So Little Time.

I was a freshman in high school, in NJROTC, and my CO (an NS4) and I had a weird relationship.

We were friends, I could talk to him, he’d give me advice, I’d take orders from him, yada yada, all was good, ‘cept…

He’d tackle me in every athletic event. =P 

Football (tackle), soccer (slide tackle), heck, track and field, he found a reason to trip and/or tackle me. It was kind of entertaining to watch I’m sure; but as a victim of it, I was confused, and I asked him one day.

“Do you hate me or something? Why do you do this?”

And he said… “If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t even talk to you.”

Believe it or not, that was a life lesson for me. Still have this memory etched in my head, as he and his piggyback riding girlfriend were walking with me away from a baseball field.

Huh.

I was in Vegas once with the family for Christmas a few years ago, and I went with my parents and some relatives to some acting thing or play that was being put on.

Well, I’m sitting in the audience, waiting for some show to start, and this pretty girl is sitting next to me, and I just kind of strike up conversation with her.

At some point (here it comes) she said, “How long you been playing guitar?”

I got confused, and slightly paranoid. I checked my hands and kind of jokingly said, “Is it written on my forehead or something? How’d you know I play guitar?”

She giggled and said, “I could tell from the way your fingers curled and uncurled while we were talking. I’ve been playing piano since I was [10].”

Hot.

Ma bros at the 610 call me up and they be like, “Farhad, we wanna give you stuff.”

I help them move out, and it was real sad watching the 610 be empty. Oh, so many memories.

Also, I learned tonight that you’re not supposed to dump trash in other peoples’ dumpsters. Hm. And that apparently we’re not sorry for doing it. (Lol Arthur.)

Things I get to keep from the 610:

• A black rug
• An old armchair (def going in the backyard)
• Xbox 360 Guitar Hero Controller
• A tent!
• A Bigger George Foreman Grill, hell yeah.
• Arthur’s mighty spatula, which he indicates is not “compensating for anything.”
• A pound of Ground Beef
• Like, 10 patties of Turkey Burger, xD

I’m a miss hanging out there, but hopefully we all get to hang out again soon, bros.

P.S. I heard we’re beach partying?

The first one, was with my best man Aadil.

No need to recount the details.

The second, I was with my brother, and it was after changing lanes on the freeway, that I was rear ended.

That night over the winter break that my family was hosting the 2012 New Years Party, I needed to pull our car out of the garage to go pick up some nearby friends.

One of my uncles saw me and said, “Farhad, it’s too hard for you to get your car out, just take mine.”

And as much as I said “No, no, it’s fine, thank you,” he continued to insist, and so I took the offer.

He tossed me his keys, and I made way for the driver side.

“Hey Farhad?”

“بله عمو؟” (Yes, Uncle?)

“I know you’ve been in an accident before. Careful with my car, Ok?”

“Of course, Uncle.”

And as I got into his car, I couldn’t help but feel… Ashamed.

He entrusted me with his car. Yet he indicated a lack of trust. A source of doubt.

And as understandable as it is for me, (I mean, it’s just a few words to raise my awareness) but it still hurt. I just, I won’t forget it. I felt somewhat betrayed. As though my Father had told him everything, and dramatized the situation in that all my family members might know of the incident.

Ugh. I felt disgraced. And that’s really all there is to say.

Here’s a story I don’t think I’ll ever forget. (But just in case.)

I was in the 5th grade, and I had just transferred into the GATE (Gifted and Talented Education) program at Crescent.

I joined a class of approximately 30 students, people who had already known eachother and formed relationships over the past few years.

And there I was, thrown amongst them, a noobie, a newcomer, an outsider.

I believe that on this very first day, we were going out for PE. It was a “run-the-mile” day. (It wasn’t actually called that I don’t think, but that’s just so you get the point.)

I remember lining up with all of the other students at the start.

I remember wanting to impress them.

I remember the desire to show them, that I was cool enough, good enough, for them.

I heard “Go.”

And what happened?

I sprinted.

I was running fast and hard.

I remember a distance being formed between me and my classmates, except for one other kid, named Nate. But we’ll get to him in a second.

I recall the voices of students behind me going, “Woah, he’s fast!”

I remember smiling. xD

And for those of you who don’t know, I am a fast runner. But I’m also just a sprinter. Endurance is not my thing.

So I also remember slowing down. Also fast. Lol.

Students started to pass me. And Mr. Nate never slowed down. Nate, fast and durable, ran this mile in, I want to say in under 8 minutes, a very fast time for people of our age, I think. In fact, I remember being shocked, and feeling embarrassed, that all I had was so little burst energy. I continued to jog, and walk, and jog, and walk; ending nowhere near first.

I remember feeling like I had failed. All because I had tried oh, so hard to be good and accepted and liked.

It’s what happens when you push for things too hard.

Moral of the story: Don’t overdo it, bub.

And all the memories are flooding back.

The hours I spent polishing this piece of brass.

The days I spent making these shoes shine like mirrors.

The days spent away from home, competing, and bringing back ribbons, medals, and trophies.

The weeks, that I committed to my program, to my platoons, and above all, to my Unit Troy.

And those four years, where I was surrounded by a family of students, friends, and family, that all suffered through Troy High School, and battled out the balance between ROTC and Academics.

There has yet to be a greater bond between me and anything I’ve ever done.

I miss it so much.