A tribute

One final guest post by: Michael Ginsburg

Years we’ve waited

For this day-

But now its come

And gone away.

Great stories turned to poems,

Our lives have changed

But isn’t it strange-

That we still feel the same?

Can’t be beat is still the motto

It’s here to stay-

But I’ll be the first to admit,

I’ll miss this blog each day.

Writing is an outlet,

You can’t deny-

How could you throw shade,

To such a nice guy?

See his intentions are always good-

I’ll stand behind that,

Whether you like it or not,

It’s what I’m trying to get at.

Where we come from,

Was just the start-

Always remember that,

We grew up eight houses apart.

Mistakes are normal,

That’s a given,

Forgiveness is for those-

Who are truly livin’.

I’ve got your back

Through thick and thin,

Even when-

The layups don’t go in.

Swing the bat,

Play the game,

Real life is callin’-

I must proclaim.

If you’re reading this now,

It’s never too late-

To start something new,

And make something great.

You’ve done all you can,

I think it’s a good time,

To end this blog-

And start the climb.

I don’t write poetry,

This is just one time,

A tribute to:

The oldest friend of mine.

It's in the Genes

Another guest post by recurring contributor: Michael Ginsburg

On August 16 ^th , 2012, roughly two weeks before I left for my first year of college my grandmother passed away. The relationship I had with her ​​was unparalleled to anything I've ever had, before or since. From the weekly dinners at her house to the letters she sent me every single day at sleep away camp, my grandmother will always have a special place in my heart. Because of this, I did not only feel obligated, but also compelled to write a eulogy and speak at her funeral.

The first line read "out of all the crazy writing assignments, I have never had one quite like this. In fact, I was not even assigned to write The most difficult piece I've ever attempted; rather I gladly welcomed such a challenge." And a challenge it was. How do I capture a brief yet thorough snapshot of my grandmother and her lasting impact?

In writing this eulogy, I decided to take stories from each part of my life growing up. I started with elementary school, writing About grandparents' day. I wrote About how nervous I was for the "embarrassment that would ensue." However, after only an hour or so in, all of the kids in my class had their own abandoned grandparents and gravitated towards my grandmother, instead. Her charm was felt by all, not just me.

The next story was from my middle school days, and how she would write me every single day while I was at sleep away camp. I vividly remember receiving a letter, written in cursive hand from her-she never missed a day-many accompanied by a care package full of her famous chocolate chip cookies.

I concluded with memories from when i was in high school, and I recounted her avid attendance of all my athletic events, big and small. She knew that, simply, her presence would motivate me to succeed both on and off the court.

But what does this all mean-over three years later-why is it relevant? After rereading the things I wrote years back, I realized that quickly I was not just describing my grandmother, rather my younger sister as well.

While my grandma may have liked me a little (a lot) more than my sister, she did a much better job at imparting Lauren onto her mannerisms. I thought about how my friends, at all ages, would gravitate towards my grandma, and smiled to think that it is just same way with my sister. I thought about how my grandma would write me everyday at sleep-away camp my sister never fails to text or snapchat on a daily basis. I thought about how my grandmother in the stands always motivated me to be a better version of myself, and likewise, how I try to set a good example for my sister every day.

Lauren, as you grow up, you continue to impress me more and more. The qualities you exemplify and characteristics resonate—even correlate—perfectly with our late-grandma. You know how to brighten any gloomy day, just as she did. There's nobody I'd rather spend time with in this world. If only everybody could live life like you do, the world would be a much better place. You are mature beyond your years, and I could not be prouder to be your older brother.

Halloween Story Contest: Dad Hair Day

Halloween used to be the most celebrated holiday in my family. We’d have all the neighborhood families over, eat a big meal, dress up and go out and trick or treat. However, it’s not the funky dough shaped snake filled with hot dogs or the first time my parents allowed me and my friends to go alone that I’ll remember, rather the costumes my dad would wear.

Ever since I can remember, my dad has dressed up as the most absurd things for Halloween. Whether it was an inmate, whoopee cushion or camera roll, it was always something to be remembered. Every year, neighbors flocked to my house to see what the next costume was going to be, because it’s not everyday that you get to see a grown man dressed up like a kid—if not even more dressed up. Yet, that was the best part about it, it showed us kids that adults never fully grow up. It taught us that we were never too old to knock on doors and ask for candy, or simply dress up for fun.

One year in particular, however, was specifically memorable. After I left for college my dad continued this tradition. My freshman year I received a photo of my dad dressed up—it was great and brought me back to my Halloween memories made at home. The next year however, to my surprise, I didn’t receive a photo or even a mention about Halloween.

When I came home for Thanksgiving break, my dad’s hair looked a little peculiar to me. Known as the silver fox, his grey hair wasn’t quite as grey as it had always been. I was quick to question him.

“Dad, what’s up with your hair?”

“Oh I forgot to tell you?” He responded, “I dressed up as the sun for Halloween and the yellow dye isn’t coming out as easily as I thought it would.”

This seemed normal to me, as he always took his costumes very seriously. I never thought twice about it.

When winter break rolled around, I was riding in the car with my mom. I looked over and asked her, “mom, did dad ever catch any flack for his hair?”

“What do you mean, of course he did,” she answered.

“Why of course? It’s makes sense because of his costume, people would definitely understand that.”

“Oh…He didn’t tell you? That wasn’t a part of his costume, his hair dresser convinced him to try and dye his hair for the first time ever and it came out yellow…”

By: Michael Ginsburg