The AmeriLife

Welcome to life at The Point. We are the Atlantic Region, one of the five NCCC campuses in the country. We are Class XVII. There are 245 of us, from all over the country. From as far away as the US Virgin Islands and Hawaii. We are split into three units, Raven, Moose and Buffalo. There are about 80 people in each unit. When I was first led to my room my first day on campus I was so happy to see the raven on my door. It was the unit I was wishing for. Moose live in “The Village” which is a community of small houses down the road. Raven and Buffalo live in the dorms, Buffalo on the first floor and Ravens on the second. Each unit is broken into seven teams of about 9 to 11 people on each.

Every Corps Member when arriving on campus looks forward to four aspects of the AmeriLife more than anything else. One; receiving our teams. Two; Induction. Three; Spikes. And four; Graduation. Of course there is much more to look forward to but these four things are kind of like the lifeline of the AmerCorps experience. Receiving your team and induction is like a birth. Spikes are the life. And Graduation, well, obviously.

On our second day at The Point we received our Pods, which are temporary teams until final teams are picked. I was in Raven 1 and I had the best Pod imaginable. We were like a family. And our fearless leader, KJ was hilarious. In our group there was never a dull moment.

Since we arrived on February 7^th we’ve gone through medical screenings and have been in CTI (Corps Training Institute) which is just what it sounds like; training. We train everyday, Monday through Friday, from 8am until 4pm. We are trained in anything and everything; disaster relief, shelter simulation, diversity, CPR, tool safety and so much more. I may need a binder for all the certifications when we’re done. Most trainings are here on campus but some days we travel elsewhere. CTI lasts for five weeks. It’s more exhausting than it sounds.

After our first week on campus, after everyone who wanted to try out for the fire fighting team did so and the fire fighting team (The Phoenixes) was selected, we received our teams. It was a big deal. We drove into a parking lot with KJ, in our van, with the 20 other vans parked around us. It was a long, dramatic process revealing teams. But when we drove away we were in different vans with different people and different Team Leaders. Amelia is my new TL. We are Raven 4. I still go to KJ first with anything though. Amelia and I are still feeling each other out. It took me a few days to warm up to my team. They aren’t as close and fun as my Pod but they’re not bad. Even if they were, I’d have to get used to them anyway. In NCCC, your team is your family. You eat with them, live with them, work with them and travel with them. I still see my Pod around and we still claim each other. You have this bond with your Pod that I was happy to learn doesn’t go away after Pod week.

My team shares a kitchen unit with Raven 5. Last week we failed our inspection. We both blamed each other. This week, Ravens 2 and 3 were free from cleaning duties as my team and Raven 5 had to do their share as punishment. Worse fates await for people who fail their room inspections.

Physical training is three times a week. Twice in the morning before the sun rises, with Dernard. And once in the evening. The evening PT is usually easier than the AM PT’s because they’re just with the team. Morning PT’s with Dernard are done with entire units. Dernard is an ex-military man so our PT sessions are definitely military styled. Phoenixes have PT five times a week.

I don’t know who was sick first, but it spread like wildfire. Inevitable when you have 245 young people living together. I caught it from Emily. Then all my other roommates caught it. I remember warning Zac before he sat so close to me. His response, “I don’t care, if I get sick I’ll just be sick.” He said that thinking he had Superman’s immune system. He’s sick now. KJ caught it from all of us. Like a flood, this one cold covered the entire class.

March 10^th is when CTI officially ends. We are inducted on March 11^th at a big ceremony off campus. Then, without wasting any time at all, we leave for our first Spike on March 12^th.

Last night my teammate, Owen made another amazing dinner; fish, salad and mashed potatoes from scratch. Afterwards we all sat at the table in conversation, laughing and talking. At one point we all grew quiet. The other Raven teams were dining noisily around us and we just sat there taking it all in. This new life we’ve all embraced. I looked to the end of the table at Morgan, who was draining the pitcher of orange juice. He had caught my cold and was craving orange juice all week long and we finally got him some. He put his glass down with a heavy sigh, then looked around at us and smiled.
“Life is good.” he said slowly.
“I agree.” I smiled, holding up my water bottle in a toast. Up and down the table my team agreed, as we toasted to the AmeriLife.

