The triad of October birthdays in my family culminates today with my mother's. Before my two youngest sisters were born I always felt like the odd one out, with my birthday falling in July, and the rest of my family all celebrating in October. That feeling dissipated after Lexie and Sabrina were born. Still, October is a special month in my family, and today on the 25th I will pay my respect to my favorite woman in the universe: My mother.
It is difficult to begin writing about my mother. It's not that I don't have the words to describe her, but rather, I don't know where to begin. I feel as if I know my mother better than I know anyone else, yet because of this, it feels like an arduous task in putting her into words. I feel that language fails me right now, because even though my mother is a beautiful, caring, nurturing, fascinating, and warmhearted woman, these adjectives only reveal a fraction of who she truly is, and in order to know her and appreciate her, you must talk to her, interact with her, be taught by her, live under her roof, and sit down to one of her home cooked meals. It is then when you can begin to understand the magnitude and depth of her amazing character.
My mother is part of the reason why I am teaching here in Hong Kong. Undoubtedly, she would prefer if I was closer to her, and if I had to be teaching in another country she would opt for anywhere that requires less than 6 hours in the air to reach. However, my mother was a teacher, and when that early occupational choice came to a thudding halt back in 1978, she decided to change her profession. She went from teaching Catholic school children to opening up her own business specializing in antique jewelry and vintage clothing. She started off small, opening a tiny boutique in the basement of our house. And while she was planting the seeds for her future endeavors, she took the time to dedicate herself to teaching her newborn student.
One of my earliest memories of my mother was when I was a few years old. I used to sit across from her at the kitchen table or somewhere on the floor and she would hold up flashcards with words on them. I would say "table," "bedroom," and "grandmother," and she would smile at me and go through the deck a couple more times. My mother tells two great stories incorporating the wisdom she imparted upon me as a child. One involves me reading the Wall Street Journal when I was 2 years old, which is something I find funny on multiple fronts, especially since the only other time I ever picked up that particular newspaper was during Journalism class at KU. The second occured in kindergarten, where, at the end of the first week, my teacher pulled my mother aside and asked her if she was aware that I was reading at a 12th grade level, to which my mother replied, "Yes, I was waiting to see how long it took you to figure it out."
Because of my mother, I have been reading voraciously for as long as I can recall. Anything and everything I could get my hands on, I would tackle with youthful earnestness: Animal encyclopedias, The Hardy Boys mysteries, baseball card price guides, and video game magazines took up most of my youth. I would later graduate to classics like 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, Robinson Crusoe, and Frankenstein, and eventually I would go to college and major in English Literature, for the simple reason that I loved to read all kinds of books.
In addition, one of my greatest aspirations is to publish at least one book. I have watched my mother writing books for over 20 years now. I remember her first rejection letter, and I noticed how afterwards, she would try even harder to make sure her vision was realized. And my mother does exactly that. She realizes her vision, no matter how impossible or grand it may seem. She is constantly trying to reinvent herself, stay ahead of trends, and keep focused on her work. She has owned and operated one of the largest stores of its kind for the last 20 years while simultaneously publishing almost 20 books. On top of this she is employed on a full-time basis as both mother and Ettinger Estate museum curator. Her devotion, dedication, and passion are an inspiration to me.
I have no problem admitting that I am a "Momma's Boy." I would do anything for my mother, for I feel that she is the sweetest, gentlest, most loving and compassionate person ever. When she told me to never smoke a cigarette, I listened. When she told me to treat people with respect, I listened. When I am feeling depressed or slightly off, she will pick up on it instantly, and do her best to right my wrongs. My mother has been my mentor, guide, confidante, and coffee buddy, among other things. More importantly, she has been the best mother I could ever ask for. And I know that is the one job that she takes the most pride in.
Happy Birthday Mom! I am extremely proud of you and everything you stand for. You have shaped me into the person I am today, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
I love you!
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
October Tribute II
"Speak softly and carry a big stick, and you will go far."
