All I wanted was attention from girls when I was a kid. Then I got my braces off, and then there was too much attention, and I was also mad that they didn't pay attention to me in the first place. Then I was just like, I couldn't put on blinders and focus on one because there were too many options.
was very fun to be around. She liked movies, and her brother Frank made her tapes of this great music that she shared with us. But over the summer she had her braces taken off, and she got a little taller and prettier and grew breasts. Now, she acts a lot dumber in the hallways, especially when boys are around. And I think it's sad because Susan doesn't look as happy.
Grade 9: I was too small for football, too shy for drama class, but I did have a passion for music. And so, with a mouth full of braces (and a glorious mullet), I accepted that the trombone would be a fantastic scholastic counterpart to my extracurricular loves: country music, and the guitar.
It's amazing how much time and money can be saved in the world of dating by close attention to detail. A white sock here, a pair of red braces there, a gray slip-on shoe, a swastika, are as often as not all one needs to tell you there's no point in writing down phone numbers and forking out for expensive lunches because it's never going to be a runner.
It truly is a little intimidating to go speak at a middle school. Sure, on one hand the kids are only around 13 years old, but on the other hand, merely going back there reactivates the dorky, miserable feeling of being that age again. It isn't easy. As soon as I arrived I could almost feel the braces on my teeth, the don't-look-at-me slouch of my shoulders, the feathered wings of my bangs.
I love kids that come to shows, little kids coming up to you with braces; like, some kid came up to me in a parking lot outside a show in Santa Cruz - he was about 14 or 15 - and he said, 'Y'know, I love 'The Basketball Diaries,' but I hope your next book of poetry isn't gonna be as academic as 'Living at the Movies' was.'
We are manipulated by fear and the fear of others, and how we're often manipulated into doing things and voting in ways that are against our own best interest. Look at healthcare. People will tell you that healthcare is socialism and communism, and they're doing this while their wife needs an operation and their kid needs braces.
I'll show up at every classroom open house and teacher conference, ' she said, now in a voice that was almost frightening in its intensity. 'I'll bake brownies. My child will have new clothes. Her shoes will fit. She'll get her shots, and she'll get her braces. We'll start a college fund next week. I'll tell her I love her every damn day.' If that wasn't a great plan for being a good mother, I couldn't imagine what a better one could be.
I'll show up at every classroom open house and teacher conference,' she said, now in a voice that was almost frightening in its intensity. 'I'll bake brownies. My child will have new clothes. Her shoes will fit. She'll get her shots, and she'll get her braces. We'll start a college fund next week. I'll tell her I love her every damn day.' If that wasn't a great plan for being a good mother, I couldn't imagine what a better one could be
So . . . middle school? Awkward.Having a hobby that's different from everyone else's? Awkward. Singing the national anthem on weekends instead of going to sleepovers? More awkward. Braces? Awkward. Gain a lot of weight before you hit the growth spurt? Awkward. Frizzy hair, don't embrace the curls yet? Awkward. Try to straighten it? Awkward!So many phases!
Is it not possible to look beyond the canes, the wheelchairs, the braces, and the crutches into the hearts of the people who have need of these aids? They are human beings and want only to be treated as ordinary people. They may appear different, move awkwardly, and speak haltingly, but they have the same feelings. ... They want to be loved for what they are inside, without any prejudice for their impairment. Can there not be more tolerance for differences-differences in capacity, differences in body and in mind?
James E. Faust
There is a picture of me in their heads, a picture of someone I don't know yet. She is not the chubby girl with the braces and bad perm. She is not the girl hiding in the bathroom at recess. She is someone new, a blank slate they have named beautiful. That is what I am now: beautiful, with this new body and face and hair and clothes. Beautiful, with this erasing of history.
But what he said was true enough: I had recently destroyed a perfectly good set of wire braces by straightening them to pick a lock. Father had grumbled, of course, but had made another appointment to have me netted and dragged back up to London, to that third-floor ironmonger's shop in Farringdon Street, where I would be strapped to a board like Boris Karloff as various bits of ironmongery were shoved into my mouth, screwed in, and bolted to my gums.
This was middle school, the age of miracles, the time when kids shot up three inches over the summer, when breasts bloomed from nothing, when voices dipped and dove. Our first flaws were emerging, but they were being corrected. Blurry vision could be fixed invisibly with the magic of the contact lens. Crooked teeth were pulled straight with braces. Spotty skin could be chemically cleared. Some girls were turning beautiful. A few boys were growing tall.
