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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