Finding Mansour

Well, this blog is slightly overdue for two reasons. First, Mansour and I met last Monday, so I probably should have written this by now. Second, this is the first time that Mansour and I have met since before Spring Break. The first one was my fault; the second, not so much.

            I was having a lot of trouble getting in touch with Mansour. He wasn’t returning texts, calls, or e-mails. I wasn’t really sure what had happened to him at all. Eventually, I got a returned text. Apparently, Mansour had been really sick, like to the point where he couldn’t even get out of bed. Sounds like a good excuse to have not met with your conversation partner.

            Well, we met outside of 1873, as usual, on a bright and sunny day. There was a lot to catch up about. I talked about my Spring Break adventures and he talked about the lack of adventures he had over his break. I never really found out how he got sick or what exactly he was sick with. He didn’t really want to talk about it.

            He still was not feeling all too well, which made our conversation quite brief. From the start, Mansour’s spoken English was highly exceptional. I feel like he has sort of seen our meetings as pointless; just something he has to do for a grade. I guess I am in the same situation, but I am also not being surrounded by his culture. I am interested in learning about him, but he doesn’t really have much to learn from me. I’m hoping our next conversation is longer.

Bye, Bye Appendix

            I really like sushi. It’s really good. So, when my sisters were raving about this place called Jo-To’s and I hadn’t been, I knew exactly where I wanted to go for my birthday dinner in 5^th grade.        

            During the dinner, I was in a really bad mood. I had a bad pain in my lower abdomen. I tried to shake it off and enjoy my dinner, but I would never return to Jo-To’s just because of its association with this event.

            I got home that night and tried to go to sleep, but my mom said that we should go to the hospital. I was having trouble moving because of the pain, but I didn’t want to go to the hospital. However, mom always beats 5^th grader, even on Thanksgiving Break with family in town.

            So, I went to the hospital. I didn’t sit in the waiting room for long, because they thought that my appendix was going to rupture soon. So, I got into some hospital gowns and laid on one of those uncomfortable hospital beds. They were planning on me taking a CT scan, so the doctors made me drink this disgusting red smoothie to clear up my insides.

            After 64 ounces of this tomato juice smoothie from Hell and a few vomiting ventures, the doctor came in and said that a CT scan wasn’t necessary, because they would probably just remove my appendix anyways. So I didn’t need to drink that crap. Thanks, doc.

            So, on my 11^th birthday, I was wheeled into an operating room to have my appendix removed. The next time I woke up, it was Thanksgiving and the only nourishment I got was coming from an IV. Delicious.

            It turns out that if the doctors had waited another hour, my appendix would have completely ruptured and it could have killed me. But, as a 5^th grader, the only thing I cared about at the time was getting gipped out of my birthday and Thanksgiving with all of my family in town.

            I can’t say that my hospital stay was horrible. I was constantly being fed Gatorade and Jell-o, watching movies, and walking to the game room next door. Either that or sleeping.

After about a week of hospital stays, I was allowed to eat again. My family that had come from out of town had all left, and all the Thanksgiving leftovers were gone, but anything that wasn’t IV fluid sounded great.

Kneeboarding in Hiawassee

            I have a large family. My dad is the second oldest of 7 children and my mom is the second youngest of 5. Of the 12 kids, 8 live within about 10 miles of each other in Sarasota, FL. That includes my family. Basically, every family event we have is an adventure. Even better, my dad’s parents have a house on Lake Chatuge in the Blue Ridge Mountains in Hiawassee, Georgia.

            Every summer (and sometimes winter), my family takes a 1-2 week trip up to our house in Hiawassee. These trips always consist of our traditional restaurants, endless card games, and lots of time spent out on the boat doing water sports. Normally, because we have so many families taking 1-2 week trips, our time in Hiawassee will overlap with another Sweeney family.

            One New Years’ Eve, my family was up at the house with my mom’s eldest brother and their family who live in Houston. They’re probably my favorite cousins to hang out with. It was cold in Hiawassee, but not snowing cold. Anyways, it had been too cold to go in the water. My cousin Lee, a junior at Texas A&M, and I accepted that challenge.

            It was around 45 degrees outside with a lot of wind and it was starting to rain a little bit. My mom thought this was hilarious, so she took Lee and I out on the boat. I was volunteered to go kneeboarding first. I jumped in the water. I couldn’t feel my extremities for long. I’m guessing that the water was around 35 degrees. I swam as fast as I could to the kneeboard and got going. I learned a quick lesson: kneeboard + cold water + rain = no bueno.

            Normally, I stay on the board for a few minutes before my arms can’t take the stress of a 35-mile an hour boat tugging on them any longer. In that time, I am good for a couple jumps over the wake and some potential 360s. This ride, I stayed on the board for a few minutes, all right, but I only did that to avoid the 35-degree water again. The rain was piercing as it hit my skin, but it was warmer than the water.

