Callidior Quam Ursus Typicus

When I was in high school, the only people allowed to wear Letterman jackets were members of the Varsity football team. That rule was established decades ago, when the school was founded. Of course, back then there no women's sports, and the only other sports at the school were intramural, or existed only in PE. Over the years, as academic achievement and student leadership (e.g. student body president) were recognized by the school administration, similar accolades were given to them (usually in the form of plaques, or medallions that could be worn at graduation) but the jackets themselves remained exclusive to the Varsity football team. After all, ticket sales from football games brought a lot of money into the school, and gave the marching band a purpose other than parades. Also, the homecoming king and queen were invariably a star football player and his girlfriend, since homecoming was always held in conjunction with a football game. Every once in a while the king would be a strong up-and-comer from JV, particularly when Varsity was having a bad year, but for the most part it was a Varsity player who won. And so, the Varsity football team enjoyed special privilege for years, and were instantly recognizable in their distinctive jackets.

Now, one year back in the '60s there was a Varsity football player who was allergic to wool. As the letterman jackets were made of wool and leather, this presented a bit of a problem. Some suggested that he could have a lined jacket, or a letterman jacket made out of a synthetic material. However, the boy decided that he'd rather wear one of the sweaters that were in style among the athletes at the local college. It looked very different from the letterman jackets, but it didn't it have any wool in it and he was happy. Since then, the Varsity players were given the option to wear a letterman jacket or an athletic sweater. While it was expected that the offensive team would never wear anything but the jackets, they gained modest popularity with the defensive team.

As time went on, other competitive sports showed up at my high school. First baseball and wrestling, but then other sports, some of which were co-ed. The athletic department wanted to recognize them somehow, and discussed giving them modified embroidered letters, similar to the simple ones that the Varsity football players wore on their letterman jackets and athletic sweaters. At this, the Varsity football team, the football coach, and the parents of the Varsity players balked. The other sports weren't as rigorous as football, they said. They didn't have the same crowd appeal, didn't draw in the same numbers, and didn't have the same mystique. So why should they be recognized with a letter, even a modified letter? Still, the administration was feeling the heat from the rest of the athletic department, and finally decided that the best athletes from the other sports could have the modified letters as long as they didn't put them on a letterman jacket or athletic sweater. There was grumbling from the football community, but for the most part life went on.

When I was in high school, there was in impressive array of sports. There was men's and women's basketball, men's and women's track and field, co-ed wrestling, baseball, softball and tennis. Some of our teams and individual competitors were really good, and were winning county championships. There was enough interest in the sports that they had to start making Varsity and JV teams. The Varsity basketball players and track teams started asking if they could have some sort of official-looking outer garment that they could wear to show their school pride and athletic achievement at school and out at these track meets and basketball games. There was a lot of resistance to allowing this, though no one could ever really explain why in a way that made sense to anyone else.

I, not being an athlete (and certainly not a Varsity athlete) suggested that the Varsity teams could wear the athletic sweaters that some of the Varsity football players had worn in the past. They were "athletic" sweaters, after all, and very few Varsity football players were using them; at this point, out of the 80 or so Varsity football players, only four were wearing the athletic sweaters; one from the defensive line, and the other three on Special Teams. However, my suggestion was shot down immediately by parents, students and the administration; those sweaters were reserved for those Varsity football players who were allergic to wool or otherwise didn't want to wear a letterman jacket. There was no way that the other athletes would be allowed to wear an athletic sweater, not now, not ever, end of discussion! I was mocked and ridiculed for my outrageous suggestion. By the end of my senior year, the decision of whether the other Varsity athletes would be allowed to wear a uniform jacket was still up in the air.

I'm really glad I graduated high school, went to college, and joined the SCA, where no such stupid high school politics exist.

(First written July 23, 2010, posted privately. Reprinted here in its entirety.)

What is a birthday? Is it just a marking of time, another trip around the sun since you were heaved naked and screaming into this world? Is it a celebration of the beginning of a life deemed worth remembering? Or is it a remembrance of a specific event, where strangers meet and instantly become a family?

I was born on July 22, 1982. There are only two people who remember the events of that day and would, given their participation in said events, be likely to remember and celebrate the day. Unfortunately, both of those people, my birth parents, have decided instead to forget. I learned this past weekend that Maggie gets upset at the very mention of my name, and has demanded that no one speak to her of me at all. Tom's first words to me, upon realizing who I am, were "Yeah, dude. You caught me." Like he'd done something wrong, and had been tracked down by the authorities. Certainly, July 22 is not a date they celebrate or keep in their hearts. And as for the rest of the birth family, they only learned of my existence two years ago. A more memorable date for them would be when I contacted Ruby, which was in November, a far cry from July 22.

And it's not like July 22 was a good day to celebrate my birthday. In my youth, my birthday party was almost always delayed; my family was in the furniture business, and the big expo in Las Vegas always fell on the week of my birthday, so the family would be out of town. We'd celebrate when they got back. Later birthdays were fairly miserable. July 22, 2006, saw my birthday fall on a Saturday, where unfortunate events at Lyondemere Anniversary led to my tearful departure less than an hour after opening court. July 22, 2009 brought the knowledge that my escrow had fallen through. Yesterday, July 22, 2010, saw me working from 7:50 AM to 9:50 PM on the day of a Board meeting; my boss was ill, so I was designated as a minutes-taker, in addition to my IT duties for the Board, running the election module, maintaining the Board presence on the Physicians' portal, etc. In short, July 22 is a terrible day to celebrate anything, and the date itself is unimportant to everyone I know and love.

