So, I figured I’d post them here for all to enjoy. I have corrected some, but not all, of the grammar and spelling. My handwriting is very hard to read, especially since it’s cursive.

The Day I Awoke As A Quaker

by Adam White

Grade: 75 (No Rough Draft)

One night while I was sleeping, I dreamed a weird dream, it went like this.

One day I woke up and it was Sunday, So I asked my mom when we were going to church and she said “Hush or somebody might hear you, us Quakers don’t go to church” She said. I said, “What,We always do that.” She said, “You must have been dreaming.” I told her that I was going to play in the front yard, but she said “Where are you going?” so I told her “to play” but she said “no you’re not, you’ve got to go work in the field.” I said “field? What field?” and she said “the one out back.”

So I went and looked out back and there was a REALLY big field out there about 200 acres big. She said “Go out there, we have 3000 pounds of seed we have to plant by hand.” I said, “yeah right!”

“Get out there and help your dad” she said. “And what are you going to do?” I asked. “Work inside” she replied. “That’s really hard work.” I said. (NOTE: I believe this was meant to convey sarcasm.)

So she said, “Okay you stay inside and work. Start with cooking, the pot is over there.” I looked and the pot looked like it weighed 500 pounds and the stew would make it weigh at least 600 pounds in all.

I had to cook, clean, sew, lift big pots, and make bread. So, I passed out.

I woke up with someone saying, “wake up Adam, wake up.” And it was a school day, so I went to school.

The end.

Analysis

As you can see, I was a stellar writer in fifth grade. I think the final two paragraphs and the ‘the end’ statement really nail the ending down.

This story reminds me of a bad movie where right at it climaxes, it ends.

Example: Dragon Against Vampire

80 Minutes of climax, then BAM 1 minute of ending.

This week, I found a few photos of the Saddest Dog In The World

Courtesy of Lexi B.

I learned that there is such a thing as Sexy Bicycles.

I discovered the real reason people play twister.

I found a great new song.

I learned a few new ways to compliment a woman.

I was reminded that the world belongs to those who hustle.

I received my autographed copy of The Art of Manliness by, and from, Brett & Kate McKay. Thanks Brett!

Ladies

Can’t decide what to get your manly man for the big day? Well I’ve got the thing for you. It’s Ben Thompson’s book Badass. Why should you get him this book for valentines? First off, it’s a book, it will be good for him to read something. Second, it’s manly and guarantees to diffuse his anxiety of the moment. Lastly, this is a great book. Ben was a history major who had ADHD and got bored easy, so instead of studying the textbook answers he decided to go out and see “how badass” these historical figures were and he’s done an awesome job. It’s funny, manly, and you actually learn history. You can’t go wrong with this book.

Gentlemen

You get the good stuff. I’m going to tell you how to write a love letter. As you can see from above, you’re getting an awesome book for valentines day, so the lease you can do is write your special lady a love letter. I’ll also give you an example! Exciting.

Why?

You may be like most men of this day and see the love letter as something that shows weakness, but it’s quite the contrary. Hemmingway, Churchill, Roosevelt, and many of the manliest men ever wrote about not just the generality of love, but the love of their lady.

I advise people to write letters often, but I always get responses similar to: “But I tell her I love her everyday” or “I give her flowers all of the time!” None of this matters. General George S. Patton once said, speaking about marriage: “Do not think now that you have her that you do not have to worry about losing her; never think that!” Patton was right, even though the bond of love is stronger than simple attention, it requires work and maintenance, and if you pen a love letter I guarantee you will be well rewarded.

How?

I’m going to steal a few notes from Brett on this one, but only because he has written it so eloquently.

1. State Your Purpose. Let her know right away that this is a love letter, not a ‘Dear John’ letter. Don’t let her heart beat with feverish anticipation of being broken up with throughout the letter only to end in love. It’s gotta be all love my friend.

2. Add A Romantic Memory. You two share a special bond that is steeped in a history of love. Remember what she was wearing when you two first met? How silly she looked in that giant peanut M&M’s outfit, but her eyes were so beautiful and you just had to talk to her. Show her that you remember.

3. What Do You Love About Her? Here’s where you get to splurge. Like if I were writing a letter to my motorcycle I would say something along the lines of “I know it’s been 11 years since the day I first laid eyes on you, but your sleek curves and yellow tones still take my breath away.” The truth is, my motorcycle has seen better days, but I still love it, and I would never tell it that!

4. How Has She Changed Your Life? Are colors brighter? Did the chirping of birds turn to songs of joy after you met? Do you enjoy sushi now instead of cringing at the thought of it? I’ve been there, I know the feelings, and you do too. I know they’re hard to express, but put them in words, for her.

5. Sum Up Your Love. I know, just the though of trying to ‘summarize’ your feelings for her is daunting, but you can do it. Combine the gist of the entire letter into one paragraph and toss in a commitment for more love and better things in the future, chicks dig that sort of thing.