            Overall, I love having that experience. It’s something I can hold over my other cousin’s heads when we compete on which tricks we have mastered. However, it is definitely a one-time experience. And I wouldn’t suggest anybody else doing that.

Passion 2012

            I stepped out of my car after the eight-hour drive at The Varsity, a world famous hot dog diner opened in the 1920s. I was here. This was the place where my friends and I would convene. Coming from Florida, Arkansas, Kansas, and Texas, the five of us would gather together in Atlanta, Passion City, for Passion 2012. All I had heard about Passion were great things, but it left me with no idea what to expect.

            The Reed Brothers, Will Peters, Jared Lax, and I headed to the W hotel, where we would check in before heading over to the Georgia Dome. We had no idea how many people would be at Passion; just a lot. After parking our car, we had to head in to the Georgia Congress Center to register and pick up our IDs and wristbands. Little did I know we would be in line with 45,000 college students.

            Passion is defined as “strong and barely controllable emotion.” The Passion Conference, led by Louie Giglio and Chris Tomlin, channels the “barely controllable emotions” of college students towards Christ.

            After waiting for what seemed like forever to register, I headed into the Georgia Dome, eagerly awaiting the beginning of Passion. I was sitting in the back of one of the lower sections, about 50 yards from the biggest stage I had seen in my life. People everywhere were talking, people on stage were reading Bible chapters, and I had no idea where to focus my attention.

            Before I knew it, Christ Tomlin, Christy Nockells, Kristian Stanfill, and the rest of the Passion band came on stage. I had chills. Forty-five thousand college students were on their feet, hearts open, arms lifted high, praising Jesus. I had chills. All I could do was join, overcome by the Holy Spirit.

            After about 45 minutes of worship, Louie Giglio made his first appearance. His presence and message were awesome. Like, they put me in awe. I’ve listened to his first message four or five times now, but hearing it for the first time, surrounded by 44,999 other college students was incredible.

            After the message, we broke up into our community groups. Our communities were determined by the color of our wristband. Mine was yellow. When we got into our communities, I was told that we would be dividing into family groups. I looked around, knowing nobody, and was told by our community group leader, Matt Metzger, to find somebody random to pair up with, and they would be our first partner. I caught the eyes of somebody and put out my hand, “Hey, I’m Jimmy.”

            The response I got was completely unexpected. “NO WAY, MY NAME’S JIMMY, TOO!” Family member number one: Jimmy Funchess.

            Then, we were told to find another pair with the same birthday month as one of our original two. With no luck, Jimmy and I joined another random pair. Family group members three and four: Brock Fiedler and Charity Fischer.

            Last, we had to find another random group of 4. Members five through eight of my family: Amy Clark, Megan Berndt, Hailey Patrick, and Stephanie Danielle. Eight people, hailing from Florida, Texas, Michigan, Tennessee, Georgia, and Montana; all of us brought together by the grace of God.

            Day 1 of Passion was just the beginning of the greatest spiritual growth I have felt in my life. I carry that Passion I felt with me everyday of my life, and I hope that someday I can be brought together with the same eight people who helped me grow so immensely again.

Byron Nelson: Boy to Man

            After my exploration of the library in search of my last magazine article, I finally had a pretty good idea of where to look. I’ve been spending a lot of time in the library lately. Anyways, tracking down an article from the 50s or 60s was much easier than the 20s or 30s. Very quickly, I was sitting with a copy of The New Yorker dated October 13, 1954. I just so happened to pick up an issue that featured a profile on professional golfer Byron Nelson, so I figured I would engage myself in the realm of sports…again.

            I’ve found it funny this semester how almost anything can be related to coming-of-age. This article is no different. It begins with congratulating Nelson as PGA Tour Golfer of the Year, and then dips into Nelson’s childhood. Growing up, Nelson saw golfer Walter Hagen as his idol, and that is something that continued into his adulthood. Among some other details, the article shows how Nelson’s childhood experiences led to his development as a golfer.

            More than just reading the article, I want to explore the differences between the 20s magazine and the 50s magazine. First off, the feature article in the 50s was much shorter. I thought this was interesting, but it also lends to the idea that life was getting busier and busier, which is a trend that has clearly continued to develop. It made me wonder about the 50s. Today, we look at that time period and think of how slow paced they lived their lives. Did they look at the 20s and earlier and think the exact same thing? Just some food for thought.

            Anyways, probably the first and most striking difference that I noticed was the picture. In the 20s magazine, stick figure drawings and sketches were featured. Not the case anymore. There was a huge picture of Byron Nelson at the end of his golf swing taking up about a third of the page. I was definitely more attracted to the sight of the picture and more drawn to the article because of it.

            Overall, it’s interesting to look at the changes in the magazines from just a few decades, then to look at the current issue of ESPN the Magazine and be in awe of the vast changes. I can’t really imagine living and reading magazines without the extremely high resolution pictures, so this was a really eye-opening exercise to think about how print has developed.