“The China Wall”

I clearly remember the ski trip that shattered my male sense of invincibility. It was the time I experienced the “China Wall.”

I wouldn’t say that I was the best skier on the mountain, but I was far from the worst (no offence dad). Before long, my cousin JP and I had conquered almost everything, but as we studied our map, I noticed one slope we had missed. It was called the China Wall and it had more diamonds than a deck of cards–all of them black.

As we made our way to the top of the mountain, I began to feel sick to my stomach. I tried to ease the tension by making light conversation, “So JP, this has been a fun…sweet mercy it’s a CLIFF!” As we peered over the ledge my knees grew weak. I almost failed high school math, but I recognize ninety degrees when I see it! Jutting from the snow were rocks, trees, shards of ice and the occasional land mine. “So, are we going to do this?” JP asked. I’m not afraid of death, but I AM afraid of pain, and I knew what varieties of pain I could experience if my skis...

Short Sighted

Saturday started like any other day, except for the pressing weight on my conscience for the poor that somehow fly under my radar everyday. This was not a new feeling; it had haunted me for several months, yet never cultivating into action. To pursue this growing conviction, I drove to downtown Raleigh.

After almost an hour of roving the city center, I grew discouraged. Apart from a few brief conversations, my attempts to engage (or even find) the impoverished had resulted in nothing. As I crossed the street, I offered up a frustrated prayer. “God, I believe you led me here; please show me why.” When I raised my head, I found myself walking closely behind a man pushing a cartload of his possessions. Within seconds he turned and greeted me as if I was expected. I asked him if he would like to get lunch, and thus began a memorable afternoon spent in the company of my unexpected new friend named Red. I also gave him a Bible from my pocket, a scarf from my car, and ten bucks from my wallet. I shared some of my...

The Cost of Cool

It is amazing how things change. I remember the days when I used to be a big loser. (You may be asking, “Hey, I thought this story was about change?”) I was shy and awkward, and usually on the outside looking in. But over time, things started to transform. I really discovered music when I was 14 after I traded in the clarinet for the drums and guitar. I caught the bug and music became a major part of my identity. I also updated my image (thanks to the wonder of Hawaiian shirts and hair gel!) and began to make more friends, soon blossoming into an outgoing socialite. Gone were the days of humiliation! Or were they?

My wake up call came while I was spending the day with my buddy Travis. We cruised around town, and everywhere we went people seemed to know us! As we were about to pull out of a parking lot, I noticed a pretty girl looking my way. “This day just keeps getting better!” I thought. She waved at me, flashing a big smile and I smoothly smiled back and returned her gesture of friendship. Her smile grew...

Needles and Reflections

I have always hated pain, and when it comes to needles, my weak stomach and feeble courage don’t stand a chance! In September of 2003 I found myself in one of the worst places I can think of: the hospital. After a visit to my doctor about some health issues, I was hastily sent to the hospital to find out what was wrong. Waiting in the emergency room gave me many reasons to be miserable. From the unknown state of my health, to the groaning man behind the veiled mystery certain beside me, to the back-less dress they made me wear in exchange for my dignity, things were not going well. I was attached to numerous machines and thought things couldn’t get any worse when suddenly two beautiful nurses entered the room. All thoughts of my previous gloom disappeared in an instant! Then I realized why they were there.

I started to panic when they approached me with an I.V. needle, planning how I would escape this chamber of torture. One of the nurses reached for my arm and slowly brought her weapon to bear on it, but...

“Sherlock Blackaby”

I recently read “The Hound of the Baskervilles” and found myself in envy of the hero’s observational skills. His aptitude for seeing the big picture from the smallest clue is amazing! My pitiful detective ability is stretched by the simple task of differentiating between a black shirt and a dark blue shirt. However, this never stopped me from honing in on my skills of detection as a kid. When I was younger, I loved to use my cousin’s skateboard. I never mastered the art of standing up, but I could maneuver by sitting on it and shifting my weight. I spent many hours racing my cousin and my brother down his sloped street (as well as nursing some nasty road burns!) When my birthday arrived, I knew exactly what I wanted: a brand new skateboard. I was determined to blow away the competition in our next race. The night before my birthday, I could only think about what might await me the next morning. Thanks to an overactive sense of curiosity, it didn’t take long before I sneaked downstairs in the dark to uncover...