-Theodore Roosevelt
If there is one quote which best describes my father, I would say it is this one, delivered by Theodore Roosevelt to the general public at the Minnesota State Fair in 1901, a brief two weeks before he would ascend to the presidency following the assassination of William McKinley. It is with absolute certainty that when my father reads this, he will laugh and crack a pecker joke, as he has been doing so for as long as I can remember. However, this is not the reason for my reference.
My father has always been the quiet member of the family. He is a private man who can be reticent of his affairs or opinions. However, when he speaks, people take notice. They listen. He is thoroughly economical with his words, but at the same time his arguments are forceful and incisive. So despite his inclination towards being slightly subdued at times, he more than makes up for it with the weight of his words. Speak softly, carry a big stick.
I have memories of living in Rancocas Woods, New Jersey, with my father, mother, and sister. We lived in a small log cabin with cartoon skunks painted on the shutters. I remember at the time thinking it was the coolest house ever. How impressed we are with things when we are 9 years old.
We lived here because my father was stationed at Ft. Dix. I remember sometimes, in the summer, he would take me to work with him. The ride to Ft. Dix was about 30 minutes and we listened to classic rock the whole time: Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Steppenwolf, Cream, Jimi Hendrix. It was these car rides and those musicians that started me off on my future musical path. When we arrived at the base, my father would joke around with his army buddies, sit down at his desk and read the paper, maybe finish the crossword. Then we would head out to the golf course, and I would caddie for him while he played a round with his colleagues. Sometimes, he would take me to an obstacle course and I would watch men rappel down wooden towers. I thought it was an exciting and thrilling job, but I knew nothing at the time of basic training or war.
It was in New Jersey when I first started playing sports. Basketball for a year, soccer for a few more, and my love at the time, little league baseball. From 4th grade until 7th grade, baseball was my life. I would play wiffleball in friend's backyards, go to the batting cages, throw rubber balls off walls for fielding practice, and when I wasn't playing I was buying baseball cards, trading baseball cards, or reading about baseball cards. And then, when it was game time, I would run my tiny 80lb frame out to second base, left field, shortstop, or whatever position I was penciled in for that day, and I would look across the diamond onto the bleachers or the side of the fence, and see my dad there cheering me on, and for a moment, I did not know of any greater feeling in the whole world.
Above all else, I am most impressed with my father for his dilligence and hardworking demeanor. He grew up on a dairy farm and was milking cows, loading hay, and delivering eggs at an age when most kids nowadays can't even be asked to clean their room without complaining. In his late teen years, he joined the Army and went to Vietnam. He returned and enrolled in university, graduating a short time later. He would retire from the Army at 45 as a major, after putting in time in Egypt, Panama, and South Korea, among other places in the United States. And instead of embracing his time off and relaxing with a beer on the local golf course, he would become bored with the idea of retirement, and go back to work.
Which leads me to the present day. My dad is currently employed as a prison guard and is undoubtedly the most intimidating guard there, regardless of age. I don't have to go anywhere near the prison to ascertain this statement. I know it is true. My close friends, the ones who have known my father for a long time, have an affectionate nickname for him: "The Crusher." They will say things to me like: "I saw the Crusher standing outside your mom's store," or "I saw the Crusher driving your car to work yesterday." And we will share a laugh, knowing that beneath my father's Charles Bronson-esque "tough guy" facade, they have nothing to worry about. Unless they disrespect him or get on his bad side. Then they don't stand a chance.
I am reminded about the story of Roosevelt, who was campaigning in Milwaukee in 1912 and was shot in the chest by an innkeeper. Roosevelt did not panic. He figured that since he was not coughing up blood he was in no immediate danger and, therefore, did not need to go to the hospital. Instead, with blood staining his shirt, he calmly announced to the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, I don't know whether you fully understand that I have just been shot; but it takes more than that to kill a Bull Moose."
For some reason this quote strikes me as something my father would say. It's probably because I have watched my father with admiration my whole life. He has always been the strong, determined, invincible leader, and no matter how many years go by, that opinion has never wavered.