Inspiration

Alright, I’m finally going to share with everyone one of the greatest and most powerful pieces of literature I have ever read. It’s something I was turned on to over at AoM and have held dear ever since I found it. I actually printed it out and carry a copy in my satchel.

The following is a letter written by Union Officer Sullivan Ballou, to his wife Sarah, a few days before he died in the Battle of Bull Run. Do not take it lightly, it will make a grown man cry:

July the 14th, 1861

Washington D.C.

My very dear Sarah:

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days-perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.

Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure-and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine O God, be done. If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing-perfectly willing-to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.

But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows-when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear little children-is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country?

I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me, many of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death-and I, suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with God, my country, and thee.

I have sought most closely and diligently, and often in my breast, for a wrong motive in thus hazarding the happiness of those I loved and I could not find one. A pure love of my country and of the principles have often advocated before the people and “the name of honor that I love more than I fear death” have called upon me, and I have obeyed.

Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me-perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar-that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.

Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.

But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the garish day and in the darkest night-amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours-always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.

Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.

As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father’s love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood. Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters. Tell my two mothers his and hers I call God’s blessing upon them. O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.

Sullivan

Tears and chill bumps. That’s what I got the first time I read that. The final words of love from a man who is faced with his nearing death.

Now take up your pens and write (remember, no typing) your love letter. Use Sullivan Ballou and Sarah as inspiration.

As always, if you need ANY help writing a love letter or finding a gift for your loved one, hit me up any way you know how. There’s a contact page, comments under this post, or if you know me personally, get up with me that way.

With Love Everlasting,

-Adam

What was I listening to when I wrote this post?

I’ve finally decided to share that tale, enjoy.

In the Beginning…God Created Adam

Much much later, I was born. An imperfect child, to an imperfect mother, who was married to an imperfect man, my father.

Like most children, I ran, played, made grave mistakes, but also made great triumphs. I read a lot, created much, and destroyed more.

One day I decided to drop out of school and I did. People laughed, I was called a genius, I was called a failure, and eventually I scored higher than them all on the ACT’s and went to college.

I applied to Cornell first, but was notified that I did not qualify for their financial aid. Since I had many friends at Auburn, I decided to apply there and attended community college in the mean time, which is where I learned then immediately forgot how to play piano.

Even though my ACT scores were good; Auburn decided that I was not. I was denied, 3 times. By this time I had already moved to Auburn with anticipation of starting, but time passed and I was still uneducated.

One day while keeping up my Marksmanship, I ran into a gentleman who, among other things, was a very good shot. He also happened to be the Dean of Admissions and the one man who could let me in and the next morning, he did.

I went to college for many years, drank a beer or two, worked, played,  and eventually gave up. I had had enough and needed a break. California was the farthest away I could think of, so, I called my friend Dave and flew out to San Francisco.

After only about two weeks of job searching I was hired by a BusinessWeek Top 50 Startup (no big deal). When I received the call with the job offer, I was in the Salt Lake City, Utah, airport. My parents offered me their 2001 Honda Pilot to drive back out to help with my job search and to use once I got a job, which was a deal I could not turn down.

I told them I would start work the following Tuesday, which would give me ample time to get back to California.

The Journey – Cali or Bust

The plan was set. I would go from Dothan, to Auburn for the night, then trek to Austin and stay the night, take a night in Phoenix with my Aunt and Uncle, then back to my sweet baby Castro Valley.

Day 1 – Wednesday

I said my farewells and I departed Dothan, new car in hand, ready to roll.

I needed to stop off in Auburn to get some clothes I had left and to say some farewells to old friends. I calculated that it only added maybe an hour to my trip overall. Not much happened that day and I left early the next morning for Austin.

Day 2 – Thursday

Full of food, coffee, and good music, Austin here I come.

The drive through the middle-south of Alabama isn’t a very scenic one. There are mostly trees and nothing else. I drove, and drove, and drove.

I finally arrived in Austin for the night and made great time. I met up with my friend Caesar for some good food and drinks.

We hit the town for a little while that night. Austin is a pretty wild place, they even close down the streets so people can wander from bar to bar in safety.

That night I slept in a tool shed. Yes, I can prove it, there are witnesses. It wasn’t a bad deal, it had an air mattress and A/C, no complaints here!

Day 3 – Friday

Up with the sun and headed West!

I had some trouble finding my way out of Austin. The standard Honda Pilot navigation has a goal of getting you lost and while trying to figure that out, I neglected to watch for speed traps. Enter, Johnson City, Texas.

Yes, you guessed it, this booming metropolis is home to former President Lyndon B. Johnson. Is it named after him? Well of course not, it’s named after his great-grandfather.

I’ve poke a little fun at them so far, but Johnson City, Texas is also home to one of the nicest police officers I have ever met.

While fooling with my navitron 12000 system, I hit a trap and was pulled over for going 55 in a 35. I broke the law and I was punished.

