Haven't posted in a while...

Been tossing around the idea of getting back into the mix. We'll see how it goes.

Some people have asked me to post the speech I gave at the Leadership Banquet last week. And you all know how I love to give the people what they want...

2^nd lieutenant Benjamin Warren Golemo, 101^st Airborne, United States Military Academy at West Point class of 2007 left this morning for his first-ever platoon command somewhere in Baghdad.

My best friend. My closest soul. My biggest fan. My favorite person in the world. God’s greatest gift to me. My brother.

He’s leaving to fight a war about which I don’t think anyone knows exactly how to feel to defend a country, that while I love it with all my heart… I don’t know is always right.

And the job my brother is doing. His M.O.S. is without a doubt the most dangerous job in all of the Allied forces. He’s leading a platoon whose job it is to find, disarm or discharge the IED’s (Improvised Explosive Devices) that are responsible for nearly 40% of all of our soldiers killed or injured during Operation Iraqi Freedom.

And he fought for the job.

When he told me this, I screamed at him. “The world’s got enough heroes, Ben! And you’re not good-looking enough to have your face plastered on the dollar. Cause your nose is huge.” (He has a beak, I’m not kidding. The man can smoke a cigar in the shower.)

I asked him why? Your degree is in mechanical and electrical engineering. You should be behind a desk. A big, metal, desk…. Behind concrete walls… underground.

And he told me that there is no way he’d let someone else take his bullet. Those men need people who do, not assign. I’m here to lead.

Yeah.

Well never one to let the fact that I’m completely wrong keep me from making my point, I responded to him to spare me the “Hooah Army Poster-boy shhhstuff” and I reminded him that he has a family to worry about. I told him what it would do to me if he were to get hurt… or worse…

And he told me that he couldn’t think of a better way to honor our family than to lead where others might falter. What’s more, he said that he learned this not from weeks at Boot camp, or 4 years at the Point, or much less, an Army of One poster.

He said he learned it from a lifetime of watching me.

Yeah. Life has a way of putting you in your place.

He began to talk about my job and where I went versus where I could have gone and why.

You know, the best thing I have ever done in my life is be the big brother in a family. I went to Baylor, 854 miles from my doorstep, because a hot girl talked me into applying and I didn’t know a soul.

I became a Community Leader on that campus because I missed my family. I missed being a brother. That was one thing I knew I was good at it. I believe we are all called to honor each other; to be brothers and sisters to one another.

And then I found out I could get paid to talk other people believing that load, too.

I’ve got the best job on campus. Maybe I don’t get to sit in my Ivory tower… I mean CLB. Maybe I don't have a really intimidating nickname like "The Grinder." Maybe I don’t get a snazzy office with a sorta creepy Paper Mache Sarge to make my head look proportional by comparison... And no, maybe I don’t have the honor or contumacious grit to pull off the bow tie.

Yeah, Ricki, I said contumacious…. You DON’T want to play me in facebook scrabble.

I have the honor of working with a group of students. 15 fine young men and women willing to put their hearts and butts on the line, 15 men and women with hearts set for service, 15 men and women trying to be big brothers and sisters worrying about the rules only because they inform the safety and well-being of the community on campus.

15 men and women trying to be big brothers and sisters to people who sometimes don’t want a big brother or a sister… and they can be quite vocal about saying so.

William Quillen. What’s your number one job? (God, I hope he says: "To know all your residents.")

Why? (Because if we’re all doing our job, there’s not a single resident on campus who can say that someone doesn’t know their name.)

I have the privilege and blessing of rolling out of bed and walking 40 yards to an office full of people who refuse do put up with anything less.

I look around this room and I see the knowing glances that we don’t lead because it looks good on a resume, or because it gives our egos a nice stroke. We lead because, leading in right direction, is a service to our brothers and sisters.

As I look around this room, I see that the idea of honoring each other by being brother and sister to one another; to get in each other’s way and cheer them on when they’re doing well and maybe kick them in the rear when they’re living a little left…I can see that see very clearly in the eyes of each of you, each and every one of you, that this idea is not lost on a generation.

