Azerbaijani Language Test Today. I have been looking forward (not) to this day for a week, ever since it was announced that we would have a test coming up. The first portion, the written portion was 30 minutes of suffixes, possessives, plurals, and some translation, plus a few sentences of descriptive terms about my family. I struggled, but did my best. I really didn't feel good about it, but our instructor didn't help when she announced, "Almost passed."
Great. Now what? I hate studying, I hate school, and now I have to re-double my efforts because I just failed the first test I ever took. Honestly, I felt like crap.
During our break I guess I looked a little more down-cast than I wanted to, Amalya, our instructor, asked how I was feeling, I said I wish I had passed the test. She says, "But you did." I did? Yes. "What about, 'Almost passed?'" "Oh, that was joke." I shake my head, my instructor knows just enough english to be dangerous. After some amount of discussion I figure out she was trying to say, "Barely passed!" I told her, "we need to work on your joke-telling..."
Passed the spoken portion with an 85, Beloved got a 90!
Today is the birthday of my father. He has been gone now many years, but today I want to honor his memory, and honor all my family by telling just a little bit about him.
I have never ever regretted that my dad was a gear-head. From the first times I can remember him he always had some old car or truck in the back yard that was in some state of repair or customization. He loved auto racing and demolition derbys. I have many memories of Saturdays at the dirt track, and it was fun to see his silver race car lead the pack and win the race. We always had lots of trophies around and a huge (to a ten-year-old kid) garage in the back yard.
I was 10 or 12 maybe, I had gotten as a gift a painting set--my family recognized my artistic talent early on. It was a nice set of oil paints and a book of canvas sheets. I was having a hard time figuring out just how they worked, and was very frustrated. Crying actually--I was always a sensitive artist. My dad heard me and intervened, turning to a fresh sheet in the book and picking up the brush. With a deft stroke, he drew a large red numeral 5 in the middle of the page. That was it. He said, "If you can figure out how to paint numbers and letters you would always have a job as a sign painter..." or at least that is the way I remember it. I was done trying to paint mountains or flowers for a while.
I had leukemia when I was 14, the same year dad had by-pass heart surgery. He would bring me along when he went "out for coffee" with the guys. I was awkward and sickly, but felt like a million bucks when I got to sit at the table and listen to the stories.
I finally did become a sign-painter, and dad was always helping me out. Like the time he helped me build two 22-foot ladders so I could almost break even on a job that I was way over my head on. I had bid on--and won--a plastic face job, installed. $650. The materials alone cost me $600. I was young and stupid, but he never brow-beat me about it. He sent all his cronies to get signs from his son.
He had asked me to paint a sign for his and mom's "What-Not Shop," a 4x8 sign. He helped me install it, we drove metal fence posts in the ground to install it on. I was standing in the bed of the truck with a sledge hammer while he stood on the ground and help the post in place. See where this is going? I almost broke his arm...
He died of a heart attack when I was 28. I sure miss him. Happy Birthday Dad.
Great. Now what? I hate studying, I hate school, and now I have to re-double my efforts because I just failed the first test I ever took. Honestly, I felt like crap.
During our break I guess I looked a little more down-cast than I wanted to, Amalya, our instructor, asked how I was feeling, I said I wish I had passed the test. She says, "But you did." I did? Yes. "What about, 'Almost passed?'" "Oh, that was joke." I shake my head, my instructor knows just enough english to be dangerous. After some amount of discussion I figure out she was trying to say, "Barely passed!" I told her, "we need to work on your joke-telling..."
Passed the spoken portion with an 85, Beloved got a 90!
I have never ever regretted that my dad was a gear-head. From the first times I can remember him he always had some old car or truck in the back yard that was in some state of repair or customization. He loved auto racing and demolition derbys. I have many memories of Saturdays at the dirt track, and it was fun to see his silver race car lead the pack and win the race. We always had lots of trophies around and a huge (to a ten-year-old kid) garage in the back yard.
I finally did become a sign-painter, and dad was always helping me out. Like the time he helped me build two 22-foot ladders so I could almost break even on a job that I was way over my head on. I had bid on--and won--a plastic face job, installed. $650. The materials alone cost me $600. I was young and stupid, but he never brow-beat me about it. He sent all his cronies to get signs from his son.
He died of a heart attack when I was 28. I sure miss him. Happy Birthday Dad.
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