The Point

The misunderstandings between my mother and I run deep. Deep and wide and far. Like the Nile. We have a Nile of misunderstanding between us. I stand on one shore and she another. We can’t see each other, we shout but can’t hear each other. I think that’s common amongst mothers and daughters. The people in the train station couldn’t see the Nile as we sat near each other, my luggage in between us. But it was there, invisible, deep and wide. She doesn’t understand why I have to leave. It’s a combination of being the baby, wanting me near forever and also never having left home herself, so not really understanding why anyone would ever want to go anywhere different. She doesn’t get it and she never will. Regardless, there she sat with me, without me having to ask, waiting for my train to come and take me away. Even as she walked me to the escalators where I’d disappear and she kissed me on my cheek and said goodbye, I know she was wondering, “What’s the point? Why leave at all?” Trying with amazing effort to understand but failing.

My train pulled in like a snake with the speed of a bullet. I don’t think I’ve ever traveled by train before. At least not a train above ground. I had one large suitcase, a duffle bag, a backpack and a pillow. I was ready. For what, I don’t know, but I was ready. I could almost feel my nerves bubbling underneath my skin, but I was ready. I wasn’t even sad as I watched the Philadelphia skyline disappear behind me. I leaned my pillow against the window and tried to relax. I fell asleep as we passed through Delaware. About an hour and a half later we reached BWI in Baltimore and I felt my nerves wake up again. I got off on an outdoor platform, completely lost. I followed the nice gentleman that was sitting across from me on the train to the main entrance of the station. It was a cool, cloudy day. I could see my breath when I exhaled. I saw a young guy with red hair & a matching mustache pacing back and forth nearby. He was wearing Khakis and a long-sleeved green t-shirt. I approached him and smiled.
“Hi.” I said.
“Hi,” he responded, stretching out a hand, “I’m Griffith. And you’re…”
“Aja.”
“Nice to meet you. Right this way.”
He showed me to a van, where he loaded my things inside. Then we took off through the streets and highways of Baltimore. There was small talk. Mostly I just took in the sights and listened to John Legend coming through the speakers. When I heard his velvety voice singing “Wake Up Everybody” I felt as though I was right where I was supposed to be.
“You ever been to Maryland?” Griff asked.
“Well,” I explained, “I came to DC a few years ago for a protest march with my ex at the capitol, but I’ve never really…”
“Seen Maryland.” he finished for me.
“Yeah.”
We drove and drove until we weren’t in Baltimore anymore. Eventually we passed into a small town known as ‘Perryville’, with a cute little elementary school, sheriff’s office, town hall and everything.
“So, where are you hoping to go this year? Anywhere in particular?” Griff asked after a long spell of silence.
“Anywhere I’ve never been is fine with me.”
“I hear ya.” he laughed.

After about forty minutes we crossed a large bridge, onto a quaint road leading to what looked like a small village. We passed an old sign that read, ‘Perry Point’. The Chesapeake Bay was shining brilliantly nearby, while swarms of geese covered the snowy ground.

“This,” Griff explained, “is The Point.”

After a few minutes we pulled up outside of a building and Griff unloaded my luggage. A nearby group of people, also in green shirts and khakis waved & yelled, “Welcome to The Point!” Griff lead me inside a gymnasium and leaned my things against a wall. Then he left. I spent at least an hour in that gym filling out paperwork. Eventually I stopped reading things and just signed wherever it was asking me to. I may have signed my life away, I wouldn’t know. I was fitted for clothes. I had my picture taken for an ID card. Then I received my room key and a nice young guy named Brandon offered to show me to my room and carry my things. When I unlocked the door to my room I saw that I was the first of four to arrive. Brandon sat my things down by the bed I picked and I went to peek out of one of the windows. I could see the geese flooding the lawns down by the water, and the waves of the river moving peacefully, and the tiny boats docked faraway on the opposite shore. Brandon moved behind me. I had forgotten he was there.