The officer approached my vehicle and started apologizing profusely for having pulled me over and assured me that he would have everything taken care of as quickly as possible, he just needed my license. No insurance, no registration, no questions. Less than 3 minutes later he came back with my license, along with the ticket, and a hand written note on exactly how to go online and get out of the ticket. “They’ll tell you several times you have to pay the fine,” he said. “Tell them I said you don’t have to.”

What a great morning!

Trouble Brewing

If you’ve ever been through West Texas you know that it’s a very boring place to drive. So boring, in fact, that they raise the speed limit there to help with your pain.

I re-fuelled and stocked up on snacks and headed West.

About an hour or so later, while traveling on I-10, I saw what looked like dark storm clouds hundreds of miles to the North, but soon, they were right on top of me.

I was suddenly caught in the worst storm of my life. I couldn’t see anything in front of me, then the hail started, I let off the gas as I was climbing a hill. I was now traveling at about 50 mph and as I approached the top of the hill I lightly pressed the brakes so I could pull over and avoid this mess. Hail everywhere, rain pouring, and wind blowing.

As I crested the plateau a strong gust of wind hit me from the right side, I started spinning violently, hail slamming the car from all directions, I couldn’t see anything. I turned the wheel left, then right, then left, then right, gas, brake, gas, brake, then I felt the car leave the road, I suddenly started traveling straight backwards, I looked into the rearview and all I saw was a dark rock face.

It’s amazing how many thoughts can go through your mind when you wreck, then the ones that come when you believe death is imminent, and I thought them all. “Shit!”, “I hope this doesn’t mess up my car!”, “Oh man, I bet that tire just blew out, damnit!” then the realization comes and my final thought was “This will not end well.”

The car had gained angular velocity and struck the rock, in reverse, at about 60 mph, then it began to roll, then end over end, and made it’s final resting place in the ditch, upside down, with the rear of the car facing the road.

The sounds were deafening. The initial crash pretty much knocked out my hearing and the only thing I remember seeing is the darkness of the roadway when I started rolling and then the white of the curtain airbags and they deployed, saving my life.

When I finally came out of the daze, I thought, “I’m most likely very hurt.” I slowly moved my neck left and right, moved both arms, and wiggled my feet. My left arm was in pain, probably broken, but I had no time to worry with little injuries right now.

While I was rolling I had gained a passenger, a 200lb boulder, he was hanging out where the passenger seat and windshield used to be. He also had my new phone on top of him.

I tried dialing 911, no signal, 911, no signal, “Where the hell am I anyway?” I thought. The navigation was still on and it read Sonora, TX. I tried again, no service. I could hear cars driving by, but I knew they couldn’t see me, not with the rain like it was and me being in the ditch. It’s time for action, but what?

By now, all of my worst nightmares were coming true. I had no service, in a place I had never heard of, in my new destroyed car, with cars just driving by and not helping me, and the worst of it? Lady GaGa’s “Just Dance” was BLAREING. Oh, also, all of the gas I had just bought about an hour ago, it was raining down on my head.

This is now how it ends

That was my first though, “This isn’t how I die, I will not go out like this.”

It’s something easier said than done. When you’re 6’4” and 215lbs, a crushed Honda Pilot, upside down, is a coffin. I was able to raise myself up with my good arm and detach the seatbelt with my hurt one. I wiggled around in the Just Dance gasoline madness to see that my Giant OCR cycling bike had made itself into a nice aluminum barrier, meshed with the interior, and blocking my exit.

For a good 20 minutes I kicked that bike with all of the urgency one can, just waiting for the engine to ignite the fumes. Finally, it broke, I kicked out the back window, and I was free.

Covered in glass cuts and gasoline, with my arms in the air, in the rain, and Putbull’s ‘”You Know You Want It” playing as loud as possible, I emerged, victorious over the beast and the fate life had dealt me, but this journey had just begun.

As I emerged, a young soldier was running up to help. I shook his hand and thanked him for stopping, since I had heard so many others just drive by in my 20 minutes of kicking on the bike. His phone also had no service and about 10 minutes later a large tractor trailer truck came by and called 911. I told them both I would be alright and they left.

About 20 minutes later the local police had arrived. There were now barely any signs of rain and  I had already cleaned up most of my things on the side of the road.

It was a total loss. Everything was destroyed, even my toothbrush. My phone, my backpack, and my Pelican Case survived, but their contents did not. It even broke my toothbrush. The $500 I had in the glove box was gone. I imagine there is an equivalent of Davy Jones’ Locker for stuff you lose in car wrecks. I like to think those 5 Benjamin’s are there having a few beers and resting well.

The officers made me sit down and take a load off, which was understandable. At this point I wasn’t really a fan of sitting, but I did as we waited another 20 minutes or so for the ambulance. Two very nice paramedics checked me out. Heart rate, low. Blood pressure, low. Breathing, calm. “Where you really in that car?” They asked. “For a lifetime.” I replied.

