Free Style

Title says it all. For this post, I'm not going to follow the 'finer points' of grammar, by which I mean that most things are going to not be spell checked, and I'm not re-reading this twice to find errors. And, I'm going to say what is on my mind, so, reader beware, you're in for a scare. (+5 cool points if you get the reference!)

Ok. So, you know those days, when everything is just... Stupid? Where everything someone says is so.... Stupid? When all you can think about is how you are so... Stupid? Yeah. We've all had them. I'm not having one though. Today (though it ends formally in five minutes) has been great, actually. I had a lot of fun today and yesterday. But, right now, I'm having one of ^those^ hours. I honestly have not a clue in the world as to what could have caused it. There I was, on my fouton, texting people, throwing my football when I started thinking about next year, which is something I do often. But this time, I wasn't thinking of marching band (for once). Instead, I thought of how all of my friends are graduating. How next year, I'm going to have to find a new place to sit. How, next year, I'm not going to have anyone to text all the time. I'm not going to have someone to go to and tell my stupid stories that only they would find funny, all the time. I'm not going to be able to do this, and do that. And it is driving me insane!!!! For once in my life, I'd like to be content. For once in my freakin life, I don't want to worry about the future, because that's all I do nowadays! "I'm taking this class next semester" "I'm going to this university" "I'm moving" Blah freaking blah. Guess what people. Contrary to popular belief, not one person on this planet besides yourselves gives a crap! So stop telling me about the future, and allow me to live in the present!

But, really, what annoys me more? People talking about the past. That REALLY ticks me off. It's already happened. Deal. Now, I'm a fan of history, so don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't believe you can learn from it, no, I just don't like how people choose to relive their glory days. Like a person, 45, still wearing his high school football team's jacket because they went to state that year. Yeah, you, fat guy I saw in Wal-Mart. Get over it! Seriously!

Ok. The future thing keeps drawing me back, so I'm just gonna go with that for now. So, now then. Totally lost my train of thought there... Oo... Crap. Oh, yeah, now I remember. So, one of those "quotes" from the earlier paragraph was about moving. Moving really annoys me. Y'know why? Because it happened to me so many freaking times. And it made me who I am. Am I proud of it? Yes. Would I wish it upon my worst enemy? Never. So, it really... I don't know... Irks me to hear someone say that they can't wait to move. Because they have absolutely no idea. No. Earthly. Idea. They don't know the alienated feeling of the first day of a new school. How you're on the outside looking in. The look on the other kid's faces when they look you up and down to see where you "belong". They have no idea the terror you face the day before. No idea of what to expect. For those of you that have never moved from a school to a completely different place, here's a basic rundown. It's the day before hand. You have butterflies in your stomach compared to nothing before. Your newly constructed bed is shaking from a loose bolt, and your stomach is about to make you keel over. Trust me, you aren't getting ANY sleep that night. Your dad wakes you up just a little bit early, you shower very quickly and very precisely, and you eat a breakfast that you can barely stomach. You're driving there, and your parents are giving you words of encouragement. They don't help in the slightest. You get there, and you're given your schedule (your parents signed the paperwork days ago), and are shown to your next class. The teacher, of course, makes you get up to the front of the class and say your name and something interesting about yourself. "My name is ******, and I want to sit down." But, no, it'll come out as. "My... Um... Name is *****, and I like... to.... er.... read." Not the best thing to say, by the way. Ecspecially if you are in the class of kids who mostly can't read... =\. But, really, it isn't your fault. The butterflies have reached maximum and the looks of the kids are terrifying. But really. That isn't the worst part. The worst part is when the kids ask you if you know their names for days and days on end, because a new kid isn't very common. The worst parts come when you go to the bathroom, and two guys look like they mean business. One fake swings, as a joke on the new guy, and you automatically duck and realise they're laughing at the nerd. No. Just kidding. The worst part, no joke this time, is when you realize, after a few weeks... That the odds are you will never see a single one of those people you left behind, ever again. When it finally becomes... Complete inside of you. That, no matter what, these are going to be your new friends......

Wow. It felt really good to vent that. Thanks for reading this... 5... followers... lol. And remember. Heroin is only healthy if taken in the shower. Peace!

Marching Knights

you all will worship me one day o.o

Okay, so now about the Marching Knights.

The Marching Knights is a group of teenagers that perform at band competitions. They are the only band in Kershaw county to go to the State Finals. They also recently placed 7th place, which the highest in North Central High School's history. They are also my best friends.

