The Stories I Can Tell

The Time I Took a Giant, Inflatable Banana on a Tour of Honea Path

2008-10-02T15:57:00.006-04:00

Hahahahaha...good times.

So, I'm a pretty big reality TV buff. I used to be more so than I am now, but I still enjoy my Thursday evening Survivor and my Sunday night Amazing Race. I used to be a very active poster on RealityTVWorld.com's forums. They had an off-topic forum that got to be very addicting.

One time, someone posted about a six foot-long hard plastic banana there at her work. She noted how annoying it was and how she wanted to get rid of it. We suggested she steal it. Well, from that, it turned into a ploy to not only steal it, but to send it to other posters around the country.

Yeah. A banana tour.

Well, she ended up not stealing the banana because 1) it would be wrong, and 2) shipping a hard plastic banana would be expensive, and since we had some users in Canada, we didn't know how customs would take to that. :P

But that didn't stop us.

Someone found an inflatable Chiquita banana online and bought it. From there, we had sign-ups to get this banana, who we named Bruiser. This banana went everywhere. I had dinner with the banana once in Atlanta with some other posters. It went to Canada. East Coast. West Coast. No Coast. Everywhere it went, people would sign the banana and take pictures with it as it saw different sights.

And then, in January 2005, it came to be my turn. Bruiser came in the mail to me. I was so excited! I knew I had to give it the Honea Path experience! The rest is best told in pictures, so go here to see the pictures that I took with Bruiser!

Awesome. :D

The Time I Almost Won the School Spelling Bee in 3rd Grade

2008-09-14T07:32:00.003-04:00

I have always been a good speller. I am a grammar/syntax nazi, and I cringe when I see a misplaced apostrophe or when people talk about how they were "effected" by something. And now, with spell check, Americans are even lazier when it comes to spelling. But, I grew up in a time with no spell check. (Ha, that makes me seem old.) As to why I'm interested in it, I don't know, but I am. As I went through grade school, I remember having a book that supposedly was good practice for the National Spelling Bee. (I wondered why the winning word one year was "luge." I mean, really? Luge? I could spell that when I was five. :P)

In school, I was always a year or two younger than everyone else in my class because I skipped kindergarten. So, when I got to Gantt Elementary (3rd and 4th grade) in 1992, I was only six, turning seven a couple of weeks into school. At some point in the year, whenever they started the spelling bees, I must've won the class bee and the grade bee. (I have vague memories of those.) What I do remember is the school spelling bee, though.

It was me and the 4th grader Jana. They started us out easy with 3rd and 4th grade words. We breezed through those easily. On to 5th and 6th grade words. No problem. Then, we get to 7th and 8th grade words. A formidable opponent. (Keep in mind that I was seven.) I really don't remember spelling any words in this bee except this one: "contagious." They said it, I imagined it in my head, and I began to spell.

"C-O-N-T-A-G-E-O-U-S."

Bah! I was done. Jana won after spelling my word and then her winning word. (I think that's how it went, anyway.) But oh well, I did pretty good, I guess you could say. :)

I always had a goal to win the school spelling or geography bee. I got close so many times, and had a lot of shining moments. I remember spelling "connoisseur" correctly in the 6th grade class bee (though I don't remember the outcome of that one). I also had not so great moments, such as in the 8th grade class bee, when I, a music person, misspelled "rhythm," leaving out the first h.

I remember making it to the school bee one time in middle school, and it turned out to be the quickest bee ever, as three of the four of us were eliminated in the first round. I had the word "achievement." I began to spell, "A-C-H..." I stopped and thought for so long, "I-E, or E-I?" I went over it again and again in my head. I'm sure I repeated "A-C-H" several times before making my final attempt. I decided on the way I thought it was, and I spelled it, flustered from all the thought I had put into it.

"A-C-H-I-E-V-E-M-E-N-T-S."

The proctor, noting my difficulty with the "I-E," told me that I had guessed that part correctly, but because I had added an s to the end, I was disqualified. :(

So, needless to say, I never won the school spelling bee. As to my adventures in the geography bees, you'll just have to wait until I tell that story.

The Time I Directed the Tiger Band at the Magic Kingdom

2008-09-10T21:25:00.002-04:00

Wow, what an experience.

I have always loved music. My mom raised me on the piano, and my dad's being a music minister really gave me an early love for this art. I joined the band in 6th grade (1995-1996) on the trumpet, then switched to clarinet in the 7th grade. In the 8th grade, I joined the high school marching band. It was so much fun...and hard work...and stress. But fun, too. I marched clarinet in 8th grade, played xylophone in the pit in 9th grade, then played clarinet 10th-12th.

I always had a desire to be the drum major. I remember being on a band bus one time and passing a car with a Tiger Band bumper sticker. I think it was the sister of one of our band members (perhaps our own drum major), and she was a drum major there at Clemson. I thought to myself, "Wow, how cool would it be to be drum major at Clemson?" I was going to try out in the 11th grade, but I thought I would be going to Alaska on a cruise that season, so I decided it wouldn't be fair if I tried out and got the position, then had to take a week off. (I ended up not going on the cruise because of AP US History's work load...and I failed that exam at the end of the year still.) (So, really, I should've tried out.)

When 12th grade came, I thought we had a drum major, but she ended up quitting the band for some reason, so the position became available to one of us. Well that was convenient. The directors knew my desire and my capability. They also knew of my abilities on the field, and in a band of 40 horns, taking out the woodwind section leader and putting him on the podium would cause the horn line to take a hit, especially when the woodwinds had a soli at one part in the show.