“Where can I go running around here?” I asked.
“I run down by the water. It’s nice down there. I can show you around if you want.”
“Okay.” I said.

Brandon took me on a tour of the dorm building first, before heading out onto the campus. There were 240 of us coming in. From as far away as Hawaii and the US Virgin Islands. I think in the last 24 hours I’ve met people from at least 19 different states. I’m reminded of how diverse America is. We are the only country in the world with individual states. And our states are like small countries of their own. And as I meet all of these people I hear different accents. I hear different stories. I’m hearing about things I’ve never heard of. And it reminds me of how big the world is. I’m not sure if my mom could ever really understand my need to be elsewhere. To meet people from far corners of the country. To do something worth while. She could probably never understand how amazingly peaceful it feels to stand on the bank of the Chesapeake Bay in winter time as the sun sets. This is where a journey begins. This is my new home away from home. This, as the inhabitants affectionately call it, is The Point.

A Penny Tossed, A Penny Earned

In June 2010 I started working in a part of Philly known as Olde City. (or Old City, but I like that old-school irrelevant E. It‘s classy.) It’s the historical part of the city. It’s kind of a museum in and of itself. Olde City has become my playground these last few months, not only do I work there but I would have lunch between shifts there. I went on fancy dates down there. I even took to partying in Olde City bars. During the day it’s swarmed with tourist but in the evening and at night Olde City is very beautiful and chic.

There is one particular spot in Olde City that I would visit at least once a week. Ben Franklin’s grave. I found it last July. I was walking from my usual Starbucks at 3^rd & Arch Streets to the African American Museum where there was a Phillies Phanatic statue (there were 20 Phanatic statues all around the city that summer & I vowed to find them all. I got 14). As I walked straight down Arch Street towards the museum I passed a gate where tourist were gathered. I didn’t think much of it because tourists gather all over Olde City because there’s something historical with every half step you take. But then, a jeep stopped at the red light in the street and a man jumped out hastily. He ran right in front of me, tossed some pennies through the gate and darted back to his jeep as the light turned green. He was not a tourist. I moved closer to the gate and noticed the final resting place of Ben Franklin; a large marble slate on the ground. There were pennies covering it, some silver change as well. Like most native Philadelphians, I had never seen any of this historical stuff that draws tourists to Olde City. Honestly, I didn’t even know Franklin was buried here.

But what’s up with the pennies?

Well, I’ve been told several things. The most common answer I received is simply, it’s for good luck. I also heard that all the change is collected daily and donated to a local church. Another theory taught me that it was Ben Franklin who coined the term, “A penny saved is a penny earned.” And people toss their pennies on his grave for financial luck.

That first day I stumbled upon that grave I tossed a few pennies through the bars just for kicks and giggles. Later that week I received a raise at work. I’ve been going back every single week to toss a few pennies on ol’ Ben’s grave ever since. Except for this month. Since the boat’s being renovated I haven’t been working in Olde City so I haven’t been to see Ben. The last time was the morning of New Years Day. The girls I work with and I were leaving our hotel and the last thing we did before parting ways was toss some pennies on the grave. We stood together quietly, each making wishes, a separate wish for each penny we tossed.

Last weekend I met up with a friend down there in Olde City, at my usual Starbucks. Before I met him, I stopped by Franklin’s grave. I had grabbed a fistful of pennies from a bank in my bedroom. When the two tourists who were there walked away I was surprised to find myself alone. No tourists? Creepy. But it was an opportune moment for this young, meek Philadelphian to admit to this legendary, immortal Philadelphian that I’m not as brave as I pretend to be. Was he listening? Of course not, he’s dead. But it was therapeutic regardless. I’ll be leaving Philly soon. Because life isn’t happening for me here. But I couldn’t leave without tossing a few pennies.