I don’t care what Todd Sutherland says.

(The speech went over well)

The Break in Spring

I've had some interesting Spring Breaks. I've gone to Chicago. I've gone to Colorado. I've gone to Washington, DC. So the prospect of staying here in Galveston, Texas didn't seem overwhelmingly amazing. But it ended up possibly being my best ever.

I got two play host to not one, but two world-wise and savvy modern-day Elizabeth Bennets. Sara and Em, thank-you for allowing me to be one of the cheering throng beside your parade through the world. For the life of me, I cannot remember being more entertained while entertaining. You were the perfect guests.

The last few days, however, I've kept a promise and done absolutely no work. Which means, that for the last 72 hours, I've had no place to hide from my thoughts.

It's tough to walk on a beach and not get sorta philosophical. You have waves crashing into other waves, driving them in slightly other directions and each carrying sand here and there. You have little boys who pose for pictures that parents will use as blackmail later in their lives. You have little girls who run around with little pot-bellies completely oblivious to things such as tan lines and muffin-tops. And I'll spare you a metaphor my mind concocted for old German men in banana hammocks...

But this week I've noticed how absurd life can be. How entropic the world can seem. A friend gets scammed on Ebay. Another friend is awaiting news about the "lumps" she found. And people are trying to figure out if they can find all the peices of their broken hearts. And even I, with nary a thing to complain about, am frustrated when I look at the machinery of my life.

One thing this job has taught me very well is that it is one thing to have the outlook that everything in life, for good or bad, can be used to give us perspective. That every moment is but one in a billion-billion. That we can't appreciate the good without the bad.

But it is another thing altogether to try and translate that smug and high-brow thought to someone who is dealing with the prospect of litterally losing a part of their body. Where the fuck do I get off? And so here I am, normally verbose and witty, reduced to "oh man... wow... I don't know what to say."

But then again maybe I should just have the balls to say that. No?

I'm consistently shocked that in all the entropy of life, in all the absurd things that happen without any apparent reason, I see one distinct universal truth: that no one is immune. Everyone has something. Cancer, quadrapolegia, death, loss, a broken heart. Hell, even in my favorite case study: Paris Hilton we see something: that the apparent lack of any hardship at all has completely atrophied any muscle that could allow her any meaningful interaction with the real world.

She is the leopard raised in captivity and fed spam on sticks.

Even I, with the world on my platter: a sharp wit, shining personality and stunning good looks have my issues. I have painted myself into a corner where I have no community outside of my very wonderful job. And instead of dealing with it by searching, I've buried my head in the sand of my work. And I have been so oblivious to my whole situation that I couldn't even recognize that I might be attracted to someone. I had simply cut that part of my diet out. No vitamin C. And now I'm fighting emotional scurvy.

Yeah, I know I took that last metaphor a couple sentences too long, but maybe I just wanted to show off my knowledge of scurvy there.

I guess my point is that everyone has something. Everyone is a little bit broken. Everyone has something to which they're trying to adapt or from which they're fighting back. Its all part of the natural current of things. If we're night fighting, we're dying. And seeing as how that really is the one thing that every person has in common, maybe we're called to help each other out. Maybe we're called to push each other in a slightly different direction. We need to get in each other's way.

We all have our broken parts. And maybe, just maybe, if I'm man enough to pour into others and even more manly of me, if I could have the guts to let someone pour into me, I could make my wounds heal. And something tells me they'd be stronger at the break.

From the G to the H

Right.

So here sits I, listening to a little Nas, trying to enjoy a little moment of mental centeredness. Right now, I am the King of all I survey. Both in the emotional AND the office-management meaning of the phrase.

Its a quiet world.

In about three hours, I'm about to start my drive from my New home of Galveston, Texas to my old Home of Hamilton, Illinois. I know I've talked about this before, but I'm fascinated by how when I'm here, I'm a respected (okay, semi-respected) Student Services Professional. People call me "Mr. Golemo" sometimes.