Love you Dad! Happy Birthday! Have a healthy and happy 60th and may you have many more!
-Theodore Roosevelt
If there is one quote which best describes my father, I would say it is this one, delivered by Theodore Roosevelt to the general public at the Minnesota State Fair in 1901, a brief two weeks before he would ascend to the presidency following the assassination of William McKinley. It is with absolute certainty that when my father reads this, he will laugh and crack a pecker joke, as he has been doing so for as long as I can remember. However, this is not the reason for my reference.
My father has always been the quiet member of the family. He is a private man who can be reticent of his affairs or opinions. However, when he speaks, people take notice. They listen. He is thoroughly economical with his words, but at the same time his arguments are forceful and incisive. So despite his inclination towards being slightly subdued at times, he more than makes up for it with the weight of his words. Speak softly, carry a big stick.
I have memories of living in Rancocas Woods, New Jersey, with my father, mother, and sister. We lived in a small log cabin with cartoon skunks painted on the shutters. I remember at the time thinking it was the coolest house ever. How impressed we are with things when we are 9 years old.
We lived here because my father was stationed at Ft. Dix. I remember sometimes, in the summer, he would take me to work with him. The ride to Ft. Dix was about 30 minutes and we listened to classic rock the whole time: Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Steppenwolf, Cream, Jimi Hendrix. It was these car rides and those musicians that started me off on my future musical path. When we arrived at the base, my father would joke around with his army buddies, sit down at his desk and read the paper, maybe finish the crossword. Then we would head out to the golf course, and I would caddie for him while he played a round with his colleagues. Sometimes, he would take me to an obstacle course and I would watch men rappel down wooden towers. I thought it was an exciting and thrilling job, but I knew nothing at the time of basic training or war.
It was in New Jersey when I first started playing sports. Basketball for a year, soccer for a few more, and my love at the time, little league baseball. From 4th grade until 7th grade, baseball was my life. I would play wiffleball in friend's backyards, go to the batting cages, throw rubber balls off walls for fielding practice, and when I wasn't playing I was buying baseball cards, trading baseball cards, or reading about baseball cards. And then, when it was game time, I would run my tiny 80lb frame out to second base, left field, shortstop, or whatever position I was penciled in for that day, and I would look across the diamond onto the bleachers or the side of the fence, and see my dad there cheering me on, and for a moment, I did not know of any greater feeling in the whole world.
Above all else, I am most impressed with my father for his dilligence and hardworking demeanor. He grew up on a dairy farm and was milking cows, loading hay, and delivering eggs at an age when most kids nowadays can't even be asked to clean their room without complaining. In his late teen years, he joined the Army and went to Vietnam. He returned and enrolled in university, graduating a short time later. He would retire from the Army at 45 as a major, after putting in time in Egypt, Panama, and South Korea, among other places in the United States. And instead of embracing his time off and relaxing with a beer on the local golf course, he would become bored with the idea of retirement, and go back to work.
Which leads me to the present day. My dad is currently employed as a prison guard and is undoubtedly the most intimidating guard there, regardless of age. I don't have to go anywhere near the prison to ascertain this statement. I know it is true. My close friends, the ones who have known my father for a long time, have an affectionate nickname for him: "The Crusher." They will say things to me like: "I saw the Crusher standing outside your mom's store," or "I saw the Crusher driving your car to work yesterday." And we will share a laugh, knowing that beneath my father's Charles Bronson-esque "tough guy" facade, they have nothing to worry about. Unless they disrespect him or get on his bad side. Then they don't stand a chance.
I am reminded about the story of Roosevelt, who was campaigning in Milwaukee in 1912 and was shot in the chest by an innkeeper. Roosevelt did not panic. He figured that since he was not coughing up blood he was in no immediate danger and, therefore, did not need to go to the hospital. Instead, with blood staining his shirt, he calmly announced to the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, I don't know whether you fully understand that I have just been shot; but it takes more than that to kill a Bull Moose."
