the table and talked things over. My grandfather’s patience, wisdom, caring, and reasoning won the day. I got to stay with my grandparents, but I would have to visit my mom (who lived maybe a mile away down the road) on a regular basis because I was an important part of her life.
I lived with my grandparents until I was almost 19 years old. I decided to try to make it on my own, and I think that they were heartbroken that I was leaving. I know that my grandmother was crushed, but my grandfather knew that it was time for me to try living on my own. I had my ups and downs (more downs that ups, really) over the course of the next four years. Every time I did something good, my grandparents were there to congratulate me, and tell me what a good job I was doing. Every time I did something bad, they were there to rescue me (mostly with financial help,) and to tell me that I hoped I had learned my lesson, and that I wouldn’t do it again.
It wasn’t until I was 23 that I finally started to get my life on track. I moved to San Antonio from my home town to be with my mom (who had moved there 8 years prior.) My grandfather gave me a few hundred dollars and told me that it would have to last me until I got a job and started earning my own way. The money barely lasted me until my first paycheck, but it got me there. When I finally got a job in San Antonio my first call was to my grandparents to tell them the good news. They could tell how excited and happy I was to finally get back on my feet. I could hear in their voices how proud they were of me. I could also tell that they weren’t as excited as I was because I had gone through quite a few jobs in the previous year.
A year later I was still at that job, and I had fallen in love with Kiara. I was planning on moving to Montana to be with her, and when I told my grandparents about this, they were hesitant. Moving to Montana for someone that I had only met once in person was a huge leap. However, my grandfather told me that it was a good thing that I was getting out and exploring the world. He had lived all over the United States while in the Army, and while doing oil exploration all over the place. He knew that it would be good for me to get out of Texas, and see more. When I moved to Montana, my grandfather told me that I may not be able to find a job right away, and he gave me some cash to tide me over. I had pre-paid a month’s rent up in Montana, and I had some money saved up, but the extra really helped.
When Kiara and I got married in Montana, we had a reception in Texas for my family to meet her. It was held at The Big House, and I got to see quite a bit of family that I had not seen in years. It was a good time, and I think Kiara made a great impression on my family. When Kiara and I left my grandparents’ house to head back to Montana, I sat down with my grandfather and told him, “Thank you.” He asked me what I was thanking him for. I swallowed my tears, and told, “For everything. For everything you’ve done since before I can remember to this very day, and for putting me on a road to success and happiness. There’s no way I can repay everything that you’ve done, but I can at least say, ‘Thank you.’” We got up from the table and hugged. It was the best hug that I’ve ever received.
Later that year found Kiara and me in Colorado, and I talked to my grandparents on a pretty regular basis. I went to visit them a few times over the years, and I could tell that they were growing more old and infirm. I wished that could move back in with them at The Big House, but there’s no way I could convince Kiara to do that, so I never brought it up to her.
A few years later, my grandmother passed away. She had a debilitating stroke a decade earlier, and had struggled with poor health ever since. She always wanted to drive after her stroke. Her freedom and independence had been stripped away from her by her stroke, and all she wanted to do was get out of the house on her own. That never did happen. Some people picture their lost loved ones running, jumping, playing, and skipping through Heaven. Not my grandmother. She’s driving through Heaven on the way to the Great Shopping Mall In The Sky!
The next year, my grandfather passed away. I knew that he wouldn’t be too far behind my grandmother. They had been together for almost 60 years, and I could tell that the only reason my grandfather was holding on was to care for my grandmother. I’m really amazed that he made it the year. I was expecting it to be closer to two weeks, but that just goes to show how strong of a man my grandfather was. Shortly before my grandfather passed away, he called me. When I answered the phone he clucked his tongue at me. I knew right away who it was. That’s how he would always get my attention. He told me that it was the first sound that I would respond to as a baby. He would always pick me up and cluck his tongue at me, and that would make me smile. It still does. Sometimes, when I’m feeling down, I cluck my tongue and think of my grandfather.
It’s now been five years since my grandfather’s passing, and this is the first time that I’ve really written anything about them with any substance. I’ve shed tears for their loss over the years, but never as much as I have while writing this entry. The emotions that I’ve felt during this writing have ranged from loss to happiness to pain to compassion to hurt to warmth. There have been a handful of times that I’ve typed blindly because I couldn’t see the screen through my tears, but I had to keep going for fear of stopping because of the sense of loss.
