In Memory

When you get a text message and the sender tells you to call them as soon as possible, and then when you text back, and they don’t reply, you know something is wrong.

This is what happened to me three years ago. I received a text message and a phone call that I never expected to receive – a text message and phone call that I never wanted to receive.

The text message was from my former college newspaper editor. The phone call was from my newspaper advisor. They both had to tell me the same thing – one of my best friends, David Scott Berry, had been killed in a car wreck.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to react. I couldn’t sit down and cry. I couldn’t run off and hug his parents and be at his funeral. When I received the phone call, and then later returned it, I was walking through the Atlanta Airport with my family, getting ready to board another plane that would take us to Fort Lauderdale, where we would eventually board a cruise ship for the next five days. I was on my way to paradise.

But reality had just hit me hard and fast before I could leave. Reality is a bitch like that.

I managed not to think about Scott for the next few days because I know he would have wanted me to enjoy myself in the exotic locations where we traveled. When I came back, I started to deal with the fact that this name in my cell phone was now just a name, and I would never hear the voice again at the other end of the line.

I hated that I couldn’t go to his funeral. I never got to hug his mom and tell her she raised an amazing son. I was never able to meet his sister who he spoke about fondly. I didn’t get to properly say good bye.

I tried, though. I wrote his mother a letter when I came back, telling her some of my favorite memories of Scott. I don’t know if she ever got the letter, but it helped me in writing it.

Then, a week or so later, I was driving home late one night, listening to the Rent soundtrack, and I just started crying. One night that I was at Scott’s, he cooked me dinner while this soundtrack played in the background. It was such a fun night. He was trying to impress me with his cooking skills. I was just enjoying his company. I still make green beans sometimes like he made that night.

The rest of that summer, I was alright for the most part, but the worst was yet to come.

When I returned to school that year, that’s when I finally started to realize that he would never again walk into the newspaper office.

I had earned the position as editor after my many years of working on The Arka Tech. Scott was the editor for most of the time that I worked on the paper. We used to joke about how when I was editor, he was going to come in and help me with pages; he was our clutch. But that night, the first night I had to lay out pages, I began to comprehend that he wasn’t going to walk through the doors of the StuPub, pull up a rolling chair, and ask me what he could do to help. He wasn’t going to come in and joke about Tommy and Dr. Norton, or Ryan; he was really gone. And it was horrible. We ran a story in our first paper that year about Scott’s death and I couldn’t even write the headline for it. I wrote in the headline box, “I can’t write this,” and just left for the night with tears running down my face. That was never my office. That was Scott’s office.

It was in that office that I first met Scott Berry. It was in that office that we first became friends.  It was in that same office where we ate Pizza Pro Pizza on late nights, and where we hung out with Bailey. He taught me page lay-out in that office. It was in that office that we met before heading out on our first date. It was outside that office that nearly a month later, I told Scott that I just wanted to be friends. And I crushed him.

But eventually, Scott and I would return to being friends; but only before I would move to Houston, Texas for the summer. It was that summer when we lost our friendship. I knew it was going to happen. He told me before I left, “Right when things are getting good, you are going to leave.”

Part of me thinks he felt that I left him and would never return. Part of me wonders if he was jealous that I had gone to Houston and he spent the summer in Russellville. I’ll never know. All I remember of that summer is that we didn’t talk a lot, and I hated it.

Once I returned, things were never the same with Scott. But I don’t think about that. I think about the good times, like going to Altus for dinner at this little pub in downtown. Or coming home for Easter to find tulips at my house that he had sent me. And there was the time we got tired of talking on the phone, so we went Lock and Dam to drink wine from plastic cups and smoke cigars. I still remember walking into the Hampton Inn to tell Tommy we wanted a room for the night (and Scott couldn’t keep a straight face.) I still think about that when I drive by that Hampton in Russellville. Those times, when it was just me, him, and the River Valley night sky – those moment are what I’ll always remember about him.

And now, three years later, memories are all I have left of Scott. He was one of my first friends in college. He was one of the first people -- who wasn't a teacher -- to tell me that I had some talent in this newspaper thing. He also showed me a little favoritism since he was a graduate assistant in one of my classes I took. He believed in me. I just wish he could have believed in himself some more.

