Letter for Jones 3/2018

Hey bud,

I have 85 students spread out in 4 different subjects.  Any public High School teacher

would drool over having only 85 students.  This is over 6 periods too, so my average class

size is 13.  Most of my students are 9th and 10th graders.  Over half are Korean and most

Korean students are a year older than their North American, Vietnamese, and Russian

peers.  Given all this, most of my students are the same age as you when you left.

It isn’t easy for me to identify the impact that your passing has had on my

professional trajectory, but I know the two have deep roots that are intertwined.  At the

Colorado Outdoor Education Center, we frequently reflected on our past.  Why were we

there?  What drew us to be with kids?  At the beginning of every summer staff training, we

would sit on the hill, watch the sun creep high in the sky over Pikes Peak and share stories

about family, friends, community, and hardships.  In the four wonderful, memorable

summers I spent at camp, not one of those mornings on the hill did I share my story with 
dry eyes.  At least twice I remember referencing my time as a high school risk taker.  
I shared that I saw people miss opportunities, make poor choices, run with the wrong crew,

break the law, and break themselves.  Often we were involved in these behaviors together.

It made sense to use these experiences to justify my time with kids in the mountains,

showing them the real way to get high - hiking, pushing yourself physically and mentally,

making meaningful friendships, and having a shoulder to cry on when the going got tough.

I wanted to do everything in my power to show kids a healthy way to live a wholesome life,

because I didn’t want anyone to experience the long term pain of subtle self harm and the

sharp emotional stabs of losing a loved one to this trap.  We were in it together. I wish we

still were.  I want other kids to avoid wishing they still were too as they grow old.

Most Fridays I play soccer after school with the varsity soccer team.  It feels like a

celebrity shot in beer pong - I’m not the coach, I’m not on the team, I’m absent from practice

Monday-Thursday, but Friday afternoon I get to run and play with a grip of fit Korean boys.  

These times remind me of our epic backyard and pick up games growing up.  In the early

days, you and I and Johnny would play “De--Aw,” which was short for Defense-Offense, in

the narrow field next to the arboretum at Highlands Elementary.  One person would be

Steve Young, one was Jerry Rice, and another was Deion Sanders.  No one else in the NFL

mattered to us.  Niners or bust. Thanks Dads!  We played backyard football until the last

days at Boise High.  We played at everyone's house.  Particularly yours, but also Johnny’s.

We played at schools, parks, and in cul-de-sacs.  It was always heated and pretty evenly

matched.  The glory days of youth sports - no parents, no refs.  Just bros. I have a vivid

memory of you making an epic hail mary catch in the fall leaves on a Sunday evening in the

small field surrounded by the parking lot lined with trees at Highlands.  Just like Jerry. His

signed Jersey hung on your wall forever.  

We used to shoot hoops in your long driveway on Park Hill.  We would lower the rim

enough to dunk, but soon enough we bent the rim so much it wasn’t as fun to play real ball.

We shot hoops and Johnny’s, Reid’s, Pete's, my house.  You and I were never the all-stars,

but we still played.  At one point we were playing at Pete’s, I beat you to the hoop, and you

pushed me into the post and sent me to the hospital for a half dozen stitches on my knee.

That injury contributed to my decision to quit playing competitive soccer and start the

Sunset Boys - 3 seasons of unadulterated fun.  We played frisbee and basketball for warm

ups.  We had loads of fun squashing less fortunate teams.  All in all, we had maximum

teenage fun disgracing the game.  The only thing I regret is not playing quite hard enough to

ever take home the gold.  For you however, I imagine beating Timberline in the final for 3

years straight wasn’t your prerogative for being a sunset boy.  

Playing with these High School boys at St. Paul reminds me of our formative  years of

healthy competition.  You and your folks’ back 40 were instrumental in the development of 
our sporting days.  So much sweat, so many swear words, so much stamina to make us

stronger.  I miss the innocence of pick-up, backyard sports with the boys.  I get to feel a

tinge of this every Friday as I step on the pitch to release from a week in the classroom.  

Talk soon bro,

JB

Letters for Jones 2/2018

26/2/2018

Hey there brother,

My Fiance, Molly, and I moved to Vietnam 7 months ago to pursue a long time goal of living in another country.  Before we moved I started writing a blog with the idea of sharing my traveling adventures with my friends and family with an introspective twist.  I mentioned this to a Venezuelan Entrepreneur on the bus to take my under-the-table motorbike license test (which I failed, but they gave to me anyway) and he said, “kind of like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance?”  I replied yes. My writing passions are changing though. I still want to update my friends and family, but recently I have begun questioning my writing platform. I am engaged in so many amazing and new experiences as a first year teacher in an east asian country.  With a flood of new ideas inspired by a slight shift in my lifestyle, I desire to make more meaning out of this experience than only occasionally updating a travelogue. I kept telling Molly how I want to synthesize my experiences and make connections between my experiences: the conversations I have with locals and travelers, memoires and historical texts I’ve read, meetings with monks, time touring temples, teaching predominantly Asian students, focus on whole body health, and navigating city life.  A synthesis isn’t the endpoint - it is like mindfulness, a constant process of focusing and refocusing depending on what is most important in the moment. Finding greater meaning out of these isolated experiences, for me, can only be aided and guided by writing.