I miss my grandparents horribly, but I still carry with me their memories, (some of) their wisdom, their kindness, and their love. No matter what happens to me I’ll never be alone. I just have to close my eyes, cluck my tongue, and thank God that I had such wonderful people in my life.
To Granny and Papa,
Thank you.
You grandson, J.T.
Christmas
I’ve been spending the past few days with my mom and my step-dad. They came in Saturday afternoon, and it’s been a great three days with the two of them. We got out of the house Sunday and took them to Garden of the Gods, Old Colorado City, Meadow Muffins, and finally back to the airport to pick up their luggage that arrived a day later than they did.
The rest of the time we’ve spent in the house. We tried to go out last night to run to the store to pick up some fixings for dinner tonight. We managed to dig our way out of the driveway and into the road. However, as soon as we started down the tunnel of snow that is our roadway, we found several drifts blocking the way. We decided to not get stuck, and turned back. We walked around the neighborhood (in the snow and blowing wind) trying to find green beans, but we came up empty. When we got back to the house, we called our nearest neighbors who happened to be out somewhere else. Kiara left a message for them, and they called us back today. They had two things that we needed: green beans, and a snow blower. The great neighbors that we have actually spent part of their Christmas plowing our driveway, and the roadway so that we can get out tomorrow morning to take my folks back to the airport on time. What wonderful people! We’re going to have to do something for them as a thanks.
We opened presents this morning, and I got two books that I’ve been wanting. I also got a guitar book and a George Carlin book from Kiara. My folks got me some cool little toys from the Toyota plant where my step-dad works. I also got some flannel clothes to wear around the house, and a light-wedge to use while in bed. I got Kiara a portable DVD player that she has been asking for along with Animaniacs and Pinky and the Brain DVDs and a case to carry it all in. I think she’s happy with what I got her. She was already spending part of this morning watching the Animaniacs DVD set.
We got my mom a book/DVD on Chihuahuas (she has 4 of them), and we got my step-dad King of the Hill, Season 2. We also got them a 10×13 black and white photo from Sears of Kiara and me that they really liked. I hope they liked their gifts. We couldn’t get them much this year because money has been so tight. I feel like I received more than I gave this year. That used to be a great thing as a kid, but as an adult it makes me feel a little guilty. Of course, I still have a handful of gifts to give out to friends. I’m hoping that giving them stuff will make up for what I couldn’t give to my family today. I also didn’t get my brothers, or nieces anything this year. We just couldn’t afford it. I did manage to get in touch with my brother, though. We had a good talk on the phone this morning, and I was grateful for that.
Kiara’s cooking dinner right now, and my folks are taking a nap. I’m taking advantage of this time to post one final thought. I’ve always liked my step-dad. He’s always been the nicest, most down-to-Earth guy. He’s been a good thing for my mom, and he’s taken my little sister, my little brother, and even me (when I was 23) into his home and treated us all with dignity and respect. Over the years, I’ve grown to love him more and more. This weekend has really sealed our relationship even tighter. He’s more of a father to me than my own biological father has ever been. I overheard him talking to several people back in Texas, and he’s always referred to me as his “son”. Not “step-son”. Son. It’s made me so proud that he thinks of me as a son that I had to step away because of the tears in my eyes. That’s pretty much the best gift that I’ve received all year.
I hope that this Christmas season finds you warm, well-fed, in the arms of loved ones, and as happy as you can be.
Most Influential
I’m sure that some (most?) of you have heard me talk about my grandfather. He rescued me from a horrible life, and taught me to stand up and be the best man that I can. I would love to be able to be as wise, intelligent, creative, and compassionate as he was. Perhaps I’m setting a standard too high for myself, but I would love to someday be half the man that my grandfather was. He only had a 6th grade education, but he still managed to build up (and sell for a good profit) two businesses. He used his money to retire and buy rental property that he hoped would provide for his family after he was gone, but that’s another story that you’ve already heard.
I can’t remember a time in my childhood that my grandfather wasn’t there for me. He would tell me that when I was a baby, he would walk across the alley to my parents’ house and stick his head in my window. He would cluck his tongue at me, and that was the first sound that I would react to. My reaction was always a smile, he told me. I know that I’m supposed to love my parents above all else, but I’m certain that the first affection that I held towards another human was my grandfather.
