Will Reminisces

2003 and me...

It's November. We turned 30 last July. We live in a rustic 18th century farmhouse in bucolic Peapack, New Jersey. This is horse country, a town of old houses and old family names. Many of those names are on the quartet of war memorial rocks in the town park, from the Great War to the Vietnam War. Some of those names are on all four memorials. Four people from Peapack were killed on 9/11.

We've had an article, 'Sparta's Defeat of Athens', printed in Strategy & Tactics Magazine, with several more having been accepted. 

We've been jogging two miles a day for over a year now, something we never thought we'd be able to do. We lift weights at night. 

We're coming off a year of successful substitute teaching at the local middle school and high school, in which we were called in 104 days out of 180. Many of those kids' names are on the above mentioned memorial rocks. This high school was built in the 1930s and must have been designed by the same people who designed our own alma matter, Hendrick Hudson High School. The rooms are the exact same size and layout as Hen Hud's, which is a little weird. It's been 11 years since we graduated high school, and that still feels like a long, long time.  

We're a couple months into a fulltime teaching gig at a second-rate Yeshiva in Passaic. We're getting the hang of running a classroom. We keep a notepad in our shirt pocket and write down the names of unruly boys. Every night after dinner we call those boys' parents. 'Shmuley, you're 8:00. Moshe, don't laugh because you're 8:15.' In a few weeks will come home one night without having to make a call.

We teach 'secular studies' in the afternoon, Social Studies and English. In the mornings we do our graduate work on the American Revolution, and write A Line through the Desert. After lunch we drive up to Passaic, listening to Led Zeppelin, and then Mike and the Mad Dog sports talk on 66 WFAN. 'Good afternoon, everybody! How are you today?!' We love sports talk. 

The Yankees recently lost the World Series, whatever. Beating the Boston Red Sox in the American League Championship Series is what we cared about. Fuck Pedro Martinez, fuck the Red Sox, fuck Boston and everyone in it. This is the only time in our life when we would have thrown a punch if we saw someone in a Red Sox cap. Actually, and to our shame, we threw a punch at a Giants game that fall, at another Giants fan! Idiot. Us not him.

Time was, we could watch any baseball game, but our love of baseball is fading. The same goes for wargames, sci fi novels, etc etc. Since completing our BA in 2002, many things we once loved just aren't that interesting anymore. 

We have Giants season tickets, a big mistake as they're going to go 3-13. The Meadowlands has the most underrated home field advantage in the NFL. That wind comes right off the Atlantic. We literally couldn't give away tickets to the final game, 4 PM, December 26th. We didn't go. Smart. 

We drive a Jeep Liberty, patriot blue. That glorious Jeep Liberty we bought in the previous September, $23,000, cash. We'll drive it for a decade. On the back left window is a blue and yellow Led Zeppelin sticker. Mrs. Stroock knows we're home because we pull into the driveway with the Led Zeppelin on 10. That Jeep was pretty cool. We were pretty cool.