When I first started band in spring, let's just say, I wasn't very excited. I had a serious crap of a time there. I had it in my mind that all of them hated me, and blah blah blah. I had a right! :O I heard rumors and crap about me, from them. It was really discouraging. I was even thinking about quitting. But I didn't. And holy crap, am I glad. If I hadn't joined the marching band, I wouldn't have been nearly as good of friends with Taylor, or Anna, or Kayla... I don't even know what I would do without them. They are as close of friends as me and someone that I've known for years, like me and Jon Maze. Me and Jon met in 6th grade, and, at first, we haaaated each other. I don't even know what happened, but one day we became like best friends. That's kinda what happened with me and them, only with just me, as I don't know how they felt. But at first, I hated them. Then, me and them got along. Then, me and them just became friends, and it's been like that ever since. Now, I won't say any of them, specifically, are my "best friends", mostly because I don't have "best friends", but they are pretty close. (Even if, just now, Kayla K and Taylor refused to tag themselves in my new fb album!)
Marching band was a whole new experience for me, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.











blogging can be pretty cool....









so can heroin.....

I'm Sorry!!!!!!!!

Ahhhhhhh! I haven't posted in like four months haha. The reason is... bum-bum-bum-dum.... I forgot the email address XD! It's lightningREDdragon, not lightningBLUEdragon. Ayyiyiyi.!

Well, I have about 5 people talking to me on facebook, so I'm gonna go. Come back soon.



Blogging is so fun.







So are drugs.

...What the Crap Happened to Me?

Let's go on a trip. Let's go down Memory Avenue. (It's lovely this time of year.) Now, on this trip, we will visit a time in which you were seven, it's the middle of July, and your parents told you that you could get that toy for Christmas.


Since we're on Memory Avenue, you can easily remember your anxious waiting for August... September... October..... You are eagerly awaiting your new two-wheel bike. The anticipation is building through the months. Your current bike is crying as it knows it's time is ending. Your anticipation nearly kills you when finally, Christmas arrives. You tear open your presents, getting a shirt here, pants there... And all you are thinking is, "What the crap? I put up with you for a year and you give me a measly pair of socks?!"


Fast forward a few years, and look at yourself now. When it's Christmas are you giving or receiving? And what are you expecting? Remember when you were seven, and you thought clothes meant nothing. You thought that Santa was cheap, crotchety old man because he didn't get you 5 games, that he stuck you with a lame 4. Now you think either, "How am I going to pay for this?" or "I hope I get some cool clothes."

All I have to say about that is what the crap!

How on earth did I get to be the person that thought clothes were important? I distinctly remember laughing at my friend for saying he wanted clothes. (I was in 5th grade, he was in 8th.) How did I go from thinking teenagers were jerks to becoming one?

How does age manage to change everything? How did 'getting high' go from being on the swings to a mentality issue? How did we get from race issues being who was fastest? Remember when protection meant wearing a helmet? How does this happen? More importantly, who, or what, is to blame for it? Is it pheromones, or is it just immaturity?

To put a story into action here, I'll give you an example of how much I've changed.

When I was eight, I was a shy little dude. I remember not talking to people on the first day of school because that meant confrontation. When I was around my parents, I was myself. Kind of impulsive. I played with toys, and was not ashamed to tell people at school about my latest Power Ranger war (as long as I was friends with them). People with muscles were unapproachable because they freaked me out.

I'm fourteen now, and I'm no where near as shy. I had to talk to people on the first day of school because that's the only way to survive. When I'm around my parents, I'm not as 'out-there' as most of my friends tag me to be. I don't play with toys, and if I ever mentioned Power Rangers, then I'd become a social outcast outside of my friends. Now, I want to get muscle for sports and for health. But that's a different blog for a different "I can't sleep!!!!!!!" moment.

Hmmm..... You know what's fun? Blogging...





You know what's addictive? Heroine

Jesalt

Salt is something that has lasted through not only the ages, but also through our taste buds. When you make yourself some of those freezer fries, you get plenty of salt. It's a given that it will be everywhere. It is all consuming. You feel, smell, taste and see the salt all over your fries. And not only does it give you the amazing feeling of accomplishment of "Ha ha! I have something on me!", it also well.... Tastes amazing. So, basically, salt, for your brief trip down Heart Attack Avenue, is your one and everything. You just can't hide.

But... If you don't add salt to your fries.... It doesn't do anything.