I’m not sure if you remember this, but I have been writing in a journal regularly since 1998.  In 5th grade I mostly wrote about girls. Ashley Zimmerman and Sarah Park had frequent appearances and my love for you, Johnny, Jeff Ball, and Grant made nearly every page.  I still write regularly, but I think the topics are a little more real and adult. Who knows, in the next twenty years with a teenager or two pushing my parental boundaries I may look back on today's entries as naive and young too.  For many years after your passing I titled most of my entries to you. I wrote to you as if you were reading them. I pretended you had access to my thoughts, emotions, and successes because I knew you wouldn’t judge me from your current place.  For whatever reasons, my entries to you became less frequent. These days I only write to you when you make the now infrequent appearance in my dreams. But when you do, it is always vivid, special, and very personal. We talk. You are aware you are no longer with us, but you are peaceful.  

So last week Molly and I were walking down River Road in Siem Reap, Cambodia. We had been discussing a potential writing platform other than the blog.  She suggested a mini-series titled “Letters for Jones” and I immediately liked the idea. Writing to you brings me back to the days of writing to you in my journal.  It brings back strong memories of you and of you and I together. Before we went to Cambodia, we were with Molly’s parents in Central Vietnam exploring the amazing historic town of Hoi An by bicycle, foot, and basket boat.  During our time there, however, Chuck’s brother, Molly’s uncle Steve, passed away after a long battle with cancer. We were all somber for the better part of a day, but Chuck shared an important insight. Our culture isn’t comfortable talking about death unless it is a recent event.  Chuck wanted to turn this idea upside down and share story after story about uncle Steve and his encounters with Mexican red wolves deep in the dessert, his race fiascos from many famous marathons, and his dedication to his family and spirituality. The sadness was numbed by good memories and the laughs produced by sharing them.

After Mol suggested the “Letters for Jones” idea, I thought back to the previous week surrounding our family story time with Molly's parents.  “Letters for Jones” also seemed like the perfect remedy for something your sister shared with me last time we met in Boise two winters ago; she was afraid people were forgetting about you.  I want to remind your family that I have not forgotten about you and I think of you often. The letters are meant to connect my current experiences to memories of our interconnected upbringing.  I hope you and your family enjoy the updates of my current situation and the memories they provoke of our wonderful childhood and adolescence together.

All my peace and all my love to you brother.  Tears bring happiness to my memories of you.

J

Blackburns Unite in Vietnam

Checking out the coastal Pagoda - Phu Quoc 

Beach Time with Spunky

Molly and I are so grateful to have spent nearly two weeks with a familial band of Idahoans in Vietlandia.  Blackburns, Betts, Cardoza, Morgan, Radis and Mudie- our blended and extended family created quite the wake on Phu Quoc Island in southern Vietnam.  The spud squad survived the first few days of jetlag, language barrier mishaps, immigration shakedowns, less than sanitary food options, motorbike/flesh collisions, and a New year's celebration induced, brain-rattling hotel orientation. 

By the end of their time, everyone had found their groove.  Rex and his larger than life curiosity, generosity, and bald and big physique  acquired the nickname Buddha by more than one of the locals.  Tara navigated the hit and miss food scene well enough to find a dynamite street BBQ spot by the last. We shared laughs with the hosts regarding their gestures to Tara and Alex about their, unbeknownst to them, future child - a classic projection by the older gen on us 30-somethings without kids. Over vodka shots and rice wine at the plastic tables sidewalk restaurant, we bonded with the family who was joyous serving us and admiring the ease to which we could manage our own table top grill.  Cardoza ate enough local fruit to put a dent in the national supply.  During our final stroll around town before departure, Barb was dodging motos, weaving slender sidewalk corridors, and saying hello and thank you with a seemingly well-practiced accent.  

Everyone was stoked to have good old Spunky Betts and his girlfriend Emily along for much of the fun also.  Spunk and Emily brought young adventurous energy to the equation after their 2 week head-first tour of Vietnam.

It was special to spend the last meal of my 20s with all these wonderful humans and a grip of Hanoi friends too.  I will forever cherish the time spent with my family on their first Asian visit, seeing the friendliness beneath the dusty, and at times crusty initial image of the place and its people.  We like it here well enough and were thrilled to show people we love our new - yet certainly temporary - life.  Now looking forward to our venture to new places and peoples with the Radises next month!