But somewhere between here and "The Big Ill" I shed the cape and top hat of decorum and professionality and am left 6 years old, in my spiderman underoos, crying about how I my sister hurt my hand... with her face... [wimpers... with occasional glances to see if Pappacho is buying it]

I'm no longer "Neil E. Golemo, with a Master's of Education" I'm "Neeeeeeely Golemo, who never stops master-..." -well you get the idea.

High school was a tough time for me. I was a very late-bloomer with a strong case of Catholic guilt and parent's who were too tricky to let me underacheive... too much. I didn't drink. I didn't chew... and I didn't go with the girls that do... no matter how hard I might have tried.

And no matter how confident I am in the man I know I've become, hob-nobbing with famous and powerful people, making meaningful friendships and finding true purpose in a job I freaking love, some not small part of me still yearns for the acceptance of the people I was too blinded by insecurity to get to really know. Yeah, I can call them stuck-up -because sometimes they were. But I played the game too, right? We were doing the Sharks and Jets dance... but in the end we were the same. It turns out High Schoolers are a lot like people.

I'm no better.

I often say that a person never changes more in their lives than they do in that first year from the summer before and after their freshman year of college. And I stand by that. So its fascinating and fustrating and surprising and disappointing and scary to go back home to try and fit yourself, with your new square edges, if even for a night, into a round hole you never really fit into in the first place. And scariest of all, when you realize that maybe your edges are a little bit more round than you thought they were. And round is comforting.

So I'm excited to go back home. And I'm becoming ok with that. Hamilton might not be a great place for me to live. But it was a fantastic place for me to be from. I'm okay with that.

And I always love my visits.

Texas, I'll be back in a minute.

Rounding out the edges

For Thanksgiving this year, I went to Lake Jackson, Texas, tagging along with two friends of mine, Baylor grads who have adopted me since I moved to Galveston.

It was weird and different and strange for a plethora of reasons: it was my first Thanksgiving ever spent outside of the state of Illinois, it was my first Thanksgiving without a family member within smacking distance, my first Thanksgiving without my brother and sisters. We fried the Turkey. It was extremely nice and pleasant. I enjoyed myself immensely and was, haha, very thankful for the hospitality I enjoyed.

I'm 25 now. So this was my 26th Thanksgiving. Wow.

I overheard a lady the other day talking about how "this year Thanksgiving is just another day to me." I remember my head snapping back to look at her as if maybe the statement was just a figment of my overactive imagination. Thanksgiving, while yes, starting and ending with the sun just as any other day, could never be such in my eyes.

Thanksgiving is when my mom and at least 2 of her 4 sisters and all of their families, progeny, entourages and hangers-on make the twisty drive down my Grandma's grey gravel lane, skirting the pond and park by the garage. They hold their platters high and hug absent-mindedly as they dodge outdoor dogs whose behavior is only cared about around family gatherings.

I listen to my cousin Monica repeat the same gripe for the 20th year in a row about "who she has to knock off to get a seat at the grown-up table... she has two children for crap's sake." My cousin Zach usually practices his stand-up and button-pushing on us, centering on Steve, Monica's husband. It's pretty simple: get Steve to laugh, then Monica will be mad at him for encouraging Zach and Zach... is free. Go Zach Go.

Andee, not to be outdone invariable has one of her family get-together melt-downs. Epic, my friends. No one ever remembers what starts it all off. (Its always Zach's, Nick's or my fault.) We're usually too distracted by Andee's verbal flailings and accusations of abandonment when we should be staying out of her business in the first place. It nearly always ends up with her locking herself in the bathroom. Sweet Jesus, I miss her.

So yes, I missed all of that. I missed showing up with my parents and fighting for a seat on the couch. I missed doing dishes elbow-to-elbow with a cousin who also said something dumb. I missed being asked by my Great-Great-Great Aunt Dorethy (who tells the best stories) where my "seniorita" is? I moved to Texas. I guess I asked for it. I missed sitting at the kid's table.