They talked me out of it. It was mine for the taking. I could have said yes. But they talked me out of it.

We did compromise, though. I would still get to salute with the selected drum major Sharika (another clarinetist who became one of my new good friends that year) at the beginning of the show, I would help direct the music in the stands, and I would be the concert master for the wind ensemble, getting to direct a piece at that concert, too.

So, no drum major in high school for me. I did enjoy directing in the stands and directing an amazing arrangement of "Shenandoah" in the spring concert with the wind ensemble.

Now, on to Clemson, where I was a member of Tiger Band all four of my years there. I knew I wanted to try to be drum major, but my lack of "official" experience in high school would probably be at my disadvantage.

Christina, one of my best friends who I met freshman year, also had the desire to be drum major. She had been drum major at her high school in Texas and was now in the clarinet section with me. We were such nerds! We directed everything while we were walking down the sidewalks at Clemson. My friends sometimes would hold our arms so we wouldn't conduct. (What? How couldn't you direct "Tiger Rag" when you heard it?)

At the end of freshman year, we tried out. We were the only two rising sophomores trying out, and we were the only two who didn't make the cut to Round 2 (directing Tiger Band for their vote). Expected, though, because we were still young.

Sophomore year came and went, and Christina and I tried out again. This time, we made it to Round 2! I was so excited! I had never gotten to direct a band like Tiger Band before! And to top it off, the song we got to direct was "El Toro Caliente," which was an awesome Spanish song that we had marched to earlier that year. It was amazing! Unfortunately, most of the drum majors were returning, and they only had one spot to fill, and it didn't go to Christina or me.

One more try. Junior year came and went. No mention of drum major tryouts. There had been a fiasco where there were five drum majors that year, which was way too many, so we figured our band director Dr. Spede just needed time to figure out what to do.

Over the summer before our senior year, we got word that tryouts would be as soon as we got there. I filled out my application, passed the initial cut with Dr. Spede, and moved on to the final round. I think there were six or eight of us, and we knew only three would make it. I got to go first. Joy. I was so nervous, but I got up there and directed my heart out. I felt good. But I had to wait. I think it was a Wednesday, so I had to go to church...no checking my e-mail until I got back. That had to have been the longest ride back from church ever. I got back, opened my e-mail hoping for the best, but expecting the worst...

I had made it.

No, really. I made it.

I was going to be a drum major for Tiger Band.

I could hardly contain myself. I called everyone. Wow.

So, I showed up to my next practice with a whistle as my instrument. All of a sudden, I wasn't a nobody in the band. Try going from being in the back of the field with the clarinets and piccolos to the front on the podium, right under the microscope of the director. Talk about a change of attention levels. I was now being watched at all times. I couldn't screw up. And that was stressful. I knew I was able, but I also knew I had missed out by not being drum major in high school. But I handled it.

Being drum major that year was a blast. I loved getting to direct the band...such an awesome experience. I learned a lot about conducting. It was a good thing, even though I was frustrated and felt like a failure at times and didn't want to direct. (It seems I could never get the tempos straight, especially in the stands.)

At the end of football season my senior year, the Tigers got to go to the Champs Sports Bowl in Orlando, the same place where we went our freshman year. We got there, went to the game, then did some gigs around town, including Universal Studios and Disney World. (Hang around for a story for what went down at Universal Studios at the Fear Factor Live show...)

The last time I ever got to direct our fight song "Tiger Rag" was at the Magic Kingdom. The last memory I have was marching backwards in the parade, directing my heart out, with Cinderella's castle in the background. It was a very surreal last memory, and it's one I'll cherish forever.

Go Tigers. :)

The Time I Tried Paddling to Miami from Cuba

2008-09-04T21:00:00.005-04:00

This one ranks fairly high up on my Stupidest Things I've Done List. Probably #3.

So, when I went to Cuba back in March of this year (2008), we got to spend part of Easter Sunday at the beach. It was a beautiful day, and very crowded! The water was crystal clear, and the beach was sandy white. Good times!

Pastor Jerry had already gotten mad at Braden and me for swimming way too far out to a "sandbar," which was actually just a spot of water that looked shallower. Yeah, that was dumb.

But I'm glad he missed this part. (It's okay. He knows about it now.)

So, there were lots of people on paddle boats out in the water. I thought it would be fun to rent one, so I simply asked some Cubans as they went by where we could rent one. They said something really fast in Spanish, gave me their hand, and invited me onto their boat.

Of course, I said yes. The other people from my church just looked and laughed, having no idea really what was going on. (As it turned out, neither did I.) I thought they were just inviting me on so I could jump off the side or slide down the slide in the back. As I tried, they were like, "No, no, sit down." I thought to myself, "Okay, they just think it's too shallow for me to jump."

So, I sat down, and they kept paddling farther out. They started speaking some unintelligible Spanish at me. They knew I spoke Spanish, but they were just using so much slang that I couldn't understand. They started using hand motions, and at that point, I realized they were being vulgar. Based on my responses, I think I left them with the feeling that I was gay. :P

And at some point, they offered me a beer. Excellent. Nothing better than drunk, vulgar Cubans on a paddle boat. I refused, saying I didn't drink. They kept insisting, almost putting the can onto my lips. Awkward? Yes.

There were a couple of guys on there and a couple of girls. One of the girls noted that I was very uncomfortable and tried to get the guys off of my case. She offered me juice and a Coke, but I didn't want anything from these guys.

They kept paddling around, far from shore, and at some point, they said something along the lines of, "Why not just paddle all the way to Miami?" Of course I agreed, because that was just awesome. (We didn't try, really, but it makes for a good title of a post.)