I had no insurance at the time, so I sent them on their way, not mentioning my hurt arm.

Finally, the Texas State Police got there. The dirt, pavement, and my car were all bone dry, just as the desert had been a few hours ago. I explained everything that had happened to the officer, who didn’t believe me when I told him it had been raining. I was perturbed, I made the comment; “Why do you think I’m wearing this raincoat?” About that time, the two local officers came to my rescue saying that it had been raining when they arrived.

After the paperwork was done I was told my the police that the only way out of town for someone with little or no money was to call one of the local churches and they would give me a ride to San Antonio.

I’m a Christian just as them, but I do not like being a burden and could not accept their offer.

Victor, the local mechanic and wrecker owner, had been expanding my car back to its normal shape and loading it onto his wrecker while I was talking to the police and I caught a ride back to town with him.

Sonora is hard to describe. It’s very small, but boasts 2 gas stations and a hotel. Oh, there was also an overpass.

As Victor and I were taking the long journey back to his shop in Sonora, I pined my losses. Car, money, stuff, all of it, but you know what? I had never been happier. I was alive. I had gone through the most daunting challenge of my life and emerged victorious, or so I thought.

As we got back to the shop Victor’s wrecker wasn’t running so great and started to break down. “Great,” I thought. We coasted a little ways and pulled into the junk yard. Suddenly, there were screams of “FIRE!”

“Oh crap!” I thought. “My car is on fire, f*cking great!” I jumped off the wrecker and grabbed the extinguisher on the side as Victor grabbed a water hose. It wasn’t my car that was on fire after all, it was Victors wrecker! That’s right, something had gone wrong with the engine and now it was on fire. We extinguished the flames.

“What kind of f*cking day is this?” I thought. Victor and I did a little paperwork. Then I called my family. My father wasn’t very happy that I had wrecked his car, but the past is the past. That Honda was no more.

I called my Aunt and let her know I wouldn’t make it to Phoenix that night.

It was actually still very early in the day, much before noon. I asked Victor where the closes airport was, “San Antonio”, then I asked where the closest car rental was. “3 hours”, then the closest regular car dealership, “3 hours”. “So, I’m screwed?” I said. Victor replied “Well, there’s a bus stop…sort of.” I was ready to see this sort of bus stop and Victor agreed to give me a ride if I would buy him a Coke, but not the 20oz, it had to be a 1 Liter. I agreed and we were off.

The Bus Station

We stopped at the local Shell station so I could repay Victor with a Coke, this is when I found out that I had $205 in my wallet. I purchased Victor and I a Coke and he talked to the attendant as I wandered about.

After about 15 minutes of BS, I said to Victor; “So where is this bus station?” “Your there.” He replied. “You see those four seats out there?” “That’s the bus station.”

I check with the attendant for a bus ticket back to California, it was $200, cash only. It was all I had. If I bought the ticket I wouldn’t be able to buy food, but with food, I would be no good without a ticket. So I bought the ticket, it was about 10am and the bus headed West wasn’t scheduled to arrive until the next morning at 2am.

I sat on those seats for hours upon hours. Finally, my savior arrived. A gas station attendant named Priscilla. Priscilla heard my story and thought that I had put up with enough crap that day. Anything I wanted in the store, she would cover, but I couldn’t take her charity. I’m just not that kind of person, but later I settled for water from the fountain drink machine and old hot dogs. It was probably the greatest meal ever.

Priscilla and I hung out until her shift ended and I was forced back outside. It was probably about 7 or 8pm when I was put out for the night. Priscilla was great and left the lights on for me.

I had 6 more hours before the bus was scheduled to arrive. It was just me and my thoughts. There were no books, no magazines, and there was no newspaper. Except the Devil River News, which was also apparently the local internet service and cellular phone provider. It was possibly the power company too.

Day 4 – Saturday

2AM came and there was no bus. Two more hours would pass before it finally showed up and the worst part is that it was full. The driver told me that there was no more room and I would have to wait for the later bus. I got pretty mad and after sharing some very stern words he let me on the bus. It turns out that they always leave the front seat empty for the driver’s bag. That spot was mine now.

When you ride a bus through Texas, either it stops every 30 minutes to pick someone up, or the Border Patrol stops to make sure you’re all Americans.

My phone had died long ago and my charger was destroyed in the wreck. I had no money and no communication with the world. I could not sleep on the bus, but I was able to catch some sleep on the floor of the El Paso, TX greyhound station.

From El Paso to Tucson I was seated next to a lady who could best be described physically as George Clinton in female form. She had boarded the wrong bus several days before and ended up somewhere in Mexico. Needless to say, she was a crazy person. There are plenty of unsavory characters that ride the bus and I urge you all to fly whenever possible.

Ms. George Clinton didn’t let me get any sleep. To be elderly and fairly fragile looking, she could elbow with the best of them. The only sleep I had gotten since Austin was about 20 minutes on the greasy floor of the El Paso terminal and at this point I was going partially insane.