Karen Thompson Walker
Not fair? Oh, I'm sorry I get this lovely laptop computing device when all you get is the ability to walk, control your hands, and know you'll survive until your eighteenth birthday." Then the kid was going, "Uh, I didn't mean..." But Tad wasn't done yet. While the whole class watched in horror, he put his hands through the metal support braces on the arms of his wheelchair and forced himself to stand up. Then he took a shaky little step to the side, gestured toward the chair, and said, "Why don't you take a turn with the laptop? You can even have my seat.
But, Mike, I don't want to wear a brace.' 'You'll give it a chance, won't you?' 'Well, if I can wear it under my clothes.' 'Sure and you can. I've made it that soft it won't chafe.' I took off my shirt and undid the top buttons of my underwear. 'You'll have to put it on me, Mike. I'll never figure out how it works.' 'Lift up your arms, then, and I'll slip it on.' I did. But instead of slipping it over my arms, it was himself he slipped between them. He kissed me in the hollow of my throat, and it was a long time before we got those braces on.
Hope is critical to both faith and charity. When disobedience, disappointment, and procrastination erode faith, hope is there to uphold our faith. When frustration and impatience challenge charity, hope braces our resolve and urges us to care for our fellowmen even without expectation of reward. The brighter our hope, the greater our faith. The stronger our hope, the purer our charity.
Dieter F. Uchtdorf
We often hear of bad weather, but in reality, no weather is bad. It is all delightful, though in different ways. Some weather may be bad for farmers or crops, but for man all kinds are good. Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating. As Ruskin says, "There is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.
Religious people tend to encounter, among those who are not, a cemented certainty that belief in God is a crutch for the weak and the fearful... Now the belief in God may turn out at the last trump to be a mistake. Meantime, let us be quite clear, it is not merely the comfort of the simple-though it is that too, much to its glory-it is a formidable intellectual position with which most of the first-class minds of the human race, century in and century out, have concurred, each in his own way... speaking of crutches-Freud can be a crutch, Marx can be a crutch, rationalism can be a crutch, and atheism can be two canes and a pair of iron braces. We none of us have all the answers, nor are we likely to have. But in the country of the halt, the man who is surest he has no limp may be the worst-crippled.
The Doctor. He grabbed hold of Rory's ankle, dragging him protesting out from under the table. 'Rory!' he grinned, wrapping him in an enourmous bear hug that squeezed the breath out of him. 'I've been you!' 'Right, ' mumbled Rory. 'You've had a gorgeous time, I bet.' 'Not... especially, no.' The Doctor stepped back, his eyes were wide and dancing. 'Did you escape from any monsters? Did you set anything on fire? I'm always doing that. Honestly, one minute it's Tell Me Your Plans, the next it's BOOOM! My insurance premiums are terrible... Anyhow, you're all back to normal, yes?' 'Yes.' Rory was ever so tight-lipped. The Doctor nudged him with his elbow. 'Go on then. What was it like being me? Wasn't it just a bit brilliant? Did it open up your tiny mind?' Rory looked a little ill. 'It's nice to be me, actually. I'm not a hero... And what was it like being me?' he asked. The Doctor tugged at his braces, embarrassed. 'Oh, don't apologize - I'm sure I'll get over it.
Touch" You are already asleep. I lower myself in next to you, my skin slightly numb with the restraint of habits, the patina of self, the black frost of outsideness, so that even unclothed it is a resilient chilly hardness, a superficially malleable, dead rubbery texture. You are a mound of bedclothes, where the cat in sleep braces its paws against your calf through the blankets, and kneads each paw in turn. Meanwhile and slowly I feel a is it my own warmth surfacing or the ferment of your whole body that in darkness beneath the cover is stealing bit by bit to break down that chill. You turn and hold me tightly, do you know who I am or am I your mother or the nearest human being to hold on to in a dreamed pogrom. What I, now loosened, sink into is an old big place, it is there already, for you are already there, and the cat got there before you, yet it is hard to locate. What is more, the place is not found but seeps from our touch in continuous creation, dark enclosing cocoon round ourselves alone, dark wide realm where we walk with everyone.