I insisted that I needed to get back, that they needed to paddle me closer. They said okay, but as they went closer to shore, they would do something and end up going back farther away. I was like, "No, really, my friends are waiting for me." (Who knows what they actually were thinking?)

Eventually, after much discomfort and examining my options, I eventually was just like, "Chao," and I jumped off the boat. I probably swam about as far as I did with Braden swimming to the sandbar. No idea how far it was, but it was no short trek. No life jacket. No lifeguard. But at least no more drunk Cubans.

Wow, that was a dumb idea.

The Time I Had a Japanese Pen Pal

2008-09-03T21:53:00.003-04:00

So, I'm a language nerd. I love learning new languages. Spanish was my major, and obviously I have spent a lot of time with that language; however, at some form or another, I have attempted to learn French, Italian, German, and Japanese. I have a little exposure to Portuguese, Wolof, and Latin as well.

I have never taken a Japanese course in my life, but at one point, I thought it was going to be my minor, back when I was going to be a Computer Science major. My dream job was to be a translator for video games coming from Japan to America. I used to sit at my computer and play Pokémon Gold and Silver, months before it was in America, and try to translate the Japanese script. I had (and still have) books and books on Japanese grammar and vocabulary. I still can read one of the three alphabets fairly well. Writing is difficult. About the only speaking I can do are the basic greetings, "cat," "Who's your daddy?" and the song "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes." (I learned that last thing from VBS years and years ago.)

I did all of this learning on my own. I guess you could say I've always been fairly self-motivated. I just thought it was really fun learning it all. Japanese is so different, so backwards.

To help me improve (and just to be cool), I got a Japanese pen pal. (I'm going to guess all of this happened about the year 2000 or so.) I believe her name was Miho Uchida. We would write letters back and forth between the US and Japan. She would write in English, and I would write in Japanese. She always said I wrote very well. It was definitely a challenge because sentence structure and word order in Japanese is very different. Example: "Who's your daddy?" becomes "You (word signifying possession) Daddy (word marking the end of the subject) Who Is (word signifying a question)." Or, in Japanese, "Anata no chichi wa dare desu ka." I would put it in script, but I believe the romaji (use of the Latin alphabet) will just have to do.

So yeah, we wrote back and forth (like actual snail mail letters) for a few months, and then we just stopped. I stopped learning Japanese by myself, and I moved on. I still have an interest in it, though. Who knows? Maybe I'll try again one day? Maybe I'll move on to Arabic? There's a whole world out there...

The Time I Realized Nobody Is Perfect

2008-09-01T08:17:00.003-04:00

Sometimes, Christians have the hardest time being real people. We worship a perfect God, and as such, we feel it is our responsibility to be perfect here on earth. While it is true that God calls us to be holy and set apart (and that includes being sinless), the fact of the matter remains that "[a]ll have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (Romans 3.23).

We all sin. We all need the grace provided by Jesus Christ.

I think we're good at recognizing that we ourselves sin, but where we fall short is recognizing that the people around us also sin. We sometimes feel that the people around us are perfect, and as such, we put up a mask of perfection so as to feel like we're just as good as our neighbors. We forget that they sin, too, and that it's okay to not be perfect, to be real, around them. I believe it's a ploy from Satan to keep us from being broken people in need of grace.

I fell into that trap for so long. I had a few struggles deep within that I never let anyone know about. They were things that were eating me alive deep down inside, but I felt like I had to portray that I had everything together, especially because my parents both worked in the music ministry at church. There was nothing I could do except pray, fight with my own strength, and hope it got better. And while it is true that God gave me strength, I neglected to draw from the strength God gives us through other people. And until you draw from that strength, you have no idea how helpful it is.

I now have four summers under my belt working at the Christian youth camp called Summersalt. I have grown to love Summersalt so much because of the staff that I work with. They are people that strive to follow God with their entire being, and they have really helped push me to a deeper relationship with Christ.

The first summer I worked there (2005), we all got together (like usual) in March for a weekend of planning. It was a time filled with laughter, tears, prayer, song, and good discussion. At one point, one of the leaders asked us to do something that brought about a discussion that has had a profound impact on my life. She said that students would be coming to us during the summer with so many struggles, and that in order to best be of service to them, she suggested we talk about the struggles we have or have had in our own lives.

What followed shocked me, surprised me, made me uncomfortable, made me think, and really made me chew on and wrestle with things about myself. There in that room, we had 25 people who are often viewed as "super-Christians" since we work at a church camp. And yet, a lot of these "super-Christians" were talking about their past experiences with (among other things) sex, drugs, and alcohol...you know, the sins we like to attribute to "those people," those people who aren't "good Christians."

I guess even I (a staffer myself) had come to view other staffers as people on a pedestal who had it all together.

I never opened my mouth during that discussion. I knew of my own personal struggles, but I just couldn't humble myself bring myself down from my own pedestal that I created. I realized, however, that I wasn't judging the other staffers for their downfalls, but I respected them even more for having the courage to be real. After the retreat, I wrote an e-mail to the staff referencing that discussion, and letting them know that I had come to realize that my biggest struggle was letting others know what I'm struggling with! That was the first step in a process that helped lead me to freedom.

So, I realized then that nobody is perfect, but let me finish out my story.

The retreat was in March. In November, I finally pulled my mask of perfection off. I just couldn't take hiding anymore. I finally risked humiliation and just let it all go. Because I'm not bold enough to say something like that in person to someone, I just blogged about it. (I've got it if you care to read it.) In it, I revealed the most shameful parts of me that had been tearing me up. Nobody had known until that point except me, and I just needed to make it known. (Some criticized me for making public that sort of private information, and now that I'm working for a public school, I have taken that, along with other very personal posts, offline. At the time, however, I needed to make it available to all because I felt like I had been hiding from everyone.) (But, like I said, I've got all those posts archived, and I would be glad to share them if you'd like.)