David Scott Berry was a wonderful man – one I’ll never forget. If everything happens for a reason, then I think the sudden loss of Scott was to teach us to cherish our friends. While our family are to be loved and adored, great friends are to be held tightly as well. Great friends cannot be replaced. I always thought I would have more time to rekindle the friendship that Scott and I once had – but I guess I was wrong. I think that’s the lesson out of this too. Don’t count on having enough time to make things right with someone. It’s never too soon to make amends. 

Do your hands write?

When I was in the second grade, I was quite proud of the fact that my teacher put one of my writing assignments out in the hall because I had good penmanship.
Then, my writing success continued in fourth grade as we learned cursive. I could curl my letters just as well as any adult, and I was quite excited about that fact.
But as time has progressed, my handwriting has gone from the top of the class to doctor quality. I blame it on my constant scratching down of notes during meetings, or while I'm in an interview. My handwriting has changed from a pretty, neat print to a hybrid-mess of cursive and print. Most of the time it's legible. Other times, I have to use context clues to figure out what I wrote. It can get ugly, trust me.
I learned to have good handwriting in school because computers were just something that you used in a special class once a week. You went to "computer class" to play games like Oregon Trail and Amazon Trail. Then, in high school, you learned proper typing techniques and how to not look at your hands while you type.
But will the youngsters of today know the importance of hand writing? Will they have to know it?
I saw a piece on CBS Sunday Morning News about the decline in hand writing, which saddened me because you can tell a lot about a person from their hand writing. Cursive has even been removed from some school curriculum, according to CNN.com, so it's only a matter of time before it is lost completely in society. (As you know, schools are teaching for tests these days, so if cursive isn't on a test, students don't need to learn it, according to the logic of many schools.)
Handwriting in school was almost a write of passage. All of the long, tedious papers had to be written first on notebook paper. I remember having to hand write the rough draft of my high school term paper, and then the final drafts were typed. Your hands actually hurt when you were done, but you knew that was part of being in high school. You would even get that little notch on the side of your finger from holding your pen so long. It didn't kill you, but it made you curse at your teacher a bit. And it made you even happier when you wrote those final words on that lined notebook paper  — you had survived. And while a nice curvy font can appear as cursive, I don't think anything can ever replace actual hand written cursive text. My grandparents and parents may be among the final generations to use cursive daily. I remember when I first learned cursive, and I thought it was so cool because "that's how the adults write." I was another step closer to being grown up.
But I don't think a lack of handwriting is anything to fear — just yet. I am honestly more concerned about the butchering of our language because of the digital age. While I am guilty of using the usual text abbreviations like "ur" for your, and "abt" for about, I make a very conscious effort to not use those words when I write formally, such as in a story or a paper for school. Yet, students these days often do not understand the difference in the two occasions and will still use texting shorthand in their formal writing. I want to scream whenever I see these words used outside of a cell phone screen. In fact, I was driving by an elementary school the other day and the sign read, "Yearbooks R in." Yes, I do understand that vinyl signs are notorious for using shorthand, I was more upset that the SCHOOL was doing that — and an elementary school where students are still learning the basics of language. Sigh.
I can only hope that parents will still make their children write as much as they can and develop legible handwriting. Good penmanship says a lot about a person, as well as society. Sure, our penmanship isn't as elegant as the forefathers, but it tells a story of who we are as a culture. I don't want our story to be told in typed print.

Go baby go!