Day 5 – Sunday, I think

No sleep, battered, bruised, muscle pains out of this world, with glass in my hair an cuts all over my face and body, there I was, riding a Greyhound bus through New Mexico.

Tucson bus terminal was fairly uneventful, I was able to swindle a corndog off of someone and ate a few packets of mustard. Times were tough.

I finally arrived in Phoenix and had about a 4 hour layover. I went looking to score another corndog when something even better came along. There stood my Aunt and little cousin. Apparently my father had done some detective work, figured out my bus schedule, and asked my aunt to come by and make sure I was alright, as well as, give me some cash. I was in corndog heaven.

My aunt looked me over and basically said “F this, the airport is right there, let’s put you on a plane.”

We hopped over to the airport and went to the Southwest counter where I met with the nicest lady who found be a ticket on the next flight out to Oakland for very very cheap. She disobeyed all of their regulations and even took my father’s credit card information over the phone.

After a quick bite to eat, I bid adieu to my family, and headed to security. I was met at security by a Southwest agent who had been sent with a wheelchair. I refused the chair, but she said “trust me.” So, I did.

We passed through security quickly and went straight to the gate, down the jet way, to the door of the plane, which they were holding for me, and placed me on the front row.

As the plane took off from Phoenix you could see a huge dust cloud coming and the pilot let us know that it would be a while before any other planes got off the ground and we were lucky.

After eating more Teddy Grahams than ever, the plane finally landed. I was in Oakland, a short ride from BART (Bay Area Transit Authority), and subsequently not far from my California home.

Day 6 – Monday

I finally got home about 1am and immediately slept, all day.

I took a long bath, cleaned the glass out of my hair and skin, and slept some more.

Day 7 – Tuesday, Time for work.

I woke at 4am that morning and got ready for work. I didn’t have a car, so I had to ride the train. Three trains actually. I walked the 2 miles to the train station at 4:30am and boarded the first train at 5am. It took me over 3 hours to get to work that morning.

My first day, I rocked it. There was a lot of physical labor that day and I was in immense pain, but I hid it well.

That night it took 3 hours to get home by train, then I walked the 2 miles back to my house, and slept.

Rinse and Repeat

Things were pretty much the same for the next few months. There really isn’t anything outstanding to say about it.

Down, but Not Out

You know those days where you feel bad and you just don’t want to get out of bed? I don’t have those days.

Now when I think I’m having a shitty day I think back to that 7 day journey to California and I give thanks to my creator for the ability to feel, period. Even a bad day is a day worth living and I won’t ever forget what it took for me to realize that fact.

We all know that it will be a woman who is the end of me, the bible says so.

And Adam said to the Lord “The woman you put here with me–she gave me some fruit from the tree, and I ate it.”

And Adam was not the one deceived; it was the woman.

I can’t argue with that.

By shear randomness I recently stumbled upon a website with a person’s artwork on it that evoked legitimate emotion in me and truly helped me see the world through the artist’s eyes. It was an experience like little other I have felt when reading a story, watching a movie, or, least of all, viewing a work of art.

I came to the realization that we often take things like art for granted. The heart warming feeling we got when Jim finally proposed to Pam, the sadness we felt when Wilbur’s best friend and savior Charlotte died, or the laughter we derive from almost anything Bill Murray does. These are all forms of art, but the application of these sorts of feelings is hardly ever given to drawings, paintings, or photographs (maybe more to photographs than the others).

In retrospect, I have viewed many paintings in my life and thought “that’s nice,” but what I failed to realize is that the artist has painted or composed an entire story inside the canvas that tells a story just as a book, movie, or television series does and I guarantee as much blood, sweat, and tears went into that piece as well.

This brings me to today’s subject: Compliments, when and why to give them.

Just as I have been complimented by people on things I have written or photos I have taken, I felt compelled to give compliment to this artist, but why?
Disclaimer: These are my own reasons, there is no science to this.

Why? When something surprises me, inspires me, or if I appreciate the amount of work that has gone into something, I give a compliment. Compliments, in turn, inspire and encourage others to not only continue their great work, but they give them the confidence to reach higher and achieve more than either of you thought possible.

Example: I recently purchased a new laptop/messenger bag that is what I would consider quite expensive, but once I received it I was set aback by the amazing care in the packaging of the product, the quality of the leather, and the just meticulous craftsmanship and time that had been put into this bag. I felt compelled to write the man who hand crafted this particular satchel and let him know how much I appreciated his hard work, even though I could have just as easily brushed his drudgery aside by justifying, like many, with the thought “well, it better be good for the price I paid!”
When? I try to send the compliment as soon as it comes into my mind. When I was in college I read a book called “A Gentleman Pens A Note” where the author advises to pen a note when it is fresh on your mind. I believe he says that “a short or hastily prepared note is much better than none at all,” and he’s exactly right.
How? I’m not like most men, I have stationary. Not personalized of course, but just a nice set of envelopes and paper.