He provided everything that I needed. Sure, my mom did a decent job at providing for me, but the luxury items, and some other needs were always paid for by my grandparents. My grandmother was the nurturer, but my grandfather was the provider. Rarely did he ever turn me down for anything that I asked for. He would usually make me justify my desire, or earn the award, but I almost always got what I wanted from him.
I’m a software engineer by trade, and I have my grandfather to thank for putting me on the path that got me to where I’m at today. He bought me my first computer when I was 7, and two books on how to program. By the time I was 8, I was writing spreadsheet software for him to help him manage his income and expenses on his rental property. Most of the hard work of gaining the knowledge necessary to get where I am today I can accredit to my own determination. However, if it wasn’t for the wisdom and guidance that my grandfather has given me over the years, then I would probably be a truck driver, or a cook in a grease diner, or something less desirable.
I’m not saying that I always made the right decisions. There were times in my life that I couldn’t hold a job, couldn’t pay my bills, and didn’t seem to be able to go anywhere with my life. No matter how low I got, my grandfather would be there to carry me out of the hole. I can’t count the number of times that he would pick me up and put me back on my feet. I am eternally grateful to him for keeping me on the right path.
I could go on and on about all of the wonderful things that he did for me over the decades that we spent together, but I think it can be best summed up with these words:
I love you, Papa, and I miss you.
To Do List
Here are a few things that I would like to do before I die. They’re not in any particular order…
1) Go skydiving. Looks like a rush, and I would love to try it at least once.
2) Get a book published. Ever since I was in my early teens, I’ve wanted my name on the byline of a book. I’m not sure why I want to get published, but it’s an urge that is there. I don’t care if it’s a technical book, a role playing book, or a fiction novel. I have the skills to do any one (or all three!) of those. It’s just a matter of honing my skills to the point where they are good enough to be published, and actually finding the time to get something finished. Someday…
3) Go back to Europe. I would love to spend a week or two in Europe just traveling around and looking at the sights. Kiara has never been to Europe, so I would love to take her there someday.
4) Track down an old friend of mine. Last I heard from him was around 1999, and he was joining a seminary school with the intention of becoming a Catholic priest. His eventual goals were to become a Franscician Monk, and tend to people in prison. I’m not sure if he ever met his goal or not. Shortly after talking to him when he was going to enter seminary school, he dropped off the face of the planet. I’ve tried to get in touch with him a few times, but I’ve always failed to actually talk to him.
5) Get a tattoo. Kiara will only let me get one that is “meaningful.” My idea of getting Tux (The Linux penguin mascot) is not “meaningful” enough, so I’ve decided to do a portrait of my sister on my arm. As you probably know, I lost her to a drunk driver 9 years ago. I think getting her portrait on my arm should qualify as “meaningful.”
6) Graduate college. I want to get at least a Bachelor’s degree. Maybe even a Masters. I already have all of the skills necessary to do my job, so this is more of a personal goal than a professional goal. Either way, it’ll be good to get that piece of paper in my hands. While I’m at it, I’m going to try to win The Lady Ada Lovelace Award for Outstanding Achievement in Computer Information Systems, Computer Networking, Computer Science. Yeah. It’s a long title. It goes to the person in the graduating class in CIS, CN, or CS that has the highest GPA. My current GPA is 3.778 (Damn College Algebra and Philosophy killed me), but I hope that I can pull it up over the course of the next 2 years to earn the award. We’ll see how it goes.
7) Have a child. What better way is there to ensure that part of you continues to exist in the world? I would love to have a son or daughter to teach, rear, love, and watch grow. Sure, they’ll make mistakes, and I’ll be there to pick them up when they do mess up and put them back on their feet. I’ll also be there to hold their hand when they need it, or lift them up on my shoulders in celebration of their accomplishments. This is probably the most important one to me on this list.
There are probably a few more things that I would like to do before I die, but I’ve got to get back to what I was doing before I started to post.
Being Sued
I was going to do a post about Thanksgiving, then I realized that it was a totally boring long weekend. It was a good weekend. I enjoyed my time with friends, and Kiara, but nothing too horribly exciting happened, so I won’t bore you with the details.
Instead, I’m going to write about a letter that I received the day before Thanksgiving….
On Tuesday, November 21st, I received a notice in the mail that there was a certified letter waiting for me at the post office. I left work early on the 22nd to go to the post office (which turned out to be a small trailer in a strip mall parking lot.) Once there, I signed for the letter, and I noticed that it was from a law firm based out of Austin, TX. This got me concerned since I have an uncle that lives in Austin. I was afraid something had happened to him.
