A new idea.

Because I work many hours doing a job that a trained monkey could do I
have plenty of time to think. (Because I don’t have to think to do my
job.) I was thinking today that I’d actually put xanga to use in a
different way. I’m not sure how much people actually read other
people’s xanga sites anymore. It seems to me, according to my
“footprints” that Google comes to my site more than anyone else. Google
is really there for me. I mean, every holiday it is there for me. Every
question I have in school it can answer. I love you Google, even if you
are taking over the world.

That was not the point. Anyway, my idea would be to type a story that
comes to my mind during work of my childhood. It might be interesting,
it might not be. I will plan to do this every day. If you don’t find it
interesting, don’t read it. No biggie. It will probably end up being
more for me anyway. I already have a lot recorded here on Xanga. I’ve
had it over 4 years now.

These stories will all be true, and not really thought out until I type
it here on Xanga. So sorry for bad grammar, boring-ness, or lack of
creativity. It’s my life.

—

I remember this one time when I was probably fourteen. I was
on a hiking trip in West Virginia
with my Boy Scout troop. Not many of my friends came. Mostly kids that were in
high school already were the ones that came. I believe it was the summer before
my freshman year. The only friend I had with me was Andy Marshall. We were
hiking four days in the backcountry before we were going to go white water
rafting on the New River. The four days of
hiking were strenuous and we always were traveling many miles a day at a fast
rate. I think at day two we were stopped at a nice camping spot near a creek
with a waterfall. Of course all of us boys wanted to go to the waterfall, so we
all did. My father came as a chaperone and he went down below as we went up to
the top. The creek was pretty shallow and we all walked up near the edge of the
waterfall. It was about a twenty-five to thirty feet drop down to the water
below. Jeff Lasher and some other kids started making some ghetto rigged
fishing poles. They had brought some line and hooks. It was very mossy and slick
and we were all kind of sliding all around the place. My father was down below
looking at rocks and shells on the shoreline of the creek. He yelled up to us
to be careful because we were all
hiking tomorrow. I was embarrassed because I was a fourteen year old kid whose
dad seemed like the bad cop. I kind of ignored him. I walked up to the edge of
the waterfall and slipped a little, losing my balance. A shot of adrenaline shot
through my body and the next thing I know I’m sliding down the rock. Everyone
gasps as they try to see if I’m going to fall all the way down. My father is
not looking in our direction at all. And it is at this moment in time that I
swear that time was moving in slow motion. I slipped more catching myself
between some rocks. I was holding myself in an “X” position. I was getting wet
as the waterfall was pouring on my back. I had no option. I was stuck. Either I
prolonged the long fall down, or I just let go and got it over with. I couldn’t
move, and my father was still looking the other direction. The whole scene went
through my head a million times. Me falling, my father turning around, everyone
looking down at me, me being wet-including my hiking boots. I finally had to
make the horrible decision to let go. I fell. I fell twenty-five to thirty feet
into probably six to seven feet of water. As I hit the water, which felt like
it was thirty degrees, my father turned around with a look of horror in his
eyes. “Who fell? MY SON!!!” Everyone was asking if I was alright. I was in
shock and barely able to swim over to the shore as I doggy-paddled to safety. My
boots were wet, my father was furious, and I was dazed.

-Andrew