You know that tractor song? Well, he wasn’t just whistling Dixie.
Yes, I graduated from Franklin County High School, and today, needless to say, I am a proud alumnus.
If you think my John Deere’s sexy, then wait’ll you see that Bush Hog I’ve got parked out in the shed.
I searched through several boxes but I couldn’t find it.
Twenty-seven years ago, I delivered the salutatorian speech at Franklin County High School in Rocky Mount, Virginia. I thought that I still had a copy of it around somewhere and had planned to post it here, but apparently it’s at my mother’s house tucked away in a box or maybe the attic.
Or maybe it’s gone for good. Probably just as good. Who needs another speech anyway?
I recall that it was about 3-4 minutes long; even then, I liked ’em short and sweet. On the morning of graduation, we came to school and read our speeches to a teacher, presumably to screen them for appropriate content.… Read the rest
The speaker at last night’s Grissom High Baccalaureate service was entertaining and spot on.
He basically said there were two types of buttons in life. First, there was the EASY button, and he held up just that, one of those from the Staples office supply store commercials. He told the grads that they could always take the path of least resistance, continue life in their high school mindset, and anytime they faced a difficult choice they could just reach down and hit the EASY button and hope for the best.
But, he warned, whatever you do, do NOT press this button!… Read the rest
Yesterday was Senior Sunday at our church. That’s “senior” as in high school, not the over-the-hill, AARP type. There were 26 seniors this year, which, as we say in the South, is a whole big mess of ’em.
They marched down the center aisle of the church, clad in their graduations robes–brown, burgundy, white, red, purple, power blue. This was the start of a new tradition this year. But just barely. It was announced last week that they would wear their robes, and as one might expect, there was a great hue and cry and a week’s worth of high drama.… Read the rest
Guess which Huntsville high school student was named to the First Team All-USA High School Academic Team?
Johnny, a friend of Number One Son at Grissom High who scored a perfect 2400 on his SAT and a perfect 36 on his ACT, was among 20 students named to the team. Of those, 15 were of Asian or Indian descent. I don’t know precisely how much genetics has to do with that (my guess is quite a bit), but I do know that many of those kids are second generation Americans whose immigrant parents have instilled in them a killer work ethic which makes me and my progeny look like absolute slouches.… Read the rest
I wasn’t a fan of his, but I didn’t really think he was a monster either. What ever happened to “you don’t tug on Superman’s cape, spit into the wind, pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger, mess around with Jim, or dance on someone’s grave?”
I’d like to think that when I die, no one will dance on my grave. But there’s probably someone out there who will.
“No more stinky glasses, no more stinky glasses!” they’ll joyfully bleat as they stomp and strut around my grave like a barnyard animal, stirring up a cloud of dust from the freshly dug dirt.… Read the rest
Pardon my dust, but I’ll be moving my blog to a new host server over the next few days. As a result, things may appear a bit scrambled and disorganized for a while until that’s completed.
But then again, what else is new?… Read the rest
The more the words,
the less the meaning,
and how does that profit anyone?–Ecclesiastes 6:11
How ironic that those words were spoken by someone named The Preacher.
We’re preparing to enter a season of senior sermons, baccalaureate services, keynote speeches and prayerful send offs. May all who dare to speak do so with modesty, a sense of the occasion, and a modicum of “fitly spoken” words.
Just say “no” to verbal sprawl.
Certainly, readier access to the Latin Mass would thrill the core of liturgical old-schoolers who have longed for its return. But how many mainstream American Catholics would be interested in attending a Latin Mass? Some of the largest and most passionate Catholic congregations I’ve seen have been in churches whose services have veered far from the pre-council standard and toward something more resembling an evangelical megachurch service: video screens, pop-influenced worship bands, a breezy informality in the pews.
–Fr. Andrew Santella
I know a Catholic family who digs a more somber vibe and loads up a 15-passenger Ford Econoline van every Sunday morning at 5 AM to drive an hour to Cullman in search of the closest Latin Mass to Huntsville.
With Number One’s high school graduation drawing nigh, we’re going through a season of Last Things: last prom, last high school term paper due, last final exam and, most bittersweet, the last soccer match.
We had played the moment in our fast-forward minds many times. We would be gathered round the Lads in Orange on Saturday, May 12th, 2007 as they hoisted the Alabama 6A High School soccer trophy high above their sweaty heads, champions of the state on an expansive pitch of freshly-trimmed grass in front of an undulating sea of hometown orange and black.
But it did not end this way.… Read the rest
The Explainer at Slate does it again. I commented on this the other day, but little did I know then that I was actually a “code shifter” when I’m hangin’ with the clan back in Vah-GIN-ya and talking mountainspeak.
Hillary’s not the only one trying to convince us of her Southern bona fides. In Full Professor Elrod’s case, the more hard-core secessionists among his rowdy and far-flung boiled peanut gallery may have finally disabused him of the notion. I think it was the part about lapsing into Delawarespeak that did him in.
Huntsville is about as cosmopolitan as you can get in Alabama with so many transplants from all over the country and world.… Read the rest
Michael Winerip’s touching and elegant essay, “Young, Gifted, and Not Getting Into Harvard” is the most sensible piece of writing on today’s hypercompetitive college admissions game that I’ve read in a long time.
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If brains were transmissions, then mine would be a four-speed manual that I’ve red-lined and ground to bits in the quest for maximum performance. Number One Son, on the other hand, has a silky smooth six that he rarely shifts into overdrive. Instead, he cruises down the highway in fifth gear, the top down and the wind in his hair, making good time and covering a lot of ground, but not so fast and so far that he can’t take in the view and enjoy the glory days.… Read the rest
Our Lady of Perpetual Branding is back and trolling for good ideas:
Google Search String: Amobe, NFL, Phe
IP Address: 146.197.243.16
Country: United States
City: Beaverton
ISP: Nike Incoporated
Date: 30th April 2007
Time 20:00:05
It’s not the first time, you know.
Just use it. But remember where you got it, okay?
“LeBron was the old phenom, maybe I’m the new one,” Okoye says. “We’re going to go from King James to Phe.”
Now that’s chutzpah. After all, folks from Huntsville don’t often go around wearing t-shirts proclaiming their “essence” (in this case, invictus, which means “unconquered”) or proudly claiming the moniker “Phe” (short for phenom). But then again, most of us aren’t 19-years-old, 6’2”, 302 lbs and can break 5 seconds in the 40.
But Amobi Okoye is and can and that accounts for him being the 10th overall pick in the recent NFL draft and a future Dallas Texan. Okoye became the youngest player ever drafted in the NFL, and when he plays his first down this fall, he’ll become the youngest ever to play in the league.… Read the rest
O Lord, if I must live 50 more years, please let it be like this.
Like fine wine, Nola has aged very nicely.… Read the rest
