I was heartbroken. Devastated. My dreams were instantly dashed against the rocks of reality. I would never live in a teepee or hunt wild game with a bow and arrow. I would never don my war paint, leaving my squaw behind to protect my people. For this day, this horribly dark day, was when I realized that when my dad referred to me as "bull in a china shop" he was not calling me by my native American moniker. Instead, he was referring to my innate ability to destroy everything in my path with relative ease. It's a gift; what can I say? It's become a running joke throughout my entire life. "I can't have nothin nice!" If I get a nice shirt, I get splattered with grease. If I buy a new car, I ding it leaving the lot. I can break anything. But, that's not the frustrating part. What really drives me crazy is that the harder I try, the faster everything falls apart. I'm the anti-Fonzi. By the way, did you ever notice that the only thing Fonzi ever beat up was that stupid jukebox?
I would describe the child version of Jamey as a people pleaser. These days I realize that most people would be much better served by my lack of involvement in their day to day lives. But as a child I desperately wanted to have a hand in other people's happiness. I couldn't get out of my own way. There are two instances from my childhood that truly drive this point home.
If the doors were open, we were at church. I'm sure that my mom's devotion to taking me to church was not solely based around her concern for my eternal soul. I figure that she was more than happy to release hurricane Jamey on anyone dumb enough to agree. Relax mom, I'm just joking. But seriously, you were always WAY too excited every year when our week long vacation bible school rolled around. That's a heck of a respite.
Anyway, the thing about a people pleaser, especially a very independent people pleaser, is that you have to be very careful what you say around them. If you give them the slightest opening for them to slap on their superhero cape, they'll do it. Someone really should've given Mr. Terry, my Royal Ambassador's teacher, this sound advice. One Wednesday night, he goes in to graphic detail about the struggles of a future mission trip that he intended to take. He was very involved in church building, and told us all about a church he would be traveling to in California to help finish building. This was going to be no picnic. This church had massive funding issues and was far behind schedule in their progress. I remember being horrified at the thought of these desperate builders who had completely run out of money to buy nails! How could these poor people ever expect to worship if they can't hold the building together. I imagined that California must surely resemble one of those third world countries I'd seen on TV. I guess I thought Sally Struthers was hanging out somewhere near the Bay area.
This would not do! This was a job for Jamey!!! I stewed on this information for the next two days and finally developed a sure fire plan to save this church. I would panhandle outside our local grocery store. After all, who else was better equipped to come to the rescue of these poor Californians than the steady flow of millionaires patronizing a stop and shop in a rural Mississippi town? So off I headed, with a collection box of sorts, riding my bmx down to the grocery store first thing Saturday morning. Just to make sure it was on the up and up, I visited with the proprietor to explain my intentions and the dire need of this mission. He agreed that I could stand out front. I can only imagine the employee pow wow before they opened up. "OK guys, we really need a strong day today. It's summer, so all the BBQ items will be flying off the shelves. Cashiers, we are no longer accepting checks from Mr. So and So, he's bounced two this year already. Everyone have a good day, and don't forget to point and laugh at the Nolan kid out front begging people for money."
I put in a full day's work. The patrons were awestruck at the stories of woe I told about this mysterious unfinished church. The coins, and occasional bills, were flowing like milk and honey. I was really working the crowd. My tales were met with oos and ahhs to beat the band. I fancied myself a young televangelist. If only I could muster up some tears to really seal the deal. But no, that would be too much. After all, these people had bills of their own to pay. If I turned the pity knob up to eleven, God only knows how many people would've coughed up every penny they had! Once lunch time came, I retired to the Nolan house to grab a bite and report my success to my parents. As I walked in the house, my mom asked me where I'd been. To which I replied THIRTY SIX DOLLARS!!! "Huh," she said as she stopped what she was doing to come investigate. "Where did you get that money?" I looked at her quizzically and replied, "from lots of people." I then went on to explain that it was for Mr. Terry's mission work. "OH MY GOSH, JAMEY. You've been collecting money in the middle of town." That's when the error of my excited state hit me.
My mother then spent the next thirty minutes trying to get me to remember who all had given me the money, to no avail. She finally decided that we would give the money to the church during the next offering. That way, it would be used for good. It's amazing how quickly you can go from feeling like a savior to feeling like an idiot.
The next story comes from junior high. My 7th grade year, I was drowning in the depths of hormonal embarrassment. Nothing is worse than when you realize that if you're "cool" enough a girl would like you, yet you have NO FREAKING IDEA how to be "cool" enough.
To understand this story, you need to learn a little geography, so I'll draw a map below.
***SCHOOL*** ***Mom's office*** ***Grocery Store***
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Highway 11
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***Donut Shop***
As you can see, my mom's office was on the way to my school. Down the highway a little was a grocery store on one side and a donut shop on the other. My mom worked for the postal service and went to work very early in the morning. I figured it would be a nice gesture to surprise her with breakfast before heading to school. Again, I hopped on my bmx bike and huffed it down to the grocery store to see what their bakery had by way of breakfast items. I was upset to find their selection and quality somewhat lacking. Running low on time, I decided to huff it back across the highway to the donut shop for a last minute breakfast rescue. Now, crossing a major highway on a bicycle can be a daunting task for a 13 year old, so I took the haul ass approach. I took off and picked up enough speed to dash in between cars, not realizing that what you don't see can definitely hurt you. I had no idea that right in my path, on the other side of the highway, was a pothole that would rival the marianas trench. By the time I saw it, it was too late. My front tire disappeared and I flew forward with a surprising jolt. One problem, I didn't separate from the bike. Instead, I became entangled in the bike frame and we collectively tumbled through the gravel parking lot, coming to a grinding halt about twenty feet from the pot hole. As I struggled to my feet, the guy behind the donut shop window asked, "holy crap man, are you alright?" I nodded and requested two of his finest glazed donuts and a dozen donut holes.
As he prepared my sophisticated order, I began to survey the damage. Yep, just as I figured. I'm bleeding from EVERYWHERE. I'm numbed from the shock, but can somehow feel the slight tickle of blood trickling down my arms, legs, torso, and chin. I pay for the donuts and dutifully deliver them to my mom's office. As she opens the door, she screams in horror at the visual in front of her. I don't say a word. I simply reach my hand out and hand her a white paper bag of donuts, covered in blood. Wow, what a breakfast. She takes me to the back bathroom and tries to tend to my wounds. In all honestly, I probably needed stitches, but we simply applied more band-aids and off to school I went.
I'll never forget sitting in Mr. Schlott's class as one of my female classmates shrieks in horror and raised her hand. "Umm, Mr. Schlott? Jamey's bleeding into his socks!"
Yep, I was clearly on my way to ladykiller extraordinaire!
Ha Ha Ha Ha...that's all I've got! I don't feel so bad about my broken finger now! :)
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