For some reason this quote strikes me as something my father would say. It's probably because I have watched my father with admiration my whole life. He has always been the strong, determined, invincible leader, and no matter how many years go by, that opinion has never wavered.
Love you Dad! Happy Birthday! Have a healthy and happy 60th and may you have many more!
Monday, October 13, 2008
Talented Kids?
This past Wednesday evening I received an email from a director of an English recruitment center. She obtained my email through one of my colleagues, and was looking for someone to fill a position that had suddenly come to her attention. She told me to forward my CV to her by the following morning, and if the employer was satisfied, I would have an interview scheduled later that day.
So I did, and they were, and I went.
My interview was scheduled for 6:00 in Tsuen Wan, which is the last stop on the red line of the MTR, about 45 minutes from work. Tsuen Wan marks the beginning of the New Territories, a 300 square mile area of land situated between Kowloon and the border of the People's Republic of China. The area used to be incredibly rural until the 1960's, with a population of only 400,000 people. However, due to Hong Kong and Kowloon becoming grossly overpopulated, many housing developments were built, and "new towns" rose up from the ground. In less than 50 years the population has increased to 3.5 million people.
I arrived at this gateway town, exited the MTR station, and found my way to the Nan Fung Centre, which happened to be right across the street. I took the elevator to the 15th floor and found the door I was looking for: Talented Kids
My interview took place at a small plastic pink table designed for children. I was barefoot and answered questions posed to me by a man who had a good command of the English language, but was terrified to apply it in an actual conversation. He stuttered, stammered, and made very little sense in explaining what exactly I would be doing. He told me I would teach 3 classes:
Trinity Guildhall Speech & Drama Young Performers (Age group 4-5).
Hooked on Phonics- Letter Sounds (3-5).
Hooked on Phonics- Kindergarten (4-8).
He told me a lot more information, but did so in a way where it seemed unimportant and pointless. He informed me it is a 20 week contract, every Saturday from 11-3, and it will pay 270HKD an hour. While I am not overly impressed with the money, I figure that I have nothing better to do on the weekend, so I might as well try to make a little extra. And plus, little Chinese kids are absolutely adorable. I might as well try my hand at it.
On Saturday I arrived at the classroom a few minutes early. I received my teaching materials and went to make myself comfortable. Three of my students were already in the class when I walked in the door. Upon seeing me, one of the girls burst into tears. She was not satiated until her mother came back into the room. I tried pacifying the girl with a smile and a hello. She replied hello to me, and then began crying again, this time even harder. It ended up being that she did not like the door shut. With the door open she could see her mother waiting outside for her. This gave her comfort. As soon as one of the students closed it, ungodly wails pierced the room.
This first class was my Young Performers class. My goal was to get them to actively participate in drama and activities. I tried to get all of them to sit down and sing a song with me. No dice. I tried to get them to play a game I made up for them. Nope. Let me mention that there were only 4 students in this class, yet there was always one student who was trying to leave the classroom, one who would ransack the toy collection, and one who wanted to envelop me in the miniature hula hoops that were strewn across the floor. The two girls actually tried to participate. The two boys were a little less receptive. And lest I forget, one of the girls was named...wait for it...
Fok Yu.
I wish I were joking. And it's pronounced just like you think it is. The only student in that class not to have an English name, and it's Fok Yu. I ended up calling her "honey" quite a bit.
My second class was a bit better. Three darling little girls (Belle Wong, Hung Ching, Venus Ho) who sang songs to me and impressed me with their English skills, especially for being so young. My syllabus for the day was to teach them the letter "M," however, we breezed through that in 15 minutes, leaving me 45 minutes to keep their attention on learning. I was only partly successful. Once again, the toys were discovered, and lesson time turned into play time.
The third class was a hybrid of the first two. The kids were older, but were by no means any more well-behaved. I taught them the "at" and "an" sounds, and for the most part they were fine. However, there was one boy in the class, ironically enough the oldest, who had very bad pronunciation problems and compensated for this by speaking in Cantonese all the time. When I told him to speak in English he would laugh maniacally and then fall backwards off his chair.