It was a little strange sitting at the head of the only table at Thanksgiving, eating fried Turkey and corn-bread stuffing with pecans, being 1 of only 7 people, drinking fine wine and talking of trips to Australia's wine country and not the bowel movements of my brother's roommates. It was a little strange. But not bad.

I got a little perspective this year. I got to see how others live. I got to experience an "adult" Thanksgiving. The kind that people who don't have 3 brothers and sisters enjoy. I am thankful for that, not sad. Brian and Kristen cared enough about me to bring me into their homes and welcome me as their guest. These two people who, a month ago barely knew me from Adam. I am blessed for that.

I guess that's the great thing about perspective. It helps us to round out the edges. As I was telling my friend Charlotte, a broken heart stretches our boundaries and helps us appreciate how good it feels to have love.

The turkey tastes better when you've gone hungry.

A warm blanket feels better when you've been cold.

And being home feels the greatest when you've been a stranger in a strange land for months.

I can't help but wonder if maybe Paris Hilton wouldn't be such a vapid bitch if she had an understanding what it was like to be hungry and cold and lonely and tired but having to work anyway. She has no experience to help her see. When I think of how my hurts have help me appreciate my joys, and how my loves have helped me truly feel the depth and fidelity of my losses, I feel horrible for how meaningless everything must seem for her. No wonder she whores herself for attention, she's desperate for feeling.

I love how the world was constructed to teach. If we're willing to consider them, every little experience, from stop-light to chemo-therapy, can help us to better understand the "why's" and "what-for's." It's tiring, I know. But we feel for a reason, and we don't hurt without one. Don't worry about the reason. Just wonder why.

If life is a game. Play the 48, enjoy the orange slices Jimmy's mom brought, and worry about the score later.

So let her eat cake...

Today, my little sister leaves our fine nation of apple pie, football and “Don’t Tread on Me” for a land of Tart O’ Pomme, Joue au Foot and “I’m le tired…” It is a big deal. She’ll be on her own for really the first time in her life. I don’t believe she has ever been farther away than a day-trip from her parents… ever.

Elizabeth is, and always has been, the baby of the family. And with our clan, this came with its perks and its quirks.

For instance, I remember the tete a tete (a tete a tete)’s between the four of the Golemo children invariably resulting in having Beth always be the one to “butter-up” my father when we wanted to see a movie on a Friday night instead of “spending real time, damnit” at home playing Trivial Pursuit as a family. Yeah, dad, “real-cheap-time.”

As the youngest of 4 button-pushing children, Elizabeth was always more than just the “cute one.” She was a combo-plate of a full-size, interactive, babydoll, 11th man, lab-rat, and test-monkey.

Through taking advantage of her natural trust and adoration, Kate, Ben and I were all able to learn much about life and the human condition. We all took advantage of her naiveté (ah, the malleability of the young mind) and used her as a personal megaphone from one time to another. If we thought the actions of a certain family member, for instance, was askew but family politics (where hypocrisy is defined) demanded that we keep that particular opinion to ourselves, one needed only to make a well-worded observation in an authoritative voice within earshot of an always-eager-to-be-paid-attention-to Elizabeth, and then remember to act shocked when we hear the opinion how “Rachel has always been a slut when it comes to Ross” spew forth from the mouth of a 3-year-old.

They grow up so fast.

My sister has what could be the worst temper of anyone I’ve ever known; especially when it comes to showing violence. And upon a moment’s reflection, I don’t know that I am not at least partially responsible. I remember the three of us torturing her based on her inability to pronounce certain phrases such as “froon-ral” as opposed to “funeral.” “Froon-ral girl! Froonral girl!” we’d croon. My mother still tells stories about how my little sister would just simply make words up, when she couldn’t remember which one to use. For instance, “Steel Pag-na-doolian” starring Sally Field, Dolly Parton, Julia Roberts, Olympia Dukakis, etc. was a favorite movie of hers as a 4 year-old. “And why not?” my mother would defend.