One penny for good fortune

‘Cause you can never have too much

One penny for my health

My heart and bones and brain and such

One penny for my family

My Mom, Grandma and sister too

Make that two pennies for my family

In case the 1^st doesn’t come through

One penny for my friends

The ones I have to leave behind

One penny for strangers like me

All the friends I hope to find

One penny for my city

My neighborhood, my house and bed

So one day if I follow my feet back home

I’ll have somewhere to rest my head

One penny for strength and courage

That I’ll always find them in a clutch

And one more penny for good fortune

‘Cause you can never have too much

~ADev

The Waiting Place

Today I found myself sitting in the dark. On a bench. Alone. It’s dark like midnight all day long so you can never tell the dusk from dawn or the night from day. It’s just dark. But the air is cool and clean. I can’t tell you where I am exactly, or if this place is a park, or a train station. Sometimes I can hear an ocean nearby. And planes. And cars and carriages. But I never see anything. I just hear them. All I ever see is people. There are people everywhere. They walk by as if they have somewhere to be. All kinds of people. Some seem excited about wherever they’re going and some walk so slow I wonder if they really want to get to where they’re going. Me, I just sit here. Because I don’t know where to go. I’ve been sitting here for years. Sometimes people stop to talk to me, they sit with me awhile. But they never stay long. Not that they should. Everyone’s got somewhere to be. Everyone. I have somewhere to be too, I just don’t know where yet. So I’ve been sitting here on this bench waiting. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for. Maybe for a stranger holding a sign with my name on it to say he’s my ride. Or for a distant voice to sound, telling me my flight is about to take off and from which gate. When the boats and trains whistles blow I can always tell from the sound that they’re not for me. So I don’t move. I just sit here and wait.

One time, a few years back, this old man sat down next to me. He said he had been walking awhile and was real tired so he asked to sit on my bench and I didn’t mind. Company is nice, even brief company. Anyway, we sat there for a long time just staring out at the people. Funny thing about Waiting Places, all those damn people. There really is nothing but people. You try to look past them but as far as you can see there are just people. Walking. No horizon even, the crowd of people just goes on forever. I know there’s boats and trains and planes out there somewhere but they’re far off, hidden behind all these damn people. Anyway, this old man, he said his name was Mifflin. He was a thin white man with dark hair and the friendliest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. He was dressed in a snazzy grey suit, with a white shirt and a tie. He asked me where I was going.
“Nowhere yet.” I replied.
“Why not?”
“Because I have nowhere to be.”
“Everyone has somewhere to be.” he corrected, “You, me, everyone. We’re all born with a special invitation, He just doesn’t give us directions. Sometimes He doesn’t even tell us the destination. But that doesn’t mean He dosen’t expect us to get there.” He laughed but I was afraid that he was serious.
“What if we don’t get there?” I asked fearfully, “Or what if we end up somewhere else?”
Somewhere in the dark distance a ship was bellowing. We both looked south where the ship we couldn’t see was preparing for departure.
“Why don’t you run for that ship if you’re so worried about being somewhere?”
“Because it’s not for me.”
“How do you know?” Mifflin asked.
“I just know.” I said decisively, secretly not so sure. He stared at me curiously.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said putting a gentle hand on my shoulder, “Intuition is the only tool He gives to us all. Most people discard theirs in the beginning believing it to be unnecessary. But if you follow yours as He intended you to, use it as a compass should be used, believe me, you will find your way. Don’t doubt it because it has kept you here so long. Don’t be frustrated, be patient.” We sat there for a long while as the people walked by all around us. People with places to be. Finally Mifflin glanced at his watch and stood up. He said his goodbyes and as he walked away I shouted his name through the silent crowd.
“Where are you going?” I asked as he turned around. He smiled broadly and smoothed out his suit.
“I have a party to host.”
“What kind of party?”
“A grand party.” he said smiling, “And there are an awful lot of people who’ll be waiting for me so I probably shouldn't be late.” He winked at me once then turned away to disappear into the crowd.

