Life in type

 

My senior year I was elected choir president.  It wasn’t a campaign, or by virtue of anything I’d done, my best friend nominated me and by a fluke vote I ended up as president.  (For revenge I nominated him as secretary, he was elected as well.)

Our duties were not extensive: marking roll, helping out with substitute teachers, running errands and the like.  But through serving I was put into closer contact with our director than most the other students.  I found myself trying to do better work, in class, and for the class.  It was my knee-jerk reaction to my contact with him.

The choir room was crowded, the tiered rows of chairs loaded by spontaneous, youthful, hormone-laden high school students.  Our director got more respect than most teachers from the 120 plus coed students.  But it was difficult to keep us all in line.

            A common scenario:  The director would stop to explain a principle, silently demanding our whole undivided attention.  Maybe once a week a student would get caught talking.  The conductor never let this pass, most often addressing it publicly.  It was not a pleasant situation to be in.

             A day arrived when a certain young bass was called out for talking during one of the instruction times. 

            “What was I just saying?”  Queried the instructor.  I don’t recall what the bass answered but he hit the nail on the head, almost verbatim what the conductor had said.  “How do you people do that!”  The exclamation from the director dispelled the somber mood that always accompanied a public rebuking. 

            I usually sat in the midst of the basses, but one day I found myself on the end, next to the altos–not just any alto, but Julia Helland, the gorgeous volleyball player that I had had my eye on for months.   So of course I started flirting.  And the flirting continued into one of the instructional speeches.

            “Ryan!”  My name whipped across the room physically hurting my ears.  Not that it was particularly loud, I just knew what was coming.  My head jerked up and met the eyes of the man I had come to respect.

            “Yes, Mr. Waldron?”  The eyes bored into me, they looked… surprised? disappointed?  angry?  I’m still not sure, probably all in turn.

            “What was I just saying?”  The words came out slowly, almost in disbelief.  My mind raced, I remember hearing him talk about the song as a waltz and how we should sing it that way, and the memory of the triumphant bass’s remark welled in my mind.

            “Sing it like a waltz,” I said more smugly than I felt.  His shoulders sank, and my heart with them.  The eyes, once piercing, now seemed dead to me.  Which pricked my conscience with a sword, rather than the needle I had been feeling before I spoke.  He waited a few seconds, looking at no one else.

            “I’d expect that from them.  But not from you.”

Humility?What is it?  How can I obtain such an astounding attribute?  I’m not sure but I am being taught alot about it by a gorgeous little brunette who calls herself my girlfriend.  (I have no objections I call myself her boyfriend so I guess it works out nicely eh?)  So this girl is pretty much amazing, I wont bore you with all the usuall details, like how her hair is long curly and not unpleasantly brown, hazel green eyes that bore into my soul, a waist that screams “Hold me!!”, and a smile that conveys all the life lessons she has learned through living. 

But I will tell you about what an amazing individual she is.  I think we have all had the experience where meeting a person gives us a new perspective on life.  That is what she’s done to me.  Her inquisitive mind, and interagational conversation, baffels me every time.  I have never been kept so much on my toes before.  She has such strength, integrity, moral character, (was that redundant? yeah, I thought so)  yet if you truly get to know her, you’ll find insecurities that are based on such real life problems that hurt and scar you can’t fault her for them.  I’m not talking about weight issues, or am I pretty enough.  She deals with real issues, and does it heroically its inspiring.  With all this straightness is a humor that is as unique as they come.  Sometimes people aren’t sure what to do about her jokes; laugh, cry, rage.  It’s one more way she has of keeping me spinning.

How has it come to this?  Humility to weird humor?  The point is, if you have ever had the knowledge building experience of getting to know this type of simpling amazing person, than you know how humbling it is to realize that they are holding your hand.  Shes kissing me.  She wants to spend her time with me.  She wants me.  And sometimes I have no idea why.

This is my Blog.  Ryan Strong here, 24 years old, grew up in Sandy Utah, same house same best friend.  In elementary my parents sighned me up for a early morning creative writing course because I was such a good writer.  No, they signed me up because I was such a horrible writer, but I didn’t learn that until I had fully convinced myself that I am an okay writer. So here I am trying to put my feeble skills and antagonistic mind to work, creating works of fiction or non, for they enjoyment of myself and others. 
If your interested I have some work at www.worksonline.org just search for authors last name and type in strong, leave an honest opinion, I really would like to know what you think.