I am wondering what I have gotten myself into.
So I did, and they were, and I went.
My interview was scheduled for 6:00 in Tsuen Wan, which is the last stop on the red line of the MTR, about 45 minutes from work. Tsuen Wan marks the beginning of the New Territories, a 300 square mile area of land situated between Kowloon and the border of the People's Republic of China. The area used to be incredibly rural until the 1960's, with a population of only 400,000 people. However, due to Hong Kong and Kowloon becoming grossly overpopulated, many housing developments were built, and "new towns" rose up from the ground. In less than 50 years the population has increased to 3.5 million people.
I arrived at this gateway town, exited the MTR station, and found my way to the Nan Fung Centre, which happened to be right across the street. I took the elevator to the 15th floor and found the door I was looking for: Talented Kids
My interview took place at a small plastic pink table designed for children. I was barefoot and answered questions posed to me by a man who had a good command of the English language, but was terrified to apply it in an actual conversation. He stuttered, stammered, and made very little sense in explaining what exactly I would be doing. He told me I would teach 3 classes:
Trinity Guildhall Speech & Drama Young Performers (Age group 4-5).
Hooked on Phonics- Letter Sounds (3-5).
Hooked on Phonics- Kindergarten (4-8).
He told me a lot more information, but did so in a way where it seemed unimportant and pointless. He informed me it is a 20 week contract, every Saturday from 11-3, and it will pay 270HKD an hour. While I am not overly impressed with the money, I figure that I have nothing better to do on the weekend, so I might as well try to make a little extra. And plus, little Chinese kids are absolutely adorable. I might as well try my hand at it.
On Saturday I arrived at the classroom a few minutes early. I received my teaching materials and went to make myself comfortable. Three of my students were already in the class when I walked in the door. Upon seeing me, one of the girls burst into tears. She was not satiated until her mother came back into the room. I tried pacifying the girl with a smile and a hello. She replied hello to me, and then began crying again, this time even harder. It ended up being that she did not like the door shut. With the door open she could see her mother waiting outside for her. This gave her comfort. As soon as one of the students closed it, ungodly wails pierced the room.
This first class was my Young Performers class. My goal was to get them to actively participate in drama and activities. I tried to get all of them to sit down and sing a song with me. No dice. I tried to get them to play a game I made up for them. Nope. Let me mention that there were only 4 students in this class, yet there was always one student who was trying to leave the classroom, one who would ransack the toy collection, and one who wanted to envelop me in the miniature hula hoops that were strewn across the floor. The two girls actually tried to participate. The two boys were a little less receptive. And lest I forget, one of the girls was named...wait for it...
Fok Yu.
I wish I were joking. And it's pronounced just like you think it is. The only student in that class not to have an English name, and it's Fok Yu. I ended up calling her "honey" quite a bit.
My second class was a bit better. Three darling little girls (Belle Wong, Hung Ching, Venus Ho) who sang songs to me and impressed me with their English skills, especially for being so young. My syllabus for the day was to teach them the letter "M," however, we breezed through that in 15 minutes, leaving me 45 minutes to keep their attention on learning. I was only partly successful. Once again, the toys were discovered, and lesson time turned into play time.
The third class was a hybrid of the first two. The kids were older, but were by no means any more well-behaved. I taught them the "at" and "an" sounds, and for the most part they were fine. However, there was one boy in the class, ironically enough the oldest, who had very bad pronunciation problems and compensated for this by speaking in Cantonese all the time. When I told him to speak in English he would laugh maniacally and then fall backwards off his chair.
I am wondering what I have gotten myself into.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Blogging Injuries
It pains me to write this, literally and figuratively speaking, but I am placing myself on the computer disabled list. I have been very productive, in terms of writing, reading, and researching, ever since I have arrived in Hong Kong. I look forward to coming home from work, reading some fiction, then researching random topics, and finally writing. In fact, I like it so much that it has consumed almost all of my leisure time. I am ever so slowly turning into an isolated recluse. I enjoy spending time at the local libraries.