I wrote it all out, hit "Publish Post," and immediately went to bed, dreading what would be waiting for me the next morning. Would my friends have rejected me? Would I have an inbox of hate letters?

Not at all. Just the opposite, in fact.

What I found was the Body of Christ. Friends supporting me, thanking me for being open and honest. Promises to pray for me. Encouragement that I wasn't alone. In the days that followed, my closest friends came to me and revealed their struggles to me. It was a time of mutual confession and healing. Surprisingly enough, I found that one of my best friends with the exact same things as I was. I had no idea, nor would I ever have guessed. But it gave me so much comfort.

From that point on, I had no shame. I recognized God's grace that covers over any and all of my sins. I recognized that God gave us other people for a reason. "It is not good for man to be alone," said God in Genesis...and He ain't lying! I recognized that we are weak so that He can be strong.

The next spring, I had the opportunity to preach at my church on Youth Sunday. My topic was "Stained Glass Masquerade," named after a Casting Crowns song which I will post once I stop typing. I basically talked about all that I've just said--how we love to act perfect and wear that mask, but it's only in taking the mask off that we can find healing. I hope I encouraged others to be bold because I would love others to experience the freedom that God gave me the day that I unmasked.

And maybe you would like to unmask. Feel free to contact me if you need to talk. Find one of your friends. Find your pastor. Find one of your parents or your spouse. Just be straight up with someone. I won't judge you, and neither should anyone else, because we're all messed up. We all need God's grace desperately.

(This last line, which I also used in my sermon, is blatantly stolen from Nichole Nordeman's album notes for Brave.)

"Barbra Streisand nailed it. People do need people. And God knew that."

And now, Casting Crowns's "Stained Glass Masquerade."

Is there anyone that fails
Is there anyone that falls
Am I the only one in church today feelin' so small

Cause when I take a look around
Everybody seems so strong
I know they'll soon discover
That I don't belong

So I tuck it all away, like everything's okay
If I make them all believe it, maybe I'll believe it too
So with a painted grin, I play the part again
So everyone will see me the way that I see them

Are we happy plastic people
Under shiny plastic steeples
With walls around our weakness
And smiles to hide our pain

But if the invitation's open
To every heart that has been broken
Maybe then we close the curtain
On our stained glass masquerade

Is there anyone who's been there
Are there any hands to raise
Am I the only one who's traded
In the altar for a stage

The performance is convincing
And we know every line by heart
Only when no one is watching
Can we really fall apart

But would it set me free
If I dared to let you see
The truth behind the person
That you imagine me to be

Would your arms be open
Or would you walk away
Would the love of Jesus
Be enough to make you stay

The Time I Got Baptized

2008-08-31T15:47:00.002-04:00

I have the best family ever. Seriously. My parents are both Christians and raised my brother and I to be Christian men of God. They taught me of God's love and of Christ's death and resurrection as we grew.

I remember as a kid (about age 8 or 9ish) thinking that I needed to ask Jesus into my heart. (Looking back, I may have been doing it because it was the "right" thing to do...because that's what we were "supposed" to do--become Christians.) I remember numerous nights in bed asking God if I could be a Christian. I asked more than once probably just to make sure God heard me. :) I didn't really talk to anyone about it until my brother spoke up sometime in late 1994 about his becoming a Christian. My mom and dad then talked to us both, and I told them that I had asked Jesus in my heart, too (as to not be outdone by my little brother :P).

My parents then arranged when my brother and I were to be good Baptists and "walk the aisle." I remember praying with mama and Luke and Pastor Shull as my dad led the music at First Baptist Church of Honea Path. Later that day, mama told me to call my grandparents to tell them I had made my "profession of faith." I didn't have the slightest clue what that meant, but I did, because apparently it was something exciting. :) Of course, my grandparents were overjoyed.

We then planned our baptism. Mama said that daddy was going to baptize Luke and I. For some reason, I didn't want daddy to do it because it broke protocol. (Hey, I had only seen the pastor baptizing people, not the minister of music! Give me a break! :P) But, mama changed my mind for me. Luke and I were both baptized by our father on Sunday, Christmas Day, 1994.

Appendix: As many experience, my baptism and my relationship with Christ didn't gain meaning until a few years later in life. I was in 5th grade at the time, but it wasn't until my senior year that I really started consciously devoting my life to Christ, but I still praise Him for drawing me to Himself even as a youngster so that I might hear of His love throughout my life. :)

The Time My Tire Blew in the Middle of Nowhere

2008-06-07T14:00:00.005-04:00

Geocaching is my favorite hobby. It's basically scavenger hunting with a GPS. It has taken me places I would never find on my own. I have geocached in most states in the southeast USA, as far west as Texas, and as far east as Spain.

Some people have created different challenges involving geocaching. One is called the DeLorme Challenge, named after an atlas publishing company. The DeLorme maps break down each state into grids, and basically, the challenge is to find a geocache on each grid within your state. I decided to try and conquer this. (I'm still in the process.)

The thing about the challenge is that it takes you to every corner of the state, including those areas less populated (with people and with caches). For one grid (the dreaded page 48), there is only one cache as it is down in the lowcountry where there aren't many towns. (For those curious, the biggest nearby town is St. Stephen, a town I never knew existed.)