I immediately tore open the letter while still in the parking lot next to the trailer. It was from the Midland Central Appraisal District. They were suing everyone listed in my grandfather’s will for back taxes, court costs, and administrative fees. I knew this day would come, again. I had to deal with this same mess back in 2005, and it’s time to deal with it again.
You see, my father is a huge fuck up. He’s irresponsible, immature, and has zero drive to make a better life for himself. He’s always ridden on the coat-tails of my grandfather, and even 3 years after my grandfather’s death, he’s still coasting along doing much of nothing good for himself.
My father has not paid taxes on any of the eleven properties that are still left in the will. He waits to be sued, sells a property, pays the taxes, and pockets the rest of the money. What should be happening is the total sale of all properties, and that money should be split six ways according to my grandfather’s will.
I’m not sure if there is anything that I can do to rectify the situation. I don’t have the money to pay the taxes myself. Even if I did, it would only be a band-aid on a sucking chest wound. We’d be right back here next year.
The letter said that I had to be in Texas within 20 days of signing for the letter, but I did manage to get in touch with the appraisal district’s lawyer, and she told me the she could mail me a form to send back instead of taking time off work, and traveling to Texas to get things resolved. I told her to go ahead and do that. Now I’m here waiting for that letter, and I hope that it doesn’t include language like “the signer of this letter agrees to pay all back taxes by X date.”
I just wish that my father would get his shit together long enough to take care of things permanently. I’m thinking that the only way I’ll get things taken care of is to wait for my father (and then my uncle) to kick the bucket, so that I’ll be the next executor of the will. Then I can sell off the houses (if there are any left) and split the money with my brothers.
Professional Photos
Kiara and I couldn’t figure out what to get my folks for Christmas. I already got them stuff individually, but we would like to get them something for the both of them. We decided to have some professional photos taken (well… as professional as you can get at Sears) and give them a large photo of us for Christmas. The photos came out fairly well. We got them on CD as well as prints (we won’t have the prints until Dec 1st.) I just finished Gimping the photos to rotate them, so that none of them are sideways. The next step is to create some thumbnails for a PHP photo album that I wrote years ago. Once that is done, I’ll be putting them on my personal web site. Once I get the photos online (later today, I hope,) I’ll post a link to them, so that you can check them out.
Nine Years
My little sister was murdered by a drunk driver in October of 1997. It’s been nine years since her death, and I’ve missed her ever since. We didn’t always get along, but I had always looked forward to beating up the first guy that broke her heart, congratulating the first man that got her to settle down enough to get married, holding her children, and attending her graduation from high school. There were so many moments in her life that I was looking forward to, but they were all stolen from me by a series of foolish acts.
She was 17 at the time, and she was dating a 19 year old. They went to a party together, and were both drunk when they left. He got behind the wheel, and my little sister foolishly got in the SUV with him. On a curving road, he missed a turn and ran off the road. The SUV flipped, and my little sister was ejected from the vehicle because she wasn’t wearing a seat belt. Maybe if she was wearing a seat belt, she may have lived. Maybe not. There’s no way to know that for sure. After she was tossed from the SUV, it rolled over the top of her and caused some brain damage.
The doctors worked on her for two days to try to save her life, but the brain damage was too much. My mother had to drive from Texas to Alabama to say goodbye to her only daughter. In the end, it was my mother’s decision to turn off the machines that was keeping my little sister’s body alive. Her spirit had already left, so there was no reason to keep the bag of flesh that was once my little sister breathing. My mother decided to save other lives by donating my little sister’s organs to people that needed them. I don’t know how many other lives were saved by the selfless act of kindness, but I wish I could find out.
While my mother was in Alabama, my step father was doing the equally hard task of calling all relatives to tell them of the tragedy. I was one of the first people that he called, and I could tell from the anguish in his voice that something was wrong. He had the strength to tell me that my only little sister had been killed. I had the strength not to yell at him, or blame him for telling me the bad news. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to tell someone that a loved one has passed away. I’m sure that I’ll have to do it someday, and I can only hope that I have the same resolve and strength that my step father had on the night that he called me.
