I peaked at 17.
It was a sad realization, the first time I said that out loud. But now, as all the work I did in high school appears to be coming back and giving me a little encouraging slap on the ass, we’ve moved into the acceptance phase.
Unlike grief, we’ll have denial and anger later, when money rolls in and pounds roll off.
Apologies: this is one of those journal-entry posts. I will be funny again eventually, but I’m pretty sure the strep infection has to leave first.
I spent my weekend with 11 teenagers, who in turn led 200 middle-schoolers in prayer, song and spirit.
I threatened their lives and livelihoods; I shouted and demanded and furrowed my brow; I denied them food and forced them to work their little fingers to the guitar-stringed callous.
And they relished every moment.
Since I managed not to injure a single one — a fact I already regret — I fear they may not take me seriously in the future.
Perhaps I’ll open with human sacrifice next time.