“Peak” Performance: Beware the slippery slope…

When my father announced that we were going to take up skiing, I thought he was crazy. Our collective skiing experience could be summarized as Ski Free on the computer and some Winter Olympics TV viewing. However, he was determined we would do this as a family, so we decided to make the best of it. All except my mom; she dived in head first.

The first step to skiing is getting the right gear, and my mother was not cutting any corners. She bought a brand new snowsuit, gloves, head band, goggles, woolen socks, neck warmer and thermal underwear–all name brand of course. Then it was time to choose equipment. She bypassed the cheap and used section and walked straight to the top-of-the-line display (much to the glee of our sales person!). We watched as she transformed into a walking Salomon catalog. As she completed her purchases, I envied the fat Christmas bonus each employee of Sport Check would receive this year. I also shuddered at the heart attack my dad would have when his Visa bill arrived.

A few days...

Old Faithless

I remember our old T.V. When it was new, it was the pride of our basement. It carried us through our teenage years, adapting to each new game system to meet our entertainment needs. Parties gathered around to watch legendary sports events. Memories and laughter were the products of its faithful service to us, and it stood as a grandfatherly figure, guarding the den of our home. And then one day, it got old… It started as a flicker, and later it became a black out, until exploding into full blown Narcolepsy. Without warning, the T.V. screen would suddenly shutdown. My brother and I would be seconds away from beating a level (after the 763rd try) on the Playstation and it would black out; the Stanley Cup final would be in it’s last moments and it would black out; breaking news about aliens harvesting earth could be flashing and our T.V. would choose THAT moment to black out.

In frustration, we realized that the wires in the back had to be readjusted every time to bring the picture back. However, my brother...

Burning Ring of Fire

When you are a male, there is an instinct that attracts you to fire. With danger involved and possible destruction, man is drawn to fire like a teenage girl to a shoe sale. However, every once and a while, man underestimates the power of fire.

A couple years ago, I was hanging out with several friends at my parents’ house. When it started to get dark, someone eagerly suggested we use the fire pit in the back yard, and I jumped at the opportunity. I grabbed a box of matches and hurried out the door. My parents had a gas fire pit, and the instructions were meant to be fool-proof: gas+match=fire. The problem was that the wind kept extinguishing my match before I could light the pit. After several attempts, I was beginning to get worried. I had turned the gas on 5 minutes ago, but had yet to successfully drop a lit mach onto the rocks below. Beads of sweat formed on my brow as I continued to light match after match, only to have them blow out before connecting with the ever-increasing amount of gas. I was...

Rock and Roll…

I was having one of those days where I couldn’t seem to stay awake. After class I went out to my car and started driving home. I knew I needed either a strong caffeinated beverage or a nap to survive the rest of the day. I checked my car’s ash tray for money, but was greeted only by cobwebs and tumbleweeds, so decided on option B. The drive home only takes five minutes, but today it seemed like an eternity. All I could think about was sleep…blissful sleep. When I finally pulled up to the apartment complex, beautiful thoughts were beginning to fill my head: Thoughts of my soft pillow; thoughts of my quiet room; thoughts of the giant rock right in front of me. GIANT ROCK?! I snapped out of my day-dream, but not fast enough. My car snuck off the road and smashed into the decorative rock at the entrance of the parking lot. Sheepishly, I gathered my wits (now more awake than I’ve ever been!) and glanced around, hoping no one had watched me. Several LARGE scratches now adorned my front bumper, just begging...

It’s all Greek to Me…

Blood ran thick with battle lust. The line between friend and foe became blurred. The fierce would defeat the fainthearted in pursuit of the ultimate prize. There would be casualties, but that is the price of war. It was sixth grade class presentations and only one set of parents would be left standing.

My class was studying ancient Greece and every student had to do an oral presentation. My worst nightmare came true when a fellow student made his presentation on the Parthenon—complete with a scale model his architect father ‘helped him’ construct. I was devastated. There was no way I could compete with an architect’s masterpiece! I sullenly informed my parents of my plight and they leapt into action. Because I loved Greek mythology, we decided to build the famous labyrinth. However, as the creative juices started flowing, my elementary grade input quickly diminished. My enthusiastic parents had a single-minded mission—take out the Parthenon! I was soon pushed to the sidelines as my obsessed mom and dad...