Meth and Kickball

So recently I learned through a friend that someone I went to high school with was arrested for meth. The friend wasn't really sure whether he was using, dealing, or had a lab in his basement, but I was told it was pretty serious. I wasn't that shocked; I mean, I was saddened because in a way it reflects poorly on my hometown, but people can easily become chemically dependant. I asked who it was, assuming it would be someone I had heard of distantly, but had not really ever spoken to. The shock came when I learned it was a relatively popular person - one I had known since elementary school.

When I say I knew him, truthfully we probably wouldn't have recognized each other, and I guarantee we wouldn't have spoken to each other if we had. We ran in different circles, (I went to very large schools) and hadn't had a class together - that I can recall - since sixth grade. We didn't dislike each other; we never really ever spoke or interacted at all really.

That's when I remembered, I thought he was so cool in sixth grade. He had this jacket that I wanted, and I remember being jealous of his clothes. And the last real interaction I had with him was a class game of kickball in the gym. (He may or may not have been wearing that cool jacket; the memories are colored with the rose tint of time.) I wasn't terrible at kickball, but he was really good - I do remember that. If I remember correctly, he was the "pitcher" and I "fouled-out" rather early on (again, rose tints). If you don't know what kickball is, it's basically baseball, but players use their legs as bats and a generic inflatable ball. Basically it's like if soccer and baseball had a love child that ended up resembling baseball more so than soccer.

So, I googled the whole situation to see if I could learn something about what had happened. What I discovered was shocking. There is another person with the same name (spelled slightly different) busted for meth and cocaine - same age as the guy I went to school with - but completely different ethnicity. Unless the guy I knew had a white-ectomy and a heavy dose of melanin, I doubt it was him. Now there could be two people - with the same name and age - dabbling in meth in my hometown at the same time; it would be highly improbable, but it could happen. Until I hear otherwise, however, I'm going to assume it wasn't the person I knew from school, and this whole case has turned out to be one of mistaken identity.

Yet, the discovery didn't stop me from thinking that somewhere, this new person - this new meth addict - had played kickball before too. That somewhere, there could be people at home on their computers trying to figure out the details of his descent into chemical addiction. That somewhere, people were just as shocked as I was to discover an acquaintance had succumb to crystal-meth. After all, he too was a sixth grader once. He could have been a sixth grader with a cool jacket. He could have been a sixth grader who played kickball with his classmates. Somewhere, someone was just like me, researching him. (How ironic would it be if our names were the same only spelled one-letter differently?)

So the next time you hear that a person has fallen into chemical abuse and dependancy, think before you judge. That person was once a little kid - playing kickball. How does a sixth grader playing kickball grow up into a meth-addict? That's what we should be asking.

Guns Save Lives at High School Reunions

Today has been an interesting and rather fun day. I ate out for every meal, having breakfast, lunch, and dinner with three different old friends. It was quite a nice change of pace, and I found it rather productive too. It's amazing how many things you can accomplish when you know you get a moment - or in my case, 3 moments - of peace with the world.

This brings me to the topic of this evening's post. Two things came up during my adventures today (actually many things came up, but these are the two I wanted to share with you all): high school reunions and firearms. We'll start with the reunions.

I was enjoying my green curry for lunch at a local Thai place, when my friend reminded me that her 10 year high school reunion is in August. (Of course this means my 10 year reunion is next August...) We also did the math and came to the realization that she graduated 10 years ago tomorrow. We talked about school and classes, people we remembered, and her graduation ceremony with the atrocious speeches. Then I had this little moment of panic: have I really been out of high school for this long? A bunch of people I graduated with are already married - some are on their second marriage - and many have kids.

While we were on the subject of kids, my friend reminded me that there was a young girl pregnant at her graduation; her child will be 10 soon! That's a decade! I can't imagine having a 10 year old, and I can barely imagine someone my age having a 10 year old. I know I am old enough to have sired a child in some night of wild unprotected coitis, but that imaginary hypothetical is never aged more than an infant. Now I don't want you to think that I am hard on young parents, I'm not at all - I love kids, and I love it when people decide to have children. I pressure my married friends to have kids all the time (primarily by suggesting outlandish baby names, but that's another story). I just can't imagine - at this stage in my life - actually being responsible for another human being. My biological clock is ticking, but it's not pounding just yet.

Reunions too - those are things I'm not ready for. Sure my memories of high school are becoming more like STAR WARS - long long ago in a galaxy far far away - but 10 years? Hell, I'm not ready for a reunion. Someone needs to double check the math, because as of right now I have a year to drop ten pounds, find a hairstyle that works, and find a hot piece of arm/eye candy to parade in front of people who will all be silently (or not so silently) judging my every move. And it's not like I should care, but I do... I want to show them that I have done something with my life, and it's a little un-cool to drag around a projector with a power point presentation, slides armed and ready to click out my portfolio at any lull in the conversation. I have to show off in other ways.

In general, I think a bunch of this need to show off stems from my envy of happy married people. I want that, you know? I'd like to have that kind of happiness before I make it to my reunion, but even if that doesn't happen, a relationship would be nice. I think after this whole road trip thing, this blog may be dedicated to me finding a boyfriend! Stay tuned...


Now for the next topic:

Did you know: GUNS SAVE LIVES? It's true, guns save lives. How do I know? A bumper sticker told me. That's right, a bumper sticker informed me of this fact on my way to dinner. The bumper sticker was promoting a grass roots movement for - you guessed it - guns.

Now, I am a bleeding heart liberal, so many of you may find this next statement shocking: I support America's right to own guns. The second amendment clearly states:

"A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the People to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed."

We as Americans have a right to bear arms. Hunters use guns to catch their prey, police officers use guns, and many people have guns to protect their homes and themselves from violent crime. I do, however, advocate gun control. If you do not prove to be responsible, or have proven to be a detriment to yourself and/or society, you forfeit your second amendment right.

That being said, who the fuck actually believes "guns save lives?" I've heard of "guns don't kill people; people kill people." Yes! Very true! Guns usually, however, make it easier. "People kill people, with guns." No one has ever saved someone's life with a gun. Think of the after-school special that would have made: Thank God you shot him - NOW JOHNNY WILL LIVE! A doctor has never prescribed a gun for a headache. Here take this prescription, it's for two AK-47s every night before bed. A therapist has never suggested a patient purchase a Colt 45. When you're on a boat you don't strap on a life preserver and a revolver. Playing Russian Roulette doesn't cure cancer! Guns DON'T save lives!

When it comes to lives, guns have a way of royally fucking them up. This did not stop me, however, from bursting out laughing when I first read the bumper sticker. I couldn't shake the image of oversized handguns putting on scrubs and lab coats, shouting things like "STAT!" and doing chest compressions on an ER patient. Think of Grey's Anatomy, only instead of McDreamy and McSteamy it was McSmith & Wesson.