If you don't add salt to your fries, it'll be nasty.

There are a lot of things you could put into that sentence to substitute 'fries' and 'salt'.

Butter, corn.

Deodorant, armpit.

Jesus, lives.

If you don't add Jesus to your life, your life will be nasty. If you don't make Jesus your salt, then you, the fries, will be nasty. So don't live your life as the people in Hell's Kitchen seem to want you to. Don't live your life without the salt. Let the salt consume you. Let Jesus consume you. Let Jesus be your everything. See his actions, hear his praise, feel his power!

Don't let your life go unseasoned. Cause that just ain't no fun.

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A Serious Case of the Adoptions. Or Lack Thereof.

Well, I had a rather large monologue here for you all to bore on through. It was about the meaning of adoption and of it's impacts world wide. As I read through it, I remembered that this blog is called "The Gift". One of them I posted about was writing. So I deleted it all, thinking that I wouldn't allow myself to write this, since this wasn't some stupid prompt our dear state came up with. So here's what I really want to talk about.

My family may adopt. There's about a 7.5-2.5 chance we will, to adopting. So, once my parents cleared it with us, came the big questions: Age, gender, and background. As a pastor, my dad is limited in all three categories.

We can't get a child in the middle, that is a girl. If you want to know why, talk to your parents about that one, 'cause that's a different post. So a girl of about 9 or older is completely out. Boys on the other hand, are good of any age. Until you factor in that our house is old - if I'm not mistaken, our house was around before lead paint was a big deal. So we, of course have it. Everyone under nine? Out. That of course leaves us with either new paint, or an eight year old girl, or an eight or older year old boy. That was age or gender. This next one is the tricky bit.

Kids in the adoption programs generally are there for a reason. In fact, I do believe most of them aren't there as orphans, though I am free-styling this, so that may be off. So, some of the kids get lucky, and didn't have raving lunatics as their parents... Others do. Others have parents that if I ever met, I would probably put them in as much pain as possible. Not many would stop me, for the horrors they've committed. So, some of the kids are... Well not insane, but not all together either. So, you can have a kid who is perfectly sane, with a kid that was (...) bunking together. This is where background comes in.

Y'see, as a pastor's kid, more is expected of you than anyone else. You have to be on time (I make a point not to be), be the most well mannered (sometimes, I actually accomplish that one), and the most.... I don't know. Biblical? Someone asks you, "What is on page 394 in the King James Version?" and expect you to know it. (I flat out refuse to answer for those.)

So, a kid who is troubled may have difficulty being so close to others or actually being cared about, and so they could easily snap. A punch there, a HE WALKED ON THE GRASS there, and an oil spill there... Soon a church has had enough, and can give the pastor an ultimatum. "Get rid of him/her, or we get rid of you." And it's only natural that parents don't want their kids exposed to it. That's cool.

So that's why being the perfect age, gender, and having a good background are important for the PASTOR side of the father figure. Because past that, there's also your real family to deal with.

So in our family, there are three children. One has moved out, one will be moving out, and then there is me, who of course will be staying. So, at 25, 19, and 14, there is obviously an age difference. So, with no central age, they obviously have to start low.

As for reasons stated before hand, we have to get either an eight year old girl or an eight year old or older boy. Now, for me, that kind of rang a alarm. An eight year old girl would be twelve by the time I moved out, and that if I moved out right after high school. That's an obvious alarm bell -_-#. But other than that small little stair, or lack thereof, I'm actually pretty cool with another girl. I'd get that little sister - older brother time you don't see much anymore anyways, and... It'd be mine.

But for a boy. Hm, this may be a big one. Now, with a little brother, I could tease him. I could mess with him like you see on TV. I could destroy him in video games. But I could also teach him to wrestle. I could help him learn to play football, or to hop a fence (wait what?), or how to get the extra 1-up on that arcade Mario game ( I went from football to that?). However. Mom and dad may end up getting an older kid. One my age. And suddenly all of those older brother moments? Poof. What if the kid is more... Athletic? What if he could be the son that your dad had wanted? Imagine yourself, your dad's real son, outshone by someone your parents love, and that you think is just okay? That under your okay, you have a deep, festering hatred. Hatred for stealing your father. Hatred for stealing what should have been yours, but was stolen by that outcast... So, in case you are terminally malfunctioning, you can see I'd like either a little sister, or a little brother, at around eight of nine.



Well there you go mom. There is my honest thoughts on adoption. Just like you said.

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Front or Back seat?