When possible, I encourage you to actually WRITE the note and MAIL it. Recently I was rummaging through my parents drawers where I found a drawer full of many of the written Thank You and Compliment letters my father received in his 31 years as a police officer. These letters are sentimental, people value your opinion, whether believe it or not. So I implore you, write it.

I have indescribably terrible handwriting yet I continue to physically write notes. Writing takes time, it conveys how much you actually appreciated whatever you’re complimenting on. Your hands fold the paper, you stuff it in an envelope, saliva is added, it passes through human hands many times and then, eventually, it ends up in the hands of the receiver, who opens it, unfolds what your hands have folded, and reads word for word the lines that you painstakingly inscribed. Just thinking of the entire process from start to finish almost makes it seems magical. Also, I recommend this LAMY Fountain Pen, it’s cheap, has an extra fine nib, and writes oh so smooth.

I am lucky in that I have had the addresses for most people I’ve sent compliments to. If you have to do a little investigating, that’s ok. I wouldn’t find it creepy at all if I received a compliment letter from a stranger, even though it is against the proper rules of etiquette to write a stranger, on personal matters, without proper introduction. Letters of introduction are another subject entirely.

What if you don’t know their address and can’t write a letter? Then get the compliment to them any way you can. Remember, any note is better than none at all.
Adam’s Rules of Compliments

Be Specific – “You look fantastic in that dress!”

Back It Up - “You look fantastic in that dress, it really brings out the blue in your eyes!”

Be Involved - “You look fantastic in that dress, it really brings out the blue in your eyes! Where did you get it?

Be Sincere - Don’t compliment just to compliment, mean it.

Keep It Clean - Don’t make comments that you know are impolite or offensive, you know what I mean.

Now go out there, be somebody, and praise those who impact you.

As always, your comments are greatly appreciated and you should feel free to add anything you like below.

Wayne describes issues that at first he thought only affected himself, but he found actually affected most all men. He discuses how men are more isolated now than they were in the past by confusion or shame of not already knowing the answers. He also discusses general misconceptions of manliness, such as, it’s not considered manly to ask questions like this of other men.

Wayne is correct. I have held back on asking and answering many questions on manliness over the course of my life either, because I didn’t know who to ask, or I was embarrassed that I even had to ask question.

This being said, I have assembled some questions on manliness from many of Brett McKay’s interviews that I have listened to or read and I encourage my male friends to fill them out and reply to me personally or comment below.

I have taken the first step gentlemen and opened up to you with my answers, now I call on you to be a true man and answer them back with your own experiences.

This site is public and I encourage you to use your real name, but if you do not feel safe doing so, I will not judge you for using a false identity.

Again, I hope you’ll listen to the interview with Wayne Levine along with visiting and subscribing to the Art of Manliness website.

First the questions:

1. Tell us about yourself. What is your name? How old are you? What do you do? Etc.

2. When do you feel like you became a man?

3. What does manliness mean to you?

4. What men in your life (living, dead, fictional) have influenced your views on manliness and how?

5. What is a skill your father (or someone who has influenced you) can do well that you can’t do or wish you could do?

6. What is the hardest thing you have had to do so far as a man?

My Answers:

1. My name is Adam White and I am 26 years old. By trade I am a technical engineer, but by

Real Men Love All Animals

education I am a sociologist. I grew up on a farm in Dothan, Alabama where we only had about 3 TV channels and when the president spoke to the nation, he was on all of them. I had a fairly boring childhood, both of my parents worked full time. My father was a police officer and my mother was a school secretary, so I spent most of my time at home or across the street at my grandparents house. As a kid we had encyclopedias and school books and when I was about 13 I got my first computer, which I immediately broke.

My mother had a childhood friend and co-worker in the school system that owned an electronics store, so she dropped me and the computer off there one day so he could repair the machine. I watched him intently and memorized everything he did. The next time I broke it, I fixed it myself. Back before the internet we had bulletin board systems (BBS) and that is where you got everything you wanted to know. I gained access to one of these around the age of 14 and my knowledge of everything expanded rapidly. I was no longer interested in school work, but was completely consumed with the technical knowledge before me. I learned how TV’s worked, How radios worked, and most importantly, how data was transmitted over the phone.

Fast forward about a year and I was offered a job at a local Internet Service Provider by just random chance. I had used their office many times to play video games before the previous owner sold it to the current owners and the one administrator they had took a job elsewhere. Their excuse was “you know it better than we do.” Being young and thrown into this situation was nice because I now felt that I must learn these things. I read every manual for everything in there and ended up working there for the next 4 years improving systems and cutting costs day by day. The business had no money for about the first year and zero dollars is the best budget to work with, why? It forces you to think outside of the box and use things you normally wouldn’t and that is where I learned Unix.

I dropped out of high school at 16 and worked for a few years, I then decided I wanted to go to college. Luckily my great grandfather had left me some money for my education, it wasn’t much, but it was enough to get started. I attended Auburn University off and on for about 6 years, but never graduated.