Well, one day last summer (2007), my dad and stepmom rented a beach house for the week at Edisto Beach. They invited me to come stay with them if I wanted. I thought, "Well, since I never drive down-state to the beach, I will use this time to make a big geocaching sweep and get all of the DeLorme squares near the coast so I won't have to come back." I had big plans to do this, too. I was going to stay with my friend in Florence, go to church in Myrtle Beach the next day, and then stay a couple of nights in Edisto.

If you don't know anything about where I live or my state, my route meant putting on quite a few miles on my already decrepit 1993 Ford Taurus with over 200,000 miles and injuries sustained from an unfortunate deer encounter. My dad saw I had a tire whose tread had started to become separated from the rest of the tire. I thought to myself, "I'll be fine. I'm about to get a new car anyway."

Down the interstate I go. All throughout this journey, though, my car was shaking. This was nothing unusual, but it was a little more than I was used to. Eventually, I stopped in Orangeburg (which is like 3 hours from my house) and discovered that my tire was flat. No, not the bad tire...another one! So, I filled it up with air and kept going. By the time I got to Manning, my next stop on my geocaching extravaganza, the tire was flat again. So, I decided to have it replaced with an old tire that wouldn't cost me much. No problem.

I hit the road again, this time, towards the geocache near St. Stephen. Getting there took me down some roads through landscapes I didn't know existed in South Carolina. I guess I'm not used to going down-state. There were some eerie stretches of land with forests and marshes and other stuff. I was a few miles outside of town, in the middle of nowhere, when all of a sudden...BAM! *bumpbumpbumpbump*

I had never experienced a tire blowing before, but I knew exactly what it was. I pulled over off the side of the road...this sketchy two-lane road with absolutely nothing around. I don't remember any houses. St. Stephen was still miles away. There was hardly anyone going down the road. And, to top it off, I had never changed a tire before. (My dad taught me as a prerequisite to my getting my license. Shows how much I paid attention.)

I was scared. For all I knew, an alligator or copperhead or chupacabra or head-hunter was going to come out of the woods to eat me. But, I tried to remain calm. I got out the owner's manual to hope that it had directions, which it did, praise the Lord. I started with the jack and everything, when all of a sudden, a man in his pick-up pulled over, saying, "You got everything you need?" I said yes, but he still got out to help me.

I mean, he was definitely a redneck, cussing like a sailor, but he was certainly a God-send! He helped me put my little temporary spare tire on there, warning me not to go over 50 mph or over 50 miles. I thanked him, and very carefully got back on the road.

...so that's the tire-blowing part, but it's not the end of the story. The best part was what I did after that. I think the guy told me the closest place to change my tire was in Moncks Corner, which was the opposite direction from the way I was heading. And I had a mission to accomplish. So, I creep along the road, making it through town, eventually arriving at the geocache. I find the geocache easily enough, very satisfied to have made it that far, especially with my crippled car!

Looking at the map, there wasn't really anything in between where I was and my friend's house in Florence, so I just decide to head up the road with my spare. Believe me, I prayed the entire way up the road, especially when I saw it was over 60 miles to Florence. I don't know what I would've done had my spare blown. I got within 10 miles, and just started thanking Him for getting me that far, and asking for a little bit more grace to get me there!

To wrap it all up, I did make it to Florence. I explained to my friend what had happened, and that I needed to find a place to change my tire. It was already evening, so everything was closed, and the next day was Sunday, so nothing would be open then, either. There went my Myrtle Beach plans, but it was nice to hang out with him on Sunday and go to his church. First thing Monday morning, I got my tire changed and headed almost straight to Edisto. No more zig-zagging to get lots of geocaches. I figured I had tested my luck enough that weekend! I got there fine and had a great time with my parents at the beach.

So there it is, the time I had two tires replaced in one weekend, but managed to get page 48's geocache in the process. :)

The Time I Went to Wal-Mart in Argentina

2008-06-05T11:36:00.004-04:00

One weeked during my study abroad in 2004, a group of us went across the border to Mendoza, Argentina. It was a lovely city with tree-lined streets, neat plazas, and a $4 all-you-can-eat buffet! Fantastic! It was also here in Mendoza that I had the best steak I've ever eaten. Argentina is a huge beef producer, and that steak almost melted in my mouth! So yummy!

On one of the tourist guides we had, we saw something called "Wall-Mart." I was like, "No way." We saw it was about two kilometers away along the highway, and we just had to go. We didn't know which buses went there, so we just walked along the highway towards it. It was a fairly good walk, and when we got there, it was what you have pictured in your head. Giant parking lot. Giant sign. Looks exactly like America. Quite a change from the rest of Argentina (and Chile, for that matter)!

We go in, and I mean, it was as if I went to the Wal-Mart down on Clemson Boulevard. Same lighting, same signage (except in Spanish), same flooring. It was insane! And see, Argentina's economy was in the pits when we went, so everything in the country was cheap. You very well know that Wal-Mart has cheap prices. So, needless to say, this Argentine Wal-Mart had prices that were soooooo low!

They had everything, clothes, food, lots of other stuff... I believe I bought a couple of donuts from there that were alright. I do remember buying a Coke, and it was the worst thing ever! Apparently, Argentine Coca-Cola doesn't have as much carbonation as ours. (I find that to be true with other soft drinks outside of America.) It was flat, but I still drank it.

So, we had a great adventure that seemed close to home, but yet it was thousands of miles away! We found a bus to take us back to the city, and enjoyed the rest of our weekend. Fun times!