The next few days were a blur as I called my grandparents to ask for money to fly from Montana to Texas where the funeral was going to be at. They agreed to pay for my and Kiara’s tickets to Texas, but I had to fly into my hometown. After flying in there, we piled into my grandparent’s suburban and drove the 5 hours to San Antonio where the funeral was going to be. We arrived in the morning just in time for the funeral.
It was a solemn event because a life was stolen from us before it could really be lived. Because I felt the need for a shower before the funeral (I hadn’t bathed in almost a week,) we were a little late to the funeral. I was later told that there was a seat up front for me to sit in, but I stood in the back of the gathering in a stunned silence. I know that kind words were said. I know that a song was played, but I cannot remember any of the details of the event.
There was the usual line of well-wishers walking past my mother and step father, and I was told that I should have been there as well. Instead, I stepped up to the casket that my little sister was in. Fortunately, it was an open casket, so that I could say goodbye. I stood far enough away from the casket to allow people to walk by and say goodbye as well. I’m not sure how long I stood there staring at my dead little sister, but the next thing I know is that I was collapsing on the ground in tears. Kiara and my cousin, Scot, were there almost right away to pick me up. The comforted me in my time of pain, and I am eternally grateful for that.
After that I remember standing back and watching everyone leave. Withing a few minutes, my little sister was lowered into the ground and buried. I watched the whole thing. I can still vividly remember the details of the cement lid being placed over her coffin and the backhoe slowly scooping dirt into her grave. Isn’t it strange how some details are lost to time, but others will never leave you?
It was the first funeral that I had attended, but not the last. However, it is the one that evoked the most emotion in me because my little sister should have lived out a long life that was taken from her by a foolish 19 year old. Granted, my little sister bears some responsibility for her own death because she got into the car with a drunk driver, and she chose not to wear her seatbelt. I still blame the driver more than my little sister. In the end, it was his driving mistake that started the chain of events that killed my little sister.
This was a hard entry to write. I had to stop several times to wipe the tears from my eyes, so that I could see the screen. Even though my little sister died nine years ago, the pain of her death is still fresh.
Career Thoughts
Jhianna posted on her blog that she kind of fell into the computer science world. That made me start to think about how I got where I’m at today.
I guess it all started in 1980 when I was 7 years old. My grandfather bought me my first computer because he was wise enough to see that they were the future of the world. He couldn’t wait until Christmas to give it to me, so when I went to his house one weekend, he had it all hooked up and ready to go. It was near the end of November when he gave it to me. I wish I was aware enough to know the exact date. It’s quite a milestone for me.
The first computer was a TRS-80 from Radio Shack. It was a great little computer, and being 7 years old all I wanted to do was play games. I asked my grandfather to buy me some games for it, but he told me that if I wanted to play games on the computer, I would have to write my own. I asked him to teach me, but he didn’t know how. He told me he was going to the store, and I was certain that he was going to go buy me some games. He came back a couple of hours later with two books. One was on how to write games in BASIC, and the other was how to write business applications on the TRS-80.
They were great books. I’ve always loved books, so I dove into these books. I’d spend hours poring over code and examples until I understood them. I’d write simple little programs in BASIC. I didn’t have a tape or floppy drive for the computer. This meant that I had to keep the computer on all the time or lose my work (which happened more than once when my grandmother would notice that it was on and turn it off for me.) Within a year, I was mastering the programming skills that would keep me entertained for hours and hours during my life.
I finally got a tape drive (it used cassette tapes like you used to play in your stereo,) so I could save my programs and data between reboots. I started working with my grandfather to write accounting software for him to track his business expenses, incoming money, and other goodies for his taxes. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was writing software that would eventually be called a “spreadsheet”. It wasn’t as fancy as Excel has become, but it served my grandfather well.
When I was 12 (1985), I came down with a bad case of mono. (Turns out the water fountains were growing the disease in abundance, and many of my classmates were also afflicted… but I digress.) To cheer me up, my grandfather came home with a Commodore 64, a disk drive (finally! Random Access files!), and a box of Logo diskettes. Like with my TRS-80, I dove into the C-64 head first. I was soon PEEK’ing, POKE’ing, and BASIC’ing my way through sprite graphics, games, a joystick interface, and all sorts of other fun stuff. It was a grand time. I had tons of fun making great circular patterns using Logo. While my classmates were using Spriographs to make interesting patterns, I was using Logo. I should have known at the time that I was a geek.