However, this is not what has me worried. It is my health that is ultimately paying the price.
Recently, after long spells at the computer, I have noticed that my right arm has felt slightly "off." It started with slight discomfort and escalated into numbness and tingling in my fingers. Panicking, I did what most people with an aversion to doctors and lack of proper health insurance do: I analyzed my symptoms on the internet.
After frightening myself into believing that I had a serious problem, possibly heart or blood related, I decided to ditch the virtual medical help and go with something more concrete.
It was then that I found out the beauty of the Hong Kong hospital situation. I was informed by a colleague that since I was a Hong Kong resident, with a valid ID card, I just had to show up at any public hospital of my choice, go to the registration desk, pay 100HKD, and I would get thoroughly checked out.
Any problem, no matter its significance or magnitude, was just 100HKD. Runny nose? Food poisoning? Severed limbs? All the equivalent of $13 US.
So I hopped on the MTR, headed towards Chai Wan, and found my way to the Pamela Youde Nethersole Eastern Hospital, where I registered, deposited my hundred, told the triage nurses my problem, and was told to have a seat in the waiting room. I was slightly annoyed by the sign informing me I had to wait approximately 3 hours before I was seen. I became more irritated when the waiting room filled up, and the sign changed to 5 hours. However, right around the 3 hour mark my name was called and I went to see the doctor.
10 minutes and a battery of tests later, the verdict was in: ulnar nerve stress.
It makes sense, being that my computer posture is less than desirable. I have a habit of leaning against the desk, using my forearms to support my weight. I also have not mastered the art of relaxing while typing, as I have the tendency to tighten up considerably while working. This also does not help my pre-existing neck and back problems.
The moral of my story: A self-imposed ban or strict limitation on the amount of time I spend on the computer. I will do this for about a week and see how I feel. Also, a strict routine of yoga, pilates, or just plain old-fashioned stretching. Loosen the limbs. Work out the kinks. And I need to ease up a bit. I know the world moves fast but I don't have to participate in the race.
I need to get myself into shape to sit down at a desk and type.
Sad but true.
However, this is not what has me worried. It is my health that is ultimately paying the price.
Recently, after long spells at the computer, I have noticed that my right arm has felt slightly "off." It started with slight discomfort and escalated into numbness and tingling in my fingers. Panicking, I did what most people with an aversion to doctors and lack of proper health insurance do: I analyzed my symptoms on the internet.
After frightening myself into believing that I had a serious problem, possibly heart or blood related, I decided to ditch the virtual medical help and go with something more concrete.
It was then that I found out the beauty of the Hong Kong hospital situation. I was informed by a colleague that since I was a Hong Kong resident, with a valid ID card, I just had to show up at any public hospital of my choice, go to the registration desk, pay 100HKD, and I would get thoroughly checked out.
Any problem, no matter its significance or magnitude, was just 100HKD. Runny nose? Food poisoning? Severed limbs? All the equivalent of $13 US.
So I hopped on the MTR, headed towards Chai Wan, and found my way to the Pamela Youde Nethersole Eastern Hospital, where I registered, deposited my hundred, told the triage nurses my problem, and was told to have a seat in the waiting room. I was slightly annoyed by the sign informing me I had to wait approximately 3 hours before I was seen. I became more irritated when the waiting room filled up, and the sign changed to 5 hours. However, right around the 3 hour mark my name was called and I went to see the doctor.
10 minutes and a battery of tests later, the verdict was in: ulnar nerve stress.
It makes sense, being that my computer posture is less than desirable. I have a habit of leaning against the desk, using my forearms to support my weight. I also have not mastered the art of relaxing while typing, as I have the tendency to tighten up considerably while working. This also does not help my pre-existing neck and back problems.