The Time We Tried Hiking to a Waterfall in Chile

2008-06-05T10:27:00.003-04:00

This story took place around March of 2004. I was in the middle of my semester abroad at the Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile in Santiago, Chile. I went with some other students and one professor from Clemson. We had all taken a break from our classes to go to the town of Pucón in the south of Chile. It is a beautiful place with a snow-capped volcano looming over the town. There is plenty of eco-tourism there, and we spent our week white-water rafting, horseback riding, doing a canopy tour, and soaking in hot springs.

One day, we were planning on hiking up the volcano, but the weather prevented that. That meant we had a free day that we could do whatever we wanted. Some of us decided that even though it was drizzly outside, we didn't want to be cooped up. So, we decided to go try to hike to a waterfall we could see on the side of a nearby mountain.

Our hotel was right on a lake with a beautiful black-sand beach. We started along the beach towards the mountain, and eventually, this stray dog began following us. No problem, business as usual in Chile. We keep on trekking...

Eventually, we make it to the reason there's a lake...the river! (As it turns out, this was the Río Trancura, the river we had white-water rafted down the day before with Class IV and V rapids!) Well, none of us are dressed to get wet. I had a bookbag. We all had our cameras. But we needed to cross the river.

We decided to go a little bit upstream to find a spot where it might be a little more shallow. (Keep in mind, that dog is still behind us.) We find a spot where there are some rocks right under the surface that lead to a sandbar in the middle of the river. So, very carefully, we stepped through the cold water with our shoes in our hands to get to the sandbar. And the dog comes, too.

What happened at this time is all kinda blurry, but I'll try to summarize.

We never found a spot where we could get all the way across. We would get halfway, but then have to cross back. And that water was cold!!! A couple of times, the dog would try swimming across, but the water was rushing so bad that it would sweep him downstream. One time, he went under for a long time...but! He always popped back up and got to the shore and came running back to us as we continued our hike upstream. Poor dog!

Eventually, we decide we're not going to make it to the waterfall, and decide we need to start heading back towards town and the hotel. We didn't want to take the easy, familiar route back downstream. Instead, we saw a trail to the right and decided to take that, since it was in the general direction of town.

Well, that led us to some interesting places.

Before we knew it, we were crossing a fence into a cow pasture. And yes, there were cows (and bulls!) in it. So, we carefully made our way through it, not wanting to get stampeded. (Okay, so maybe we were being overly dramatic, but we didn't want to take our chances!)

We come to a spot where we see a road, but in between us and the road was somebody's house. In order to get through their yard, we had to hop the fence into their back yard, and then hop the fence to get out of the front yard. I was sure somebody was going to shoot us if they saw us. We hopped in and out, and thought the dog was going to get stuck inside the yard, but it fenagled its way through the fence onto the road with us.

At this time, I see a neighbor coming out of his house. Crap. In South Carolina, that neighbor would have a shotgun in his hand. However, in Chile, the guy said, "Y'all wanna come in and have some coffee?" Haha...what a relief! We explained we were lost, and thanked him for his hospitality, but we passed. He got us headed in the right direction, and so off we went, dog and all.

Along the road back to Pucón, we picked up a couple of other stray dogs. I think we ended up with three total. We made it back, where a nice, hot shower was in store! So, needless to say, we didn't make it to the waterfall, but we definitely had an adventure! I said that day that that adventure pretty much made the list of stupidest things I've ever done, and I think it's still #2. To find out what #1 is, you'll just have to wait until another day! :)

The Time I Got Back Into the USA Without a Passport

2008-06-04T09:41:00.000-04:00

It was June 2001, three months before the attacks in Washington and New York. I was wrapping up my first experience abroad--three weeks in Spain with some other high-schoolers and a couple of college kids. (I had just finished my junior year of high school.) We had spent our time visiting famous locations around the country that we had studied and about which we had written research papers (in Spanish!). It was an awesome trip.

As this was the first time most of us had been abroad, the two teachers who went with us took extra precaution to make sure we were prepared: make a copy of your passport, always carry your passport with you in the pouch around your neck, never go out by yourself, don't overpack (we only could have one carry-on bag for three weeks...that's why I am the way I am now), etc. I followed every detail to a T, except for the whole passport copy thing. I mean, what were the odds that the passport that was always with me would go missing?

You can see where this is going.

The three weeks passed, and none of us had any trouble. I was good and kept my passport and other important things with me around my neck in the pouch that was zippered and buckled. Safe and secure.

The last day comes, and we all were leaving our last hostel in Madrid. Our teacher asked us one last time whether we had our passports. I said yes, touching my chest where my pouch was. Alrightie, off to hail a cab to take us to the airport.

We get in line at the airline check-in, and I go to get my passport. Not there. Awesome. Of course, the first thing out of my teachers' mouths was, "Where's the copy of your passport?" "Uh, I don't have one..."

Everyone else gets through the line and goes through security. I'm by myself with the two teachers and two students that were staying in Spain for a few more weeks. Commence the insanity. I start being asked a million questions. One of them goes back to the hostel to see if it fell out there. I go through all of my luggage to see if it was there. Nope. We probably tried to call the taxi company, too.

I then got to talk to some people at the airport and over the phone at the embassy, answering all sorts of questions I don't remember. All this time, the time keeps passing, and I know I'm going to miss my flight to JFK. Ahh, the joys...

Eventually, someone made an arrangement to send a fax to New York letting them know that I was coming. I said okay, they shooed me through security, and then I literally ran like no other towards the gate. Luckily, the plane with everyone else was delayed, and I got to the gate right as they were finishing boarding.

Alright, on the plane, no problems. It was an overnight flight, so I caught just a couple of z's, and then we landed in New York.