I love running. I hate running. That pretty much explains my relationship with the sport.
Yes, it's a sport. Some people consider it punishment, or a way to get away from an enemy.
I consider running as that time that I don't have to return a text message, or read an e-mail. It's my time to just get deep inside my mind and think about those random thoughts that often result from a run. If you were to look at my college newspaper, the papers that were created after a good run were always better. Always. Running really does help your thought process.
The thing I love most about running is that you get to see things — well, you notice things that you don't often notice as you are driving in a car. I learned how to navigate my way around my College Town because I ran it all the time. And I have ran SO MANY country roads in my Home Town that it's not even funny.
And while running so many roads gets a little monotonous, it's very cool to be able to say, "Hey, I've ran this road," or "Hey, I've ran up this mountain." A lot of the streets in downtown Little Rock and North Little Rock I have ran because of local 5Ks and the Little Rock Half Marathon. Did you know there's a hill up Capital Avenue? Yeah, it's a long, slow incline that really is a pain. But you can't notice that in your car... you have to run it.
But I'm not the only runner (a term I use loosely) in my family. My mom is a marathoner and my dad runs too. It was his idea that to celebrate his 60th birthday, the family would go to Louisville, Kentucky for the Kentucky Derby Marathon. He wanted to finish his first marathon on his 60th birthday. So that's what we did this past weekend — and it was a jolly good time.
We left around noon on Thursday, drove all day, and then the race was on Saturday. I was signed up for the half marathon, and my mom was going to run the full as well, but due to a recent fall off her bike, she opted for the half. We didn't run together. I don't run with anyone I know during races. I like to set out on the adventure on my own.
And ladies and gentlemen, that's exactly what it was. It was a 13.1 mile adventure that I survived (and I say survived because I didn't really train as well as I should, which is kind of my reputation.)
The race started at 7:30 a.m., and after a crappy night of sleep, my parents and I headed down to the start, which is where I remembered one of my favorite parts of running — the walk to the start. At every walk to the start, there's just this feeling of excitement/anxiety/fear/togetherness that we are all about to start on a trek — and only the strong will survive. Well, the strong out of 15,000 registered runners on Saturday. Here's where I was at the start...

 

So at 7:30 the gun went off... and I just stood there. I had my regular start song all ready to go on my iPod. About 15 minutes later, I crossed the start... and the adventure had begun.

As I said before, I wasn't all that trained to run 13 miles. I had been running, but I hadn't really built up my leg strength to keep running for 13 miles. I knew that with my hard headedness, I wouldn't stop and I would eventually cross the finish. To get there, I created a plan to run to every mile marker and then walk 2 minutes, and then keep running. This plan worked out quite well. It kept me motivated to not stop for anything pointless, and I kept a pretty good pace. 

Then, some poor planning on the race directors part took off a lot of my time because there was a very big shortage of bathrooms. The Little Rock Half Marathon had spoiled me. I was used to a lot of bathrooms at every mile stop. Who would think otherwise?! Alas, I eventually made it back to my running plan and the run continued.

The race took us through some less scenic areas of Louisville, then we eventually were able to run through the main attraction of the city — Churchill Downs. I was more than excited because not very many people can say they have ran through Churchill Downs. Bragging rights are definitely some great motivation for running.

 

Once we made it through Churchill Downs, I was starting to realize that I was going to survive and I only had about 5 more miles to go until the finish. 

All along the run, I could tell that I was starting to develop a blister on the inside of my right foot — my usual blister spot. Then, between mile 10 and 11, I felt a rather interesting feeling. At the place where I knew there was a blister, I suddenly felt some liquid disperse on my sock. That's right, my blister had popped while I was running. It was kind of a cool feeling. 

I walked the rest of that mile so my foot could adapt to the open skin. I picked back up on my run as I suddenly came across this group of supporters in the middle of the street, holding beers. I grabbed one of their beers and just kept on going, eventually getting it out of his hand. I took a few swigs, felt a new burst of energy, and popped some hard candy — I was on my way to the finish.

As I was running with less than 2 miles to go, I came across some ladies that were also losing energy as the finish was getting closer. We decided to join up, and with their help, the three of us crossed the finish (though I'm fairly certain the finish line was moved, haha).

I didn't finish in a record time, but I finished. I know I can do better. And I plan to do better. The race revitalized my love of running, and actually made me look forward to running again. I don't know when I'll do a big race again in the next few months, but I do want to work on my 5K time, and my distance running. I also need to get back on my bike and into the pool. Since my education is wrapping up, and I no longer work for a daily paper, I need to try and make more time for the exercises I love. There will always be something going on my life, I realized this weekend. As the saying goes, "You make time for things you want to do." I want to run/bike/swim. Now I just need to make time for it. Looks like I'll be watching the sunrise.

P.S. We ate at two Food Network related restaurants. Since there weren't Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives locations, we ate at Lynn's Paradise Cafe, featured on Throwdown with Bobby Flay, and we ate at The Neely's Bar-B-Que in Memphis. They have their own Food Network show. Lynn's was fantastic! And The Neely's was good — who would have thought of BBQ Spaghetti?

P.S.S. My dad did finish his first marathon on his 60th birthday in 5 hours and 18 minutes. :)