I eventually got tired of school and decided to put my technical skills to use. I moved to San Francisco and got a job at a startup in Silicon Valley where I worked hard and made very good money, but recently parted with it and am now unemployed (by choice) and considering returning to Auburn to finish my education since I now understand its importance. I like what I do and I am good at it, but I don’t think I want to do it for the rest of my days.

2. I very recently feel like I became a man. Like many it was the culminating of several events over time, such as, the first time you yell at a 10-15 year old kid for throwing rocks or bottles and you see the fear in his eyes, because he knows you’re a man. That happened to me around the age of 24, but even though that kid knew I was a man, I did not.

I lost my latest job because of reasons I cannot discuss because of many intricate contracts, but in the most basic sense I stood up for something I believed in: Integrity, Honestly, and

Be Inspired by the Hard Work of Other Men

Truthfulness. I was taught by the men in my life a few things to live by, primarily: Work Hard, Do It Right The First Time, Do Not Lie, and Don’t Apologize for Standing Up for What You Believe In.

My college had a creed and I never thought anything of it until I was faced with complying or standing up for my beliefs. Many times I recited it in my head, right down until the last minute of work before I was let go.

The primary tenants of the creed I would recite were the following:

I believe it is a practical world and that I can only count on what I earn, there fore I believe in work, hard work. I believe in honest and truthfulness, without which I cannot win the respect and confidence of my fellow men. I believe in a sound mind, in a sound body, and in a spirit that is not afraid.

To this day I get chills when I read these lines. The full creed can be found at http://www.auburn.edu/main/auburn_creed.html for anyone interested in the full version.

My friend Capt. Jones being a Leader of Men

3. Manliness to me means being a leader and a follower, a father and a son, being a professional

but also an amateur. Basically, be the best, but remember you weren’t always that way and youwon’t always be that way.

In Micah 6:8 of the Christian Bible (and subsequently the Auburn Creed) it says one should “act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with his God.” You don’t need to be a Christian to understand this passage just as you don’t have to be a Christian to be a man, but know that while confidence is great, confidence combined with humility is even greater. A man is right in saying he is among the best, but never that he is the best.

4. My father and grandfathers influenced me greatly in life by living out and teaching me daily what I have described in the past passage. Even though I am a southern man from Alabama who’s family grew up in a certainly checkered past, I was raised to be respectful of all races, creeds, and religions. Another man is certainly no lesser of a human being because of the color of skin nor what he believes. Every race as with every religion has their great along with their infamous. As I’m sure we all do, I know more terrible people of my own race and religion than of any others combined.

From my father, grandfathers, uncles, and great uncles I also learned  discipline, duty, and service. You obey the rules or you will be punished. There are certain things expected of you as an American, a man, and a human being. Help those less fortunate and do it for no reason at all.

My Father as a Young Police Officer

5. My father can shoot a pistol in a way I can only dream about. A shotgun shell at 30 yards with a .357? No problem. I can shoot a pistol and some of the time I can hit the target, but his pistol skills are ridiculous. About a year ago he fell and broke his hip and crushed his right wrist and hand. They fixed it all up, but he now walks with a cane and has 2 plates holding his shooting hand together. Don’t start feeling bad for him just yet, because a few weeks ago he had to re-qualify to keep his concealed weapons permit as a retired police officer and while shooting with a couple of his old partners, whom are both still moving about uninhibited by any severe injuries, he shot a 98 out of 100, while they barely qualified with scores in the 60-70 range.

6. This is a tough one, but I would have to say kill a pet out of mercy. Even though it was not my own, but it was still very hard, if not worse.

You see I have a friend who has an old family farm in Clanton, AL (great peaches in those parts) and we would go fishing there in college, just he and I, to get away from the world. On the farm they had an old cat without a name, so we just called him farm cat.

Fishing on the Farm

I know right now some of you are rolling your eyes saying “a cat, really, but you’re a man!?” In my younger days I would agree and say it’s silly, but not anymore. I was raised to love all animals and to never mistreat them. My first cat was more like a dog, his name was Max, and he would come when you called his name and he would sit when you said sit, and he even lived in the back yard with the dogs. Max and I were best friends, but one day Max wandered into the road and his curiosity got the better of him. When I lost Max I was devastated, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t drink, I couldn’t even go to school for a week.

This farm cat, he reminded me of Max. He would come hang out with us while we were fishing on the farm or sitting in the yard. This was his home, he was the only one who lived there, and he wanted us to feel welcome.

One weekend we went to the farm to get away from school and farm cat didn’t come out to greet us in his usual manner, so we figured he was in the barn hunting mice like a good boy. As we ventured around the barn we heard farm cat crying, it sounded odd and low, but he was a farm cat and they never look or sound just right. We found him lying in the floor happy to see us and in seemingly good spirits, but he couldn’t get up and we couldn’t get him to walk by lifting him. It had been very cold lately and farm cat slept on a stone slab.