We deboard, and I make my way to customs with everyone else. It gets to be my turn, and instead of showing my passport, I just stood there and explained that they should've sent a fax, etc. So, the guy calls someone, and I wait around, and then the guy says that there has been no fax sent. Excellent! One of the college kids with us then stepped up (passed the sacred "Do Not Cross" line) to kinda help me, but the customs agent didn't like that.

So, it was just little ole 15-year-old me, hoping that I could come back into my own country. I guess the guy felt sorry for me, and eventually just said, "Ok, just go on through." I guess he figured I was not a terrorist. Hooray!

Had this event happened three months later, I would probably still be in JFK or have been deported back to Spain. To this day, I have no idea where my passport is, or what happened to it. I never took it out. Nobody could've stolen it off my body. The best guess I have is that one of us was playing a terrible prank (or not even a prank, just being mean). Who knows? There could be another Benjamin Beaver walking around Spain right now?!

The Time I Graduated on Probation from NHS

2008-06-03T22:12:00.001-04:00

I graduated from high school in May 2002 as valedictorian. (That last bit is necessary for the story.) So, of course, as valedictorian, I'm supposed to be Mr. Smarty Pants, in all the nerdy clubs, never make below 100, etc. (Hey, I made two Bs in high school!)

However, senior year, the National Honor Society was doing a fundraiser. We were told we all had to sell ten candles. But, you see, I hate selling stuff. I also hate being told I have to do something. So, I sold zero candles. And you know what? They put me on probation from the club. It didn't really make any difference in the long run, and now that I think about it, I don't know how I could've gotten off probation, but I just find it funny that the guy who graduated at the top was on probation from the National Honor Society. :)

The Time I Invaded an African Country

2008-06-03T14:11:00.004-04:00

I've travelled a lot in my long 22 years. I've been in 11 countries, but only 10 of those have been legal visits. You see, there was this one time...

I had just taken my last final exam at Clemson in May 2006, and had flown to Dakar, Senegal for a mission trip. My job was to follow a Journeyman (a 2-year missionary through the International Mission Board) and basically watch him work and help him where needed. His job was to travel around West Africa collecting research on various people groups and to facilitate the coming of different volunteer mission groups. I spent two weeks in Africa, one in Senegal and the other in Guinea.

While we were in Guinea, we were trying to find pockets of this one people group (the Baga Mandouri, I believe). Our journey had taken us to from the capital of Conakry to the city of Kamsar on the coast in the north. We found someone in the city that told us that there were a couple of places we could find this people group. One was on an island a few hours away by boat, and the other was in a town called Sansalé, on a river very close to the Guinea-Bissau border in the far north.

So, we set off on the road towards Boké, where we met up with some missionaries there, who told us that the road to Sansalé was very awful, and that it would take about ten hours. You can see that on the map, there's not a lot of room between Boké and the Bissau border. The roads are that bad. They recommended we go back to Kamsar and find a boat to take us there.

Back to Kamsar we go. It was getting into the late afternoon/evening, so we needed to line us up a boat and a guide. This is where I let other people do the talking. We went into one of the villages nearby and found someone who knew the way to Sansalé. We went to the port, and the missionary and the interpreter found us a boat to take us the next day. Somebody thought it would be a good idea to talk to the military to sort of have an escort, since we would be very near the border, and with the instability of countries in West Africa, we figured it would be a good idea. They found some guys to take us, which led me to think, "Awesome! We're going to have a nice military boat with escorts and we're going to have a great adventure!"

Well, I got the adventure part right, at least.

The next morning, we got up, nabbed our guide from the village, and headed off to the port. When we got there, the military guys were like, "Oh, you don't need to worry about your guide. We have someone who can lead us." If I remember correctly, his dad used to live there, so *obviously* he knew the way. Alrightie then...

So we walk down to the port. Remember that nice military boat I had in mind? Ha. Imagine a twelve-foot john boat with a motor only fit for tiny ski boats on Lake Hartwell. And there were five of us in there. Me, the missionary, the interpreter, the guide, and the military escort.

Off we go, down the mouth of the river into open ocean. We turn north and follow the coast. It was a beautiful day, the ocean was calm, and we generally had a great ride (except I got roasted). Once we got farther north, we turned back east into the river system to navigate our way to Sansalé.

The missionary and I both had GPS devices, so we could track where we were in the world. We kept turning up different rivers, and the guide kept assuring us that Sansalé was getting closer. The only thing the missionary and I saw getting closer was the border of Guinea-Bissau. We began dismissing the idea that we were actually about to cross into the other country, as we figured our GPS maps were inaccurate, because who is actually going to use an American GPS in the rivers of West Africa?

But we come to the border on our GPS devices and keep going, but our guide just kept on navigating upstream, turning up the different rivers as they forked. "Oh well," we thought...

And then, the tide started going out. I had never thought about the tide going out in a river, but with its proximity to the ocean, it made sense. The river kept getting narrower and narrower, and the water kept getting shallower and shallower. Eventually, the two military guys got out and pushed the boat.

And then, the boat got completely stuck in the mud.

(I took this pic a bit later once the tide had gone out even farther.)

What do we do? Get out and trek through the mud upstream! (In my best Napoleon Dynamite voice) What the heck would you do in a situation like that? The guide was like, "It's right up here, right around this bend." All I knew, we were days from civilization.

We eventually found a cut path away from the river. Hallelujah! Civilization has been here at least once in history! But who know how long it took for them to get here. Hours? Weeks? But it was better than the river, and according to our guide, this was the path to Sansalé.