The moral of my story: A self-imposed ban or strict limitation on the amount of time I spend on the computer. I will do this for about a week and see how I feel. Also, a strict routine of yoga, pilates, or just plain old-fashioned stretching. Loosen the limbs. Work out the kinks. And I need to ease up a bit. I know the world moves fast but I don't have to participate in the race.
I need to get myself into shape to sit down at a desk and type.
Sad but true.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
October Tribute I
I remember many things about the year I spent in 3rd grade. Most of my recollections have nothing to do with school per se, but are more closely related to a time and a place. This was back when my family size was two-thirds of what it ultimately ended up being. The year was the transition point between living in Hopkinsville, Kentucky and moving to Mt. Laurel, New Jersey.
This was the year I lived in the small town of McAdoo, Pennsylvania.
The reason behind this one year sojourn to McAdoo was simple: My father was being stationed in South Korea for the year, and my mother wanted to move closer to her family. And so we moved.
Some memories that stand out during that year include:
1) Skipping little league practice on Saturday afternoons so that I could watch WWF and perform wrestling maneuvers on my pillows.
2) Taking a hula-hoop out to the backyard and naively hammering a young chick to death before feeding it to the neighbor's dogs.
3) Strutting around the block, boom box in hand, blasting The Bangles' "Walk Like an Egyptian" and "Manic Monday."
4) Faking it in swimming class by simply walking across the pool while freestyle stroking with my arms.
However, what sticks out most to me, was that it was the first time I can remember my sister Amber and I talking about what we wanted to be when we grew up.
My aspirations at the time were to be an exterminator or a zoologist, and I supplemented these dreams by vigorously reading every Funk and Wagnalls Wildlife Encyclopedia A-Z, as well as memorizing all my Wildlife Treasury cards, the ones that came in the green plastic carrying case. And while my career did not pan out how I had intended at the tender age of 8, I still look back at that time fondly.
Meanwhile, my sister had much larger goals. Her ambition had a much broader scope. She wanted to be a Cabbage Patch Kid, and then later, Strawberry Shortcake. And while this may have seemed amusing and youthfully cute, the fact remained, she was onto something. She had picked the two things that most excited and entertained young girls at the time. And my sister slowly turned into an entertainer herself.
While I was immersed in every animal, reptile, amphibian, bird, fish, insect, kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, and species, my sister would be in her bedroom, practicing a song or dance routine to entertain us with. Whether solo, or with help from her friends or cousins, she would always elicit laughter and a smile from anyone in attendance.
Fast forward 22 years later and my sister is still living out her childhood dreams. She has transformed herself into an entertainer extraordinaire. What started out as runway modeling shows at FIT has evolved into something beyond most people's comprehension. Print modeling in catalogues and magazines, swimsuit modeling in Miami, Hawaii, Spain, and the Bahamas, small parts in TV series and on the big screen, and appearances on a multitude of websites devoted to a variety of topics were just the beginning. Then came the Howard Stern Show, and with that many new doors opened, including the one which she is most famous for: Obama Girl.
Around the same time Obama Girl took off, I also "took off." Mine was more literal, as I actually did leave the United States to move to China and start teaching. And despite living under The Great Firewall of China, I was still able to follow my sister's exploits and adventures over the computer and on the phone. I watched a satirical video catapult her into a household name. I saw her go from my little sister to the sexiest woman on the web and one of MSN's most influential women of 2007. I read about her trips to California to host an award show and her jaunt down to the White House to dine with the President. And I cheered her on every step of the way.
Recently, I have seen her branch out even more. While she is still playing the Obama Girl role to perfection (situational comedy with Ralph Nader and amazing Sarah Palin impersonations), she has also started on her jewelry line (with my mother) as well as her music career. With her fashion designing background and my mother's knowledge and expertise, she should have a hit on her hands. And having grown up with her, as well as attending many concerts with her, I can vouch for her love and desire of all things musical. I know that no matter what she sets her mind to, she will put every ounce of her being into it, because that is who she is.