On October 8, 1982, my adoptive parents first met me and took me home. It was a very memorable day for them. Until I was six, we used to celebrate both days; my legal birthday, and my "delivery day." The normative expectations of the public school system required us to choose one day to observe, and I chose my birthday. I've decided to reverse that decision.

From now on, I'm observing my passage of years on October 8. This will put me in Bakersfield for Great Western War, which means I'll be surrounded by both family and friends on a day that means so much to those I care most about. I'll still recognize my legal age on the proper day, but I request that all natal well-wishing and song mutilation be done in October rather than July.

So this is my Dreamwidth journal. I have a lifetime membership over at Livejournal, but I'm really unhappy with what they're doing over there, so I figured I'd give this place a try.

I've been writing a post in my head involving birthdays and why I've chosen to start celebrating mine on October 8, but its not done yet, and I have many other things to talk about, so that's going on the back-burner.

August 21 was Crown Tournament, for which I was the event steward. The event was a tremendous success, with 418 people passing through Gate. It was 102 degrees out on the field, but apart from the heat, everyone seemed to have a grand old time. There were some hairy issues with the city that have created problems for the Barony, but we're working through them.

August 22 was Privy Council/Day of Pancakes. Apart from Privy Council attendees and volunteers, we only had about 20 people actually show up for breakfast, which was disappointing. But we did break even, and that's good news.

On Sunday morning, I got a text from Uncle KC, informing me that Ruby (my biological maternal grandmother) had passed away the previous evening, peacefully and surrounded by friends and family. My previous post covered my family reunion, so the only thing I want to add here is that I'm grateful that I was able to meet her twice, sit and have dinner with her and glean her perspective on the family's history. When it comes to my relationship with her, I have no regrets. Rest in peace, Ruby.

Yesterday (Monday) I went back to CSULB to get back on track with my thesis, only to find that I was no longer enrolled at the university. I will need to re-apply for the Spring 2011 semester in order to write my thesis and finally graduate. Ugh.

After the visit to my alma mater, I went back to work, then returned home, only to find the fire department leaving. Why was the fire department there? Why, because the laundry room (just below my apartment) had caught fire. The whole room's scorched, but the building's still intact, and my apartment suffered no damage. Close call!

And now, I sleep.

(Note: the familial terms used herein will probably seem a bit garbled and haphazard. This is because I'm still doing my best to emotionally associate these new people in my life with their proper terms.)

( Long chronicle is long. )

Under consideration:

1. (Fieldless) an oak (or holly?) leaf (inverted?) Or.
2. (Fieldless) a wreath of oak (or holly?) Or.
3. (Fieldless) a skillet sable(?).
4. (Fieldless) a labyrinth Or.
5. (Fieldless) a Suffolk knot (inverted?) (tincture?).

ETA: Istvan suggests
6. (Fieldless) a swan in her piety argent.

First, a recap my computer repair exploits over the past couple of weeks. I opened up my box for the first time in a looong tme and dusted it out with air. I then replaced the DVD-ROM drive which hadn't functioned in two years. While I was in there, I noticed that I was a quart low on RAM and resolved to upgrade. Then the headphone jack incident and this weekend happened (see previous post).

I went to Staples and picked up a $30 sound card. I placed the card into a free SDI port and fired up the machine. Nothing showed up on the monitors. I did a quick shut-down before Windows booted and pulled the audio card. Still no video. I then pulled the video card and plugged directly into the motherboard. Still, no video. Out of options, I've resigned myself to the fact that the bell has tolled for this computer. Now the goal is to transfer the hard drives over to a new box without losing my apps. How difficult is this process? Will I need to hire a professional, or can an end-user do it? The computer is 6 years old, running XP.

So when I'm talking to someone and trying to explain how AZ SB1070 is unconstitutional because it violates 4th amendment rights against unreasonable search and seizure, and they don't seem to understand, would it help if I repeat myself louder and slower?

They say that blood is thicker than water. I am a walking refutation of this axiom. Those I am closest to, my nearest and dearest friends, share not one drop of blood with me. There are those who took me in and raised me as their own, who love and care for me and call me son, but I am not of their blood either. As I near my bloodline, I find the people in it more distant and unknown. I've spent very little time with my grandmother, only once met two of my aunts and one of my uncles, and have never had a second occasion to break bread with my half-brother. My father has only talked with me for five minutes. My mother has rejected me utterly with spite on her lips. And the one person to whom I am closest in blood, my own brother born of the same woman and sired by the same man, whose face is a mirror of my own, doesn't even know I exist. No, my blood is not thicker than water, and I have no reason to continue its line.

At 5:00 p.m. today, I will be going in for a vasectomy. This has been a wish of mine ever since I learned of the procedure. My experiences with children over the past decade have only strengthened my resolve not to sire one of my own. If, one day in the future, I choose to care for a child, it will be one of my choosing, and I shall love it as I was loved by my parents.

Please don't think of this as a sad thing; it's not. It is instead a celebration of nurture over nature, and of being able to truly choose a family. And despite the fact that my mom's been trying to talk me out of it since high school, it's a celebration of the decision she and dad made when they canceled their trip to Hawaii to pick me up from the agency, and of the power of our bond.