As we trekked inland, we started seeing some more signs of civilization. Markings on the ground. Machete cuts in trees. Monkeys in trees. (Okay, so that last part was just cool.) There was hope! We kept going and eventually heard people!!!

That is usually good news, but this was Africa. Who knows what kind of people there are hiding in Africa? The two thoughts going through my mind as we approached was, "Lord, please let them have clothes on, and please don't let them kill us!"

We finally got to the village, and they greeted us, but not in French, which was Guinea's language. Instead, it was Portuguese Creole, the language of Guinea-Bissau. "Great," we thought, "We're in another country."

So, yes, it was good to be with seemingly friendly people in their village, but let's think logistics. Only one of us can legally be in this country, and that is the missionary, who has a resident's visa. But not even he entered in a legal fashion. Above all else, we have a MILITARY guy. We brought him into the country without the other country's consent. Invasion, anyone? Needless to say, he was scared out of his wits, as he had no papers with him.

But anyway, we were safe. But we were not what we needed to be. So, we talked with the villagers (the village people, if you will), and they said they had someone who would take us there when the tide rose. So, they let us stay there and rest. They fed us lunch (rice, fish, and whatever else was in that pot...gave me the "African bubblies" since it was made with their water), which was very good, and was my first authentic meal in Africa.

After a while, the other guy told us it was time, so we trekked back down to the boat with him (and his bicycle!). The tide was still very down, so we spent the time hanging out in the mangrove trees, where I was sure a green mamba snake was going to come down and eat me.

One cool thing that happened was when we saw the tide coming back in, probably an hour later, as I got back in the boat, the military guy took my sandals off me and he washed my feet and my sandals. I was humbled! Visions of Jesus and His disciples came through my head.

So anyway, now we're up to six people and a bicycle in this little john boat. By this point, it was getting pretty late in the afternoon. He took us down river and back up a different branch. (I affectionately refer to that spot as Albuquerque.) At one point, we pass a spot where there was a dug-out canoe tied to the bank. Our new guide told us that was his stop, and that the town was right up the way. So, he and his bike get off and we kept going.

We were approaching the end of the river, and just as we thought we had reached another dead end, we saw people! Sweet Jesus! Sure enough, we had finally arrived at Sansalé. Praise the Lord! We got out, talked with the people there for a while, got what we needed, and then left. By this point, it was dark, which made my sunburn a little happier. Before we got in the boat, we snagged a few mangoes to eat in the boat as we headed home. Yummy!

The ride down river was smooth, but when we hit open water in the ocean, everything changed! We were in the middle of some huge waves that I'm sure were ten feet tall. We got soaked. Every square inch of us. That was the longest ride home ever. I don't think I have ever been so miserable. The three of us were praying hard! (And He prevailed!) It was genuinely scary! I'll never forget how I felt when I saw the lights of the Kamsar port again. It seemed like we were on the water forever, and to reach dry land again was divine.

And of course, the first thing I wanted to do was take a hot shower. We drove back to the hotel, our tailbones hurting from smacking against the hard boat on the waves, but finally arrived. But when we got there, we found that the water had been turned off for the night, and all the water we had was in a bucket that people use to take bucket baths. (Basically, a bucket bath is using the cup in the bucket to pour the cold water over you.) So, that day, I got my first village dining experience, and my first bucket bath experience...what a day!

So, yeah...that's my story. It's one of my favorites, because while my friends were back in Clemson walking across the stage getting their diplomas, I was out invading African countries! Awesome! :D Hope you enjoyed!

You tell me!

2008-06-02T16:22:00.020-04:00

Which story of mine would you like me to tell first? Select from the list below, or remind me of another one!

~~The time I invaded an African country~~
~~The time I got back into the USA without a passport~~
~~The time I tried paddling to Miami from Cuba~~
~~The time I directed the Tiger Band at the Magic Kingdom~~
~~The time I almost won the school spelling bee in 3rd grade~~
The time I lost the school geography bee to my brother in 8th grade
The time I climbed the Andes Mountains without a trail (leaving a dog stranded in the process)
~~The time I tried hiking to a waterfall in Chile and ended up jumping through people's backyards~~
The time I schooled some 6th graders on US capitals when I was in 1st grade
The time my AP US History class declared independence from our teachers
The time I took a helicopter tour in Hawaii
The time I did the Napoleon Dynamite dance for youth at camp
The time I went fishing with some Chileans
~~The time I went to Wal-Mart in Argentina~~
The time I went skydiving
~~The time I graduated high school on probation from the National Honor Society~~
The time I met some Amazing Race contestants and got stuck in a corn maze
The time I preached at my old church
The time I helped a Hispanic student while I was subbing
~~The time my tire blew in the middle of nowhere~~
The time I hiked down to an icy waterfall in North Carolina
The time I went to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade
The time I jumped in the reflection pond at Clemson
The time I went geocaching on the bridge with traffic whizzing by in Alabama
The time we drove to Mexico
The time I had the Chinese friend at Clemson
~~The time I had a Japanese pen pal~~
~~The time I got baptized~~
~~The time I realized nobody is perfect~~
The time I had to change my life plan...fast!
The time I did the gross food challenge at Fear Factor Live in Orlando
The time I went snorkeling in Jamaica
The time my dad, brother, and I got to participate on the Double Dare tour
The time I almost got eaten by an alligator and Tiffany and I had to hike two miles in the dark
The time I was Roberto, and Roberto was me, and we snuck into a Chilean national park
The time I got a bird's eye view of New Orleans
The time we took the "World's Largest" road trip
~~The time I took a giant, inflatable banana on a tour of Honea Path~~
The time I hit a deer in my car

...and there are plenty more! Just let me know!