So here, on your 27th birthday, I say this to you sister: I am extremely proud of you. Everything you have done and everything you will continue to do. I see how hard you work, and I see all the good and bad that comes with the territory. I know that no matter what happens, you will succeed in anything you want. You are a wonderful, beautiful, talented, smart, funny, and versatile human being, but more importantly, you are a great sister. I love you.
Happy Birthday Amber!
This was the year I lived in the small town of McAdoo, Pennsylvania.
The reason behind this one year sojourn to McAdoo was simple: My father was being stationed in South Korea for the year, and my mother wanted to move closer to her family. And so we moved.
Some memories that stand out during that year include:
1) Skipping little league practice on Saturday afternoons so that I could watch WWF and perform wrestling maneuvers on my pillows.
2) Taking a hula-hoop out to the backyard and naively hammering a young chick to death before feeding it to the neighbor's dogs.
3) Strutting around the block, boom box in hand, blasting The Bangles' "Walk Like an Egyptian" and "Manic Monday."
4) Faking it in swimming class by simply walking across the pool while freestyle stroking with my arms.
However, what sticks out most to me, was that it was the first time I can remember my sister Amber and I talking about what we wanted to be when we grew up.
My aspirations at the time were to be an exterminator or a zoologist, and I supplemented these dreams by vigorously reading every Funk and Wagnalls Wildlife Encyclopedia A-Z, as well as memorizing all my Wildlife Treasury cards, the ones that came in the green plastic carrying case. And while my career did not pan out how I had intended at the tender age of 8, I still look back at that time fondly.
Meanwhile, my sister had much larger goals. Her ambition had a much broader scope. She wanted to be a Cabbage Patch Kid, and then later, Strawberry Shortcake. And while this may have seemed amusing and youthfully cute, the fact remained, she was onto something. She had picked the two things that most excited and entertained young girls at the time. And my sister slowly turned into an entertainer herself.
While I was immersed in every animal, reptile, amphibian, bird, fish, insect, kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, and species, my sister would be in her bedroom, practicing a song or dance routine to entertain us with. Whether solo, or with help from her friends or cousins, she would always elicit laughter and a smile from anyone in attendance.
Fast forward 22 years later and my sister is still living out her childhood dreams. She has transformed herself into an entertainer extraordinaire. What started out as runway modeling shows at FIT has evolved into something beyond most people's comprehension. Print modeling in catalogues and magazines, swimsuit modeling in Miami, Hawaii, Spain, and the Bahamas, small parts in TV series and on the big screen, and appearances on a multitude of websites devoted to a variety of topics were just the beginning. Then came the Howard Stern Show, and with that many new doors opened, including the one which she is most famous for: Obama Girl.
Around the same time Obama Girl took off, I also "took off." Mine was more literal, as I actually did leave the United States to move to China and start teaching. And despite living under The Great Firewall of China, I was still able to follow my sister's exploits and adventures over the computer and on the phone. I watched a satirical video catapult her into a household name. I saw her go from my little sister to the sexiest woman on the web and one of MSN's most influential women of 2007. I read about her trips to California to host an award show and her jaunt down to the White House to dine with the President. And I cheered her on every step of the way.
Recently, I have seen her branch out even more. While she is still playing the Obama Girl role to perfection (situational comedy with Ralph Nader and amazing Sarah Palin impersonations), she has also started on her jewelry line (with my mother) as well as her music career. With her fashion designing background and my mother's knowledge and expertise, she should have a hit on her hands. And having grown up with her, as well as attending many concerts with her, I can vouch for her love and desire of all things musical. I know that no matter what she sets her mind to, she will put every ounce of her being into it, because that is who she is.
So here, on your 27th birthday, I say this to you sister: I am extremely proud of you. Everything you have done and everything you will continue to do. I see how hard you work, and I see all the good and bad that comes with the territory. I know that no matter what happens, you will succeed in anything you want. You are a wonderful, beautiful, talented, smart, funny, and versatile human being, but more importantly, you are a great sister. I love you.
Happy Birthday Amber!
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