That was years ago. I’m still here watching all these people walk by. I can’t tell you what I’m waiting for. Because I don’t know. But if I follow my compass like Mifflin told me to, I won‘t get lost. A plane or train or car or carriage will arrive eventually and if it’s for me, I’ll just know. I hope something arrives for me. I have to be patient. I have to have faith. I’ll sit here in the dark, on this bench, watching the people walk by. I’ll just wait. Because this is the Waiting Place.

Pictures Last Longer

Today I found myself on a hotel room floor wrapped in blankets. I woke up not just wondering where the night went but where the year went as well. The girls were sleeping soundlessly around me and I felt so content. Cold. Freezing actually. But content. But then the girls started waking up one by one and getting dressed and I knew there was no preserving the moment, it was time to go.

I work with these girls.

Bo only stayed last night until 3am. She’s our Cambodian mother-figure, always warning us about germs and how unhealthy our food choices are. Bo is nice, attentive and over-bearing to the point you just want to wring her neck. But we all can’t help but love her.

Alida is our sweet-toothed Repunzel with waist-length thick blonde hair. I loved Alida before I had ever met her because I had asked her (via email) to cover a shift for me her first week so I could go see John Mayer. She did. Alida is very mild mannered. She covered our office walls with pages from her Hello Kitty coloring book, and the collage seems to grow larger every week.

Lindsay is the funny one. She’s bold and honest, even when the truth is hysterically inappropriate.

Sarah, the one who wanted to turn the heat off last night. She has what we call a “big girl job”. It’s a dependable nine to five whereas our boat hours fluctuate. She’s still as crazy as the rest of us though. Sarah catches every single one of my Harry Potter references and I love that.

Rachel is the heart if we were a body. Not just because she’s our boss and she runs things with a soft iron fist, but because she’s our friend. She is the youngest of all of us. Rachel makes sure we enjoy what we do, so that we keep coming back to do it. I’ve had so many jobs throughout my life and have never worked for someone who genuinely cared about their employees. I didn’t realize until I met Rachel how nice that is. She is our Michigan wildflower. She moved to Chicago after high school, lived there for more than a year and now lives in Philly. Rachel has lived more than most 50 year olds that I know. She is so spunky she’ll give you a headache. When I went for an interview in the rain last June I only needed a job. So I thought. Now, looking back I realize what I needed were the friends I made. Wednesday nights at the bar, someone to talk to about things I’m unsure of, laughing until my sides hurt; that’s what I needed, not so much another job. But I didn’t know that’s what I needed until I felt myself emerging from a shell I climbed into years ago. I kind of owe that to Rachel.

We are photographers, the girls and I. We work on the Spirit of Philadelphia, a boat that cruises along the Delaware River. People spend the most important days of their lives on our boat. Birthdays, anniversaries and even weddings. Our job is to capture these days in frames because pictures last longer than cakes, dresses and even feelings. For months now The Spirit has been planning renovations, scheduled for right after the new year. It’ll be a two-month long project so New Years Eve for us felt like the last day of school until the new school year. Last night, for the first time, I brought my own personal camera along with me on the cruise. I got some pictures of us goofing off with some of the servers outside on the deck right before the midnight fireworks. The big countdown, the lights, the hugs and cheers. That was a moment I wish I could have kept forever. But moments are just that, momentary. Pictures last longer. And I got some good ones.
After the cruise the girls and I went to Wawa because we were all starving. Then we walked to our hotel where we cracked open some bottles, ate, played a few drinking games, exchanged secret Santa gifts and talked until we passed out sometime around 4:30 am. The entire time I’m thinking about all these months I’ve spent with these girls. All the fun we had.