After a while I called a few veterinarian friends and the consensus was that farm cat had slept on the slab one night when it was entirely too cold and most likely developed some blood clots or had sustained injuries to his spine. Their recommendation, have him euthanized. There were no vets within a hundred miles, I grew up on a farm, and I knew what had to be done.

Farm cat was doing worse and worse as the day went on and my friend convinced me to let farm cat have one good night, give him good food, fix him a warm bed, let him sleep inside, and we made a pact that if he wasn’t better the following morning, one of us would do the deed.

We rose early the next morning anxious to see how farm cat was doing. He wasn’t better, he was worse. I had held many animals and many pets in my arms while they died and I knew farm cat was on that path. I hated to see him like this, you could hear it in his little voice, gasping to speak to us. You could see how excited he was that we were awake, but you could see his pain as he tried to express it.

Farm Cat's Old Barn

We didn’t want to do it, but we made the pact, it was time. While he said his goodbyes, I went to the barn, got a shovel, and prepared farm cat’s grave. It was early, there was dew on the ground, it was a beautiful day, but none of this could keep me from feeling terrible. I dug the grave first. I had never killed a pet myself, but I had watched and I had dug graves before and after a pet was dead. It is much easier to cope with when the grave is dug before.

I went inside and got farm cat, I retrieved my pistol from my car, and I asked my friend if he wanted to do it or should I. He wanted to, but he just couldn’t. You see, to him, killing farm cat would be like me killing Max, I would have never been able to do it. He came outside and said his goodbyes and he wanted to be there, but he couldn’t, he went back around to the house as I placed farm cat in the hole that I had dug and placed a little towel in for comfort, said my goodbyes to my old friend farm cat, and did what I felt I had to do as a man. I covered the grave and my friend came back around to the side of the barn.

There we stood in the early morning sun, miles from anyone, next to this little red barn, at the final resting place of our friend farm cat, two grown men, crying.

Real Men Love All Animals, Even Mean Little Cats

I thought I would ring in the new year with a good clean shave. You see, recently I decided to become more of a man and to lose my usual ironic t-shirt, messy hair, and unshaven face for the clean and crisp look of a man.  What’s more manly than shaving with a safety razor? Not much. My great grandfathers shaved this way, my grandfathers shaved this way, my father shaved this way, and by God I’m going to shave this way!

I have never liked shaving, but why? I have always used a razor of the disposable variety, the one with 5 blades. The issue is that I could barely squeak a shave and a half out of these blades so essentially I was paying $5 per day to shave and I have to shave once a day to stay clean, twice if I have a date. Considering I never have a date, we’re looking at a WHOPPING $1,300 per year for a clean face and that excludes shaving on the weekends. Ridiculous.

You see my predicament. Luckily there is an amazing website called Art of Manliness that has articles and how-to’s for all things man related. There’s an article entitled “How to Shave Like Your Grandpa” that is an excellent piece on wet-shaving with a safety razor and I highly recommend you read it.

I knew that I wanted to start anew this year, so I ordered a Merkur Safety Razor, a pack of 10 blades (costing only $0.59 each and usable for many shaves), and some Colonel Conk’s Shaving Soap. Before the new year arrived, so did my blades and soap, but alas no razor. I was devastated. I had mentioned to my father my plan to start using a safety razor and he reminded me that we had gotten one from my great uncle Huey’s house after he passed away, I set out to find it.

11pm December 31st, 2009 – I find this old, grimy, and beautiful Gillette Safety Razor. I am determined, I will clean this, I will use this, and I will love this. I set out to the barn and after an hour or so of different wire brushes, soap, water, and elbow grease she emerged glorious.

I made sure to clean my face first and on recommendation from my good friend Chrissy I had purchased a tube of Aveeno Daily Facial Scrub. Say what you will, but this stuff is great. My great uncle Huey used to always say that “young men with dirty faces grow up to be old men with dirty minds.” If you’re going to fool people, you had better clean your face. After cleaning I placed a warm towel over my face to soften the whiskers and then applied a rich lather of Colonel Conk’s soap with my delightful Badger Hair brush.

I pick up the Gillette, it’s heavy, my hand is shaking, this thing is scary when you’re literally face to face with it. I can’t do it. I took a breather, put on some smooth jazz and away we go. On Brett McKay’s recommendation I held the razor by the tip so I would make sure not to put any pressure on the blade. It was hard, it was delicate, it was scary, but I did it.

Does my face burn? Yes. Did I cut myself? Of course. Will I do it again? Most likely. Do I feel like a man? Absolutely.

This is it, this is for me. I will shave like this for the rest of my days and the only way I will change is to upgrade to a strait razor, but that’s way off.

Here I am world, I have joined the ranks of generations of men, men who shaved in combat trenches, men who shaved aboard warships, and men who shaved while exploring the wildest places on earth.

I encourage all men to read Brett McKay’s article and to shave with pride, shave with a safety razor.