February 24, 2005
In the summer of 1996, Melissa and I met a man nicknamed Duker. He was tall, dark, handsome, about 23 years old and owned a 1991 Suzuki GSX-R1100 motorcycle. The moment he nearly made me piss my pants by going over 100 MPH with me on the back, I was hooked on motorcycles, and hooked on him. I cleverly snuck out of my window at night to meet him on the road, I stupidly left school during lunch hours just to meet him in his car (and sometimes did not come back) and I can still recall the myriad of endless summer parties. I was never caught sneaking out of my window but there were other consequences to be had.I missed so much school during my senior year that I was required to take summer school in order to graduate with my class. It was the first time that I had ever buckled down and truly made an effort. So, in 1997, Josh Hintz (my pastor's son and fellow classmate) and I walked together to receive our diplomas. It was the same year in which my brother returned from the Marines and, that day, he was in the stands alongside my parents.
I guarantee I was the first one to exit the building after graduation.
Yeah, I did it (just barely).
I was also the first person to arrive at my parent's house on the Lake for my graduation party. It wasn't long before Melinda and I tore off on the back of Duker and Jack's motorcycles, leaving the congratulations and well wishes behind. I was in no way melancholy to see the end of my High School days, nor was I exactly wrought with enthusiasm in continuing my education onto college. I lived up the summer and applied just the same to a nearby two year university called UW-Rock County. Because of my grades and poor attendance, I was put on a probation list.
While the air was still warm and inching toward fall, I met a group of fellow collegians who immediately took me under their wing. They were known as 'The Smoker's Group' for you never had to look further than the designated smoking areas about the exterior of the buildings to find them. They were older than me; all in or near their 30's, and absolutely incredible. Two sisters, Ciana and Gioja, were extremely witty, robust women with hearty laughter, compassionate souls and possessed a perfection for the dramatic eye roll with their large, round eyes. To give equal opportunity to our group, we also incorporated a man named Mark who was a tall and handsome, but somewhat greasier mixture, of James Dean and Elvis Presley who roamed the school with long, sweeping strides and a comb forever glistening in his back jeans pocket. Although entirely intelligent, he had a knack for falling asleep during class, when he actually decided to show up and he carried a nervous arrogance about him that succeeded in making me feel rather uncomfortable. It wasn't long before I fell in love with every aspect of UW-Rock County, despite my previous qualms and apprehension.
My consternation was altogether eliminated by the superiority of my professors.
My English professor, Julia Hornbostel, who wrote a book about the Tallman House, procured in me the deepest ardor for words. She was a tall and proud, gray haired woman with a inimitable gentleness about her. She spoke so soft that her voice would float through the air between our desks and eyes were ever smiling from behind those low worn spectacles. Her movements were tender as well, as waved her hand back and forth through the air with a pillowy ease, and I can clearly picture her gliding movements at the chalk board.
Each morning, she would arrive with an affability that set the room in silence. One of her favorite side roads (which soon became my own favorite), before the class began, was to write the first three letters of a license plate number she had seen on her way to school on the board and we were to come up with as many words as possible. For example:
PLS - 569
Possible words being 'plus' or 'please' or 'pulsate.' The more intricate the word, the more 'points' one would receive. I adored this simple, thought provoking game and still extend its charm to all passengers in my car. She also encouraged us to open the dictionary at night and read directly from a page or two in order to accumulate a broader vocabulary. Sadly, Mrs. Hornbostel died of cancer just after publishing her book and during my last year at UW-Rock County. She will be missed, but also she will be forever revered and remembered with every day that I employ myself in her love of 'the license plate game.'
To be continued...