It was a melancholy checkout this morning. Rachel, Alida and Lindsay stood in line to checkout and Sarah & I stood by the front door. On Monday, Sarah will go back to her full time job. Lindsay will be starting classes in another week or two, as well as student teaching. Bo has school too. Rachel will be headed to Texas soon to start up a new location while our boat is being renovated. Working on the boat was the highlight of my weeks, the perfect parallel to the useless depressing feeling I get at my other job at CVS. Nothing but CVS. That’s what’s awaiting me on the other side of today.
“Wouldn’t it be weird if someone doesn’t come back?” Sarah asked. I faked a worried look and felt guilty. I nodded. “Yeah.” I answered, "That would be weird."

 

.

Rock N Roll

I had never heard of the Rock N Roll Marathon series until I got this weekend gig cashiering at their expo. They were hosting a ½ marathon here in Philly; a sold out marathon at that, with 19,000 runners. What is a ½ marathon? Its 13.1 miles of raw endurance. Early Friday morning before the expo opened I walked around the hall and looked at all the photos hanging from the walls. Photos from a marathon in San Jose. Another ½ marathon in San Antonio. A marathon in New Orleans. NYC. Dallas. Las Vegas. Photos of Rock N Roll Marathon cheerleaders enthusiastically shouting from the sidelines. Photos of a Rock concert, which always awaits the runners at the finish line. Photos of people smiling.

As a runner I never run more than 2 miles on any given day because, well, I’m lazy. When I realized what this Rock N Roll Marathon was I figured, if I’m gonna be surrounded by real runners all weekend maybe they’ll inspire me some. But what is a real runner anyway? Super skinny girls in tights whose legs make up ¾ of their bodies? Yeah, they were there. But they only made up a fraction of the crowd. I met runners of all shapes and sizes. I met a heavy-set gay couple who told me that this would be their 5^th marathon this year!
An Asian guy with a thick accent was buying a black fleece with the logo ‘Rock N Roll Philadelphia ½ Marathon 2010’ branded across the back. I asked him if he was running & he said yes. I couldn’t make out what else he said but I caught the word ‘siete’. He saw the confused look on my face and explained but I still couldn’t understand him. All I heard was “Something something something siete. Siete something something siete.” “Seven what?” I asked, “I’m sorry, I don’t….” But then he turned around to show me the back of the black fleece he was currently wearing, which was identical to the one he was purchasing except for the logo read ‘Rock N Roll Seattle ½ Marathon 2010’. “Oh, Seattle!” I said, “You ran in Seattle too!?” He nodded, beaming.

In fact I don’t think a single Philadelphian came through my line all weekend.

My favorite customers were the ones who were nearly pissing their pants because this would be their very first marathon. One girl asked me if I was running and when I told her no she asked, “Why not?” “Well,” I explained, “I’ve never run that far before. The most I’ve ever run is 7 miles, I’d never be able to do a ½ marathon.” She replied, “The most I’ve ever ran is 6 miles! But I’m gonna try.”

Last year I raised money for the AIDS fund and then on the morning of the AIDS run I never got out of bed. I freaked out and stayed under my blankets. I didn’t think I could do it. And here I was surrounded by 19,000 runners, most of whom have never run 13 miles before in their lives but have crossed the country just to try it. They reminded me of myself when I was 17 years old. I had never run a single mile before but I wanted to join the cross country team, just to try it. I remember that feeling, the uncertainty of self as you’re standing at the starting line trying not to throw up. The anxiety as you’re halfway through & see so many other runners dropping like flies. And that feeling when you cross the finish line. It doesn’t matter how many people are behind or ahead of you, when you cross the finish line, you’ve won. And you realize the only person you were trying to beat all along was yourself.

One woman was in my line with new shoes, clothes, compression socks, a belt & some other things I didn’t even recognize. She was talking so fast I barely caught a word, then she picked up a tube off my counter & read the label, “Anti-friction lotion.” She looked at me, alarmed, “Do I need this too? Oh my God! What else do I need? I heard I should wear two pairs of socks, is that true? I packed pants to run in and now I need shorts because I think it’s gonna be hot and I don’t want to get over-heated. Do you know what the weather is gonna be like tomorrow? I checked it an hour ago but it changes-” She was talking too fast to comprehend at this point, going on about the course and rocks and extra soles for her running shoes, “I’m gonna lose, I don’t even know why-” “Is this your first ½ marathon?” I asked her. “Yes,” she answered. “Well,” I said, “Don’t think of it as a race, but a run. And all you have to do is finish.” She seemed to have taken her first breath, smiled and said slowly, “You’re right, and that’s all I want to do. Just finish.” And I made her put the anti-friction lotion back.