I programmed on the C-64 for a good number of years until I took my first computer science course my junior year of high school. That’s when I learned Pascal. During the summer between my Jr. and Sr. years of high school, I talked my grandfather into buying me a PC. 486′s had just come out, but I couldn’t talk him into spending $4000 on a system. I did managed to squeeze $2000 out of him for a 286 DX/22 with 1Mb of RAM. It had a 20Mb hard drive, and I was in heaven. I never thought I would fill that up (which I eventually did causing a panicked moment where I thought something was wrong with my hard drive.)
Over the years, I coded solely in Pascal. I took another year of computer science my Sr. year of high school because I thoroughly enjoyed the first year, and I was eager to learn more advanced topics. I wrote so much software in Pascal that it’s scary. I don’t have much of it left now (just one program), but you can find a utility that I wrote for the Telegard BBS online in some places.
Fast forward to 1996, and I landed a job doing tech support for an ISP in San Antonio. I was also heavily into mudding, and I decided that I wanted to write my own mud. They are mostly written in C, so I knew that I had to learn C. I did some research, and I found this “program” called Linux that came with a C compiler. I thought it was a development environment. Goes to show how green I was. I didn’t know that it was a full-blown operating system. I downloaded 98 floppies of setup data for Slackware ’96, got a book, and started my install. It took me all night to get it done, but I had a working copy of Linux going. My ISP also used Perl for lots of stuff, and I decided then that I didn’t want to do tech support for the rest of my days. I figured my way out was to learn Perl. So, at the time that I’m learning C and Linux, I also threw Perl into the mix.
A few years later, I was still doing tech support, but my Linux, C, and Perl skills were steadily growing. I applied for a few developer positions, but I bombed all of them because I just wasn’t quite good enough… yet. In one interview, I mistakenly said that I knew PHP when I really didn’t. The guy quizzed me on PHP, and I bombed the interview. I felt really bad for wasting his time, and I decided to rectify the situation. So, in 1998, I picked up a book on PHP, and started teaching it to myself.
Over the next 8 years or so, I’ve worked as a Windows administrator, Linux engineer, web master, tech support, Unix security specialist, and a few other things here and there.
Fast forward to present day. I’ve got 26 years of general coding experience. I’ve got 11 years of HTML development. I’ve got 10 years of C, Linux, and Perl. I’ve got about 9 years of Javascript programming. I’ve got 8 year of PHP. I’ve also got a smattering of C++, Windows development, and other stuff.
From my story, you can tell that I’ve never really made the decision to be a computer geek. I just always was. It’s what has come naturally to me, and I’ve always done it. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else for a living. It’s enjoyable to me, and I hope to be able to do it until I’m old and gray. I guess I’ll be able to do it so long as I can see, type, and think straight.
As an aside, when the computer market was horrible, I looked into becoming a veterinary technician (nurse for animal doctors basically.) I went to school for about 6 months before money ran out, and I had to retreat back to computer science to earn a living. I really enjoyed working with animals, but there was no way to make enough money doing that to live the lifestyle that I’m comfortable with. If I ever win the lottery, I’m going to volunteer at my veterinarian’s office just so I can work with those great people and animals again.
Christmas Shopping
Ok. Maybe I’m a bit crazy. Well…. a lot crazy! I started my Christmas shopping this week, and except for one gift, I’m done. I just have to wait for everything to ship to me, so that I can then wrap it, stash it, and try not to forget it 3 1/2 months from now.
I was taking my lunch hour at work, and while eating at my desk, I started thinking about what to get friends. I thought about it a little more, and ideas started to flood into my head. I quickly started searching for items, and I found quite a few that fit the bill, so I added them to my shopping cart. One thing led to another, and I quickly had gifts for everyone1. The Internet is a great thing, isn’t it?
I got especially lucky, and a single site had everything (in stock, no less!) for all of the items that I wanted for my friends and family. I’m also a member of the site, so I saved a few more bucks during the checkout process. This is a good thing because we’re still carrying two mortgages.
1: I’m not getting anything for my family back in my hometown. I’ve received nothing from them for birthdays, anniversaries, or Christmas over the past decade. I’m tired of keeping them in mind while being blatantly ignored. I’m pretty sure that it’s a case of not caring on their part. Except for my oldest little brother, they don’t have jobs, so it’s not like they are overwhelmed with responsibility to the point that they forget me. Neh. I’ll stop ranting. This is a whole other topic that I could blog about for a week.