But back to her temper, I remember once watching her stop -in mid-swing- and with narrowed eyes, coldly consider the hammer in her hands to muse which end (the claw or the head) would do more damage to the face of an older (handsomer) brother who just gave her a wet-willy.
I remember watching my father hold her with one arm and hold a spoon in one of her hands with his other arm and help her lip-sync Stevie Wonder to the entertainment of us all. So one can understand how strange it is to imagine my little sister living –more or less- on her own, in a country across an ocean (a big one, at that).

I don’t doubt her ability to make it on her own. Not at all. It just sorta snuck up on me. She turned 21 last month. When did this happen? I don’t know if I’m ready to stop seeing her in her First-Communion dress practicing converting the neighbor kids with Necco-wafers.

Elizabeth, just like all of my parent’s children, has never really resided in the real world. With her, it really is possible to make a living as a theatre major with a degree from a small school and tons of college debt. And you know, I’m not so sure that she’s wrong. The world is changed not by those who see things as they are, but as they could be.

One more story. I remember when I got the make-a-wish thingy and our family took the trip to Disney World and then up along the East Coast. “Our great family adventure.” Yes, I remember the dorky matching outfits we all wore “in case one of us got lost, we’d all know what everyone else was wearing.” I remember meeting Mickey and the smug look on my father’s face when he found a faster way to do anything.

But I also remember the one who had the most fun of us all, the one who made friends with every waitress or waiter or stockboy at every restaurant or store to which our horde went. I remember the one of us all who managed to make an impression upon every park-ranger and tour guide we met. It wasn’t the bald-headed kid on chemo. It wasn’t the sharp-witted older sister. And it wasn’t the always solemn and completely honest Bennie-hanna. It was the two-year old who had no fear and knew no strangers.

Bon chance, Elizabeth Erin Rose Golemo. I envy the hearts you’ll make a little bigger wherever you go.

Bon Voyage, and Bon chance!

Je t’aime.

40 years of Awesomeness

Today we celebrate the 40th anniversary of the first episode of Star Trek.

Thank-you, Creator, Gene Roddenberry, for giving all Nerds a common flag under which they may join, comiserate, and with the help of a well-stocked bar at the convention hotel, multiply.

For 40 years, you've helped the world to know that a series full of flimsy plots, formulaic story lines and squelchy acting can truly be more than the sum of its parts. (MTV owes you one.)

For what you've done with so little, we salute you.

For what you've done for the world, we thank you.

Please, live long, and prosper.

Life is in the contrast

Today was a day like the first time you’re rough-housing with a new girlfriend and she accidentally pops you in the nose. Things are still fun. Things are still cute. But see if you don’t keep an eye on that left hook of hers from now on.

I love it here in Galveston. I feel like I’m kicking ass. I’m having fun. I’m making mistakes and that’s okay. I’m trying. I’m doing things right. And that’s good too. I’m being overbearing and riding on my RA’s. I’m challenging them. And they’re challenging me right back.

Working with James… well its like working with Fred G. Sanford from Sanford and Sons. You really have no idea from one moment to the next whether he’s going to say something crass, complain, piss off a student or clutch his chest and wail: “I’m a-comin, Elizabeth!” Ol’ Jimmy, he keeps it interesting.

I have a boss that has my back. He works for the people who work for him. And for that, he’s earned my very hardest effort. I feel good about things.

However, today… Today was that bop in the schnozz from a pretty girl. I was scattered from the moment I woke up. It was one of those days where everything seemed to be taking twice as many trips because you keep forgetting keys, which seem to disappear the moment you put them on your desk. Everything took me at least two tries today. I left my I.D. in my apartment, went to the office and grabbed the wrong spare key, so I had to do the walk of shame back to the office again get the right spare key to let myself back into my apartment so I can waste another 20 minutes looking for the key that ended up being in the pocket of the pants I was sure I had already checked.