Indeed I was inspired this weekend. By real runners and real people who were just trying to prove something to themselves. I miss the feeling you get from challenging yourself. I think I want to start pushing myself again, the way I used to when I ran for a team. And next year, maybe I’ll run a Rock N Roll ½ Marathon.

Good Charlotte

This time of year 8 years ago I was just beginning my life at Saul high school. We all had to complete a month of summer courses before being admitted into the school. I remember that July like it was yesterday. That was the summer I stepped into who I am. I switched from Air Force Ones to Chuck Taylors. I started listening to different kinds of music. I started painting on everything. I stopped trying to fit in & tried to build a life that would fit me. I stopped looking at what was cool & started looking at everything. That summer I sort of wiped my life clean & started from scratch. Like clothes, I let my wardrobe go & asked myself, “If there were no styles, no trends & no dress codes, what would you wear?” And something in me answered, “T-shirts. I kinda like graphic t-shirts.” And so I started wearing nothing but t-shirts. And my entire taste in music changed. And I chose my music the same way, by pretending that nothing was popular & no one could hear what I played. Everything was based simply off of what I liked & what I wanted. And at 14 years old one band in particular caught me; Good Charlotte.

Their poster from back then is still up on my wall. Their single, “The Anthem” became my anthem. They were the soundtrack to my teenage years. Their music added to the changes I made. As I stepped into who I am, their music was there. And in the last 8 years they’ve come to Philly several times to perform. And of course no one would go to a Good Charlotte show with me because that kind of music isn’t cool where I come from. So I missed show after show after show. At some point in your life you wake up & realize that the majority of your regrets don’t come from things you’ve done but things you haven’t done. So when the Bamboozle Roadshow came to Philly last Sunday I bought myself a ticket and went. Good Charlotte was gonna be there & I didn’t wanna regret missing them anymore. It was hot that day too. 96 degrees. It was at Festival Pier, on the waterfront. I got there at 10:30am. Waited in the sun until the gaits opened at 12:30. Got inside, got some beers, something to eat, met some cool people, ran into some people I already knew, got some more beers, and by 4:00 the show was starting with a band I knew nothing about. At 5:05 Simple Plan took the stage, & they’re a band I can sing along to, and I did. Then I started feeling sick from the heat & the beers. I told the girls I was with that I’d be right back & I took a walk around.

At 6:00 sharp I saw a familiar bowler hat hit the stage, followed by an identical man in a black cap… then Paul and Billy and Deano. And by myself I raced to the stage & got pretty close, forgetting that I was sick. I was high off my eyes because I was finally seeing Good Charlotte for the very 1^st time after all these years. And when they started, they started with ‘The Anthem’. I swear I was 14 years old again, jumping and screaming and singing at the top of my lungs. During Benji’s guitar solo this guy next to me shouted, “We’re over thirty and we’re both singing like teenagers! Wooooooo!” Everyone, no matter how old they were, was a teenager during ‘The Anthem’. After Good Charlotte I went home. The show stretched until after 11 o’clock that night but I was hot & drunk & sick & absolutely sun burnt. But I won’t forget the crowd surfing and water fights. I had a blast last Sunday.

I remember that summer, this time of year, 8 years ago, when I discovered Good Charlotte, when I stepped into who I am, I had dreamed of a day like last Sunday. 8 years later I got it. And having a dream so simple as seeing your favorite band live come true, it makes me wonder about the fate of my other dreams. But for that short half hour or so I felt 14 again, when the only thing I wanted was to see Good Charlotte. And there I was & there they were…. And just like that I had everything I wanted.