22'S ON THAT BENT TRUCK, 22 ON THAT BEN TUCK COST 22 FOR THAT BRICK CUT, GOT 22 ON MY MENS UP YEAH WE COOL BUT I'VE BEEN FUCKED OLD NEWS, MAN I OLD SCHOOL, NEVER ROCK YOU LOOK AT MY GOLD JEWELS FAR FROM GO BUT HOLD TOOLS SO DON'T MOVE, BLACK GLOVE AND THAT 9 OH GET HIT WITH THAT RHINO, LET MIND GO, YOU BE A WHINO LAID OUT, I'M IN GRIND MODE, DON'T WORRY BOUT WHAT I SIGN FOR MY JEWELRY BOX LIKE A TIME SHOW BOUT A HUNDRED ROCKS ON MY TIME SHOW YOUNG SEAN PAUL, BAD BOY IN THIS GANG LAND WE IN ALL JUST TO MAINTAIN, I'M CHIEFING HARD LIKE BANG BANG WHEN IN YOUR CAR, THAT GAME CHANGE HOPPIN OUT OF THAT MAYBACH, I PUSH BUTTONS LIKE PLAYBACKS WRIST SLOPPY GET ASAP TAKE THAT, TAKE THAT NEVER LIKE THAT FAKE SHIT, THAT BITCH SHIT, THAT SNAKE SHIT I'M RICH BITCH AND I'M WASTED BIG 50'S ON THEM LACES, BIG WRIST AND THEM BRACELETS ALL IN YOUR GRIP WITH NO BRACES I'M WHO THEY FEEL SO EMBRACE IT
Yesterday while I was on the side of the mat next to some wrestlers who were warming up for their next match, I found myself standing side by side next to an extraordinary wrestler. He was warming up and he had that look of desperation on his face that wrestlers get when their match is about to start and their coach is across the gym coaching on another mat in a match that is already in progress. 'Hey do you have a coach.' I asked him. 'He's not here right now.' He quietly answered me ready to take on the task of wrestling his opponent alone. 'Would you mind if I coached you?' His face tilted up at me with a slight smile and said. 'That would be great.' Through the sounds of whistles and yelling fans I heard him ask me what my name was. 'My name is John.' I replied. 'Hi John, I am Nishan' he said while extending his hand for a handshake. He paused for a second and then he said to me: 'John I am going to lose this match'. He said that as if he was preparing me so I wouldn't get hurt when my coaching skills didn't work magic with him today. I just said, 'Nishan - No score of a match will ever make you a winner. You are already a winner by stepping onto that mat.' With that he just smiled and slowly ran on to the mat, ready for battle, but half knowing what the probable outcome would be. When you first see Nishan you will notice that his legs are frail - very frail. So frail that they have to be supported by custom made, form fitted braces to help support and straighten his limbs. Braces that I recognize all to well. Some would say Nishan has a handicap. I say that he has a gift. To me the word handicap is a word that describes what one 'can't do'. That doesn't describe Nishan. Nishan is doing. The word 'gift' is a word that describes something of value that you give to others. And without knowing it, Nishan is giving us all a gift. I believe Nishan's gift is inspiration. The ability to look the odds in the eye and say 'You don't pertain to me.' The ability to keep moving forward. Perseverance. A 'Whatever it takes' attitude. As he predicted, the outcome of his match wasn't great. That is, if the only thing you judge a wrestling match by is the actual score. Nishan tried as hard as he could, but he couldn't overcome the twenty-six pound weight difference that he was giving up to his opponent on this day in order to compete. You see, Nishan weighs only 80 pounds and the lowest weight class in this tournament was 106. Nishan knew he was spotting his opponent 26 pounds going into every match on this day. He wrestled anyway. I never did get the chance to ask him why he wrestles, but if I had to guess I would say, after watching him all day long, that Nishan wrestles for the same reasons that we all wrestle for. We wrestle to feel alive, to push ourselves to our mental, physical and emotional limits - levels we never knew we could reach. We wrestle to learn to use 100% of what we have today in hopes that our maximum today will be our minimum tomorrow. We wrestle to measure where we started from, to know where we are now, and to plan on getting where we want to be in the future. We wrestle to look the seemingly insurmountable opponent right in the eye and say, 'Bring it on. - I can take whatever you can dish out.' Sometimes life is your opponent and just showing up is a victory. You don't need to score more points than your opponent in order to accomplish that. No Nishan didn't score more points than any of his opponents on this day, that would have been nice, but I don't believe that was the most important thing to Nishan. Without knowing for sure - the most important thing to him on this day was to walk with pride like a wrestler up to a thirty two foot circle, have all eyes from the crowd on him, to watch him compete one on one against his opponent - giving it all that he had. That is what competition is all about. Most of the times in wrestlin
John A. Passaro