I ruffled the feathers of the one group of people on campus I really can’t afford to ruffle. And what’s more, it sorta went down in such a way that, in my standing up for myself, I’m afraid I might have got them bopped in the nose themselves. I think I’d rather have taken the hit and saved the political currency for a rainier day. But I wouldn’t have been the only one suffering the hit, so I couldn’t.

Apparently, not everyone on campus sees me as Baylor’s gift to the A&M world. Surprise.

Everything took twice as long to do today. I felt like everything I did rubbed people the wrong way. It was the sort of day that made you really understand the phrase: “the road to hell is paved in good intentions.” My intentions were pure, I still think my execution was true. But you know there’s many a slip twixt the cup and the lip. And I seemed to definitely be missing that damn lip today.

But today I also had my very first 1-on-1 with an RA. Not a big production. It is merely meant as time with her supervisor to help her get an idea of her performance as well as a chance for the supervisor to get feedback on their performance. But also, it’s a chance for me to get nosey and let them get nosey as well. After we covered the basic crap about what she had planned insofar as programming, I had a chance to ask her about her boyfriend of nearly 2 years. I had a chance to let her know that I do think about our interactions and that I do notice things. I love bonding.

And then I gave her the chance to ask me anything. And Sweet Jesus, she went straight for the jugular. Girls. So I was completely honest, though I don’t know she was impressed with the answer. I told her where I was.

We talked about how I’m getting used to living on my own, for the first time ever, after moving from a place where I knew everyone and everything to a place where a month later I’m still a little hazy on how the “hold” button works on the phones. I admitted that it’s a little hard to close my door at night and walk around an empty apartment, hearing no other voices than those on T.V. and my own.

I kinda want a dog. Or maybe a cat.

It was all a little easier to deal when I was working the 14-hour days during the planning of RA Training, the actual days of RA training and then Check-in and Gig ‘Em Week. But now that I’m getting the hang of things, I’m finding that the world actually won’t stop spinning on its axis without me and I actually don’t have to be around all the time.

So what do I do now? I’ve been working out again. I play about two hours of basketball and then follow that up with a quick run around the periphery of campus (two, if I’m feeling saucey or the basketball games were only half-court).

Um, I watch House on Tuesdays at 7 and The Contender at 9. But I don’t really like watching T.V. by myself.

I’ve been bothering the residents on my floor. I mess with the Bulletin Board. Sometimes I go back to the office and check my email, mess with my To Do lists for the next day, straighten things up, take out the trash and save Virginia a little work.

But really lately, I’ve been spending a lot of my free time thinking about how blessed I am to be where I am. I seriously have the greatest job in the world. I freaking love every single one of my RA’s. I think we both began to tear up [still in the 1-on-1] when I was telling her this.

Yes, things are a little… different. But I love the fact that I have days like this. I love that I’m not in a perfect situation. I think that we, as people, need to be a little uncomfortable. We need to have that struggle, that uphill fight, to keep us pushing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a masochist, [I am Catholic]. I just think that we need to have a sense of accomplishment.

We need to have those sour days so we can appreciate the sweet ones. We need to have bad bosses so we can appreciate the good ones. We need to have our hearts broken from time to time, so we know how to truly use them. Life is all about contrasts.

Today was a classic case of this. I had my moment with Danielle where I sorta began to choke up. Because it was during a 1-on-1 with my first Hall Director and Mentor, Andrew Telep, when I first realized the path God had chosen for my life. I wanted to be a Hall Director. I wanted to have 1-on-1’s with RA’s and hope God will use me, as unworthy as I may be, to pour into their lives as I had others pour into me. I don’t think I realized this morning how that moment was 4 years in the making. I don’t think Danielle realized it either. Hell, I’m not sure I fully grasp it as I’m typing.

I guess my point is that I need to be thankful for days like these. Life is in the contrast, fellas. Thank the black so I can see the white.

Dropping it like its hot,
Neil