So there you are, driving down the road. You've been driving for about seven hours straight, you're stiff, you're tired, and you're hungry. But everyone else in the car has had McDonalds, has been sleeping, and has been stretching. They're even asking you, "How much longer?" You're okay with it - it's your family! So, shouldn't they be as tolerant when you say... Make a wrong turn? What happens then? Then everything is messed up! Your wife and kids are squawking like a bedazzled chicken, your GPS is cussing you out, and you're eyes won't shut. Man your life sucks.

That's the path of being a leader. Of taking charge of what needs to be done, of doing it, and of completing the goal. Even if it means self sacrifice, true leaders will take one for their team. They'll take all of the hate, they'll lead the way into the salt mine, and they won't go on vacation when there's an oil spill. Bottom line; they get what needs to be done, done.

Man, your life stinks. You've been stuck sitting in the back seat for about seven hours. You're McDonalds is starting to smell, your sister stole your iPod, and your cell phone is dead. You keep asking who's driving how much longer, but all you get is an angry grunt in response. Then the driver has the nerve, the arrogance, the ineptitude to make a wrong turn! What is wrong with them? They're wasting your time! You're shouting, "Turn off your Global Positioning System, it won't shut up!" Your sister is shouting, with the air of someone waking up to cannon fire, "Are wedere yet?" And your mother is scolding that failure of a driver! Seriously, what is wrong with him, doing what needs to be done, then doing it wrong... The nerve of some people.

There's your life as a follower. You scold those in charge for doing what needs to be done, simply to give you something to do. You watch things be done, and you take no part in it. It's like someone who didn't vote (not couldn't, didn't) complaining about the Obama administration. So, as a follower, you're doing what you're told, and then complaining when it doesn't turn out to your specific needs.

So which do you choose? Do you want to be laughed at in the face of failure, or do want to stretch out in the backseat? Answer in the comments, and be truthful. Only about two people follow this anyways.

Who's Asking?

Well, I guess I should answer my... person. My name is Luke Leigh, and I'm a fourteen year old, mostly academic, occasionally athletic, sometimes apathetic, part time pathetic... Ok mess with that. I'm fairly intelligent, I play some sports when I feel like it, and I get ticked off like everyone does. I've never been one to tell you what I'm up to, but never the one to hurt someone. I suppose both of those particular attributes come from my upbringing: I am, and probably will be for a long time, a pastor's son who strongly believes everything happens for a purpose, but somethings happen on accident. Confusing prospect, I suppose.


Now, if you're one to read blogs and such, then I would suppose you've heard of my parent's blogs, "A Fish Called Grace", and "Pattyville". Both of my parent's are fantastic writers, and try to update regularly.


Now, if you are a very odd individual, you are wondering, "Hmm. What ever is the this joker doing, talking about other people than himself?" So, for now you are thinking it, my family is a very big part of my life.


Dad: My father is, of course, a pastor. He preaches, and wonderfully, I might add, at Beaverdam Baptist Church, in Cassatt, South Carolina. That many commas should be illegal. Anyways, he is, like many say, a lot like me, in the way that we are both just good natured people. Ah well, go to his blog, you'll learn more there :P.


Mom: Mom wants to be a teacher or a librarian, but because of the current economic crisis, has not found work the eighteen months we've lived here in Cassatt... Yeah... Her blog is "Pattyville", go to the link above and check her out!


Stevie: Stevie is my middle sister. Sometimes she feels as if she is the outcast, but of course that isn't true. My family embraces anyone, because everyone is a child of God. :3 Everyone says we look alike. Neither of us see it.


Shea: Shea is my eldest sister, and also my half sister. I try not to talk about the half part, partly because she's my full sister in my eye, and also because thinking about her father puts me in a bad mood. She is, at the moment, not on speaking terms with my parents. That'll change soon; God has a way of bringing a family back together.

So, as I'm sure you may be wondering, what do I mean be, The Gift? Or well, you may not be, but since you're reading... Well, for a long time now, people have told me I have it. "You have to gift, son!" So, are the referring to me when I act in class, when a teacher needs a part to be played? Or are they referring to me being able to pick up an instrument and play it decently in two weeks. Maybe even writing, though I get that one less often. Once or twice, it's come from a comedy skit I've written and preformed for my friends. But what is it, exactly? Is it an ability? A superpower? A glitch in the matrix? That's my life question. If I can figure that out, I'll be able to die happy.

That living would be preferable.

Luke =]