"I Bid You All a Very Fond Farewell"

Just replace Bilbo with me up there.

Like my good friend Bilbo Baggins, I face some new chapters full of adventures. Although I'm not sure how I feel about fire-breathing dragons swooping low over my head, I'm quite ready for some new things. So, these are my last words for my comrades.

Well, guys, it's been fun. We've made some brilliant memories, and all of you have been decent enough. Alex, you've created some great films--now I'll be known far and wide as Greg...or maybe Kuge. Dre's perched and been flabbergasted enough for several people. Overall, I can just say that it's been fun. But I'm not going to let this post get sappy.
I've found that the years get better and better.
Freshman year was unfortunate in every way possible.
Sophomore year just shouldn't have happened.
Junior year was fun, but we didn't have to see that.
Senior year is fabulous.
My greatest memories are from these past ten months--or however long a school year is. From Hamlet skits, to watching five seasons of LOST in two months, to watching a thousand episodes of 30 Rock, to growing out the sideburns, to fashioning the greatest Senior Rock in existence, and to all the other great experiences, this year has been...something else.

The Master and the Apprentice

Richard Wright - I'm sure that some of his students have different feelings towards him, but Richard Wright has been one of my best instructors in all my high school days. From day one of his class, he instills some manner of trepidation in you, but you soon discover that he has a keen desire to see his students succeed, a heavily qualified background, and a warm sense of humor. He has taught me how to manage my time by what I need to do personally and what I can easily leave by the proverbial wayside. Also, he's reminded me that everything can't be all business; sometimes, I have to just crack a few jokes.
Bonjour Kayla!

Pam Tomerlin - Working with her these past two years has been a wonderful experience. Especially this past year, she has allowed me to exercise some of my own visions. Although we haven't always agreed, she has believed in me--and that is a trait which I must emulate.

Karen Higgins - A day in her classroom: NO REALLY!!!! IT WASN'T LEE HARVEY OSWALD!!! CONSPIRACIES! Also, did you know I went to Gettysburg one time.

Julie Pittman - Respect is demanded (and I believe required) towards teachers. Students have much to learn from their teachers and should submit to that authority. Few teachers, however, show his or her students the same respect. Julie Pittman treats her pupils as adults. Sure, she correctly expects that her students submit to her authority, do their assignments, and generally just be reasonable human beings, but Mrs. Pittman has a certain passion for the job. She has to have some. I've never had a teacher more qualified: Mrs. Pittman has extensive education and considerable experience teaching. The fact that she condescended to leave college professorship and become a high school teacher shows me her faithfulness to me and to my peers. And this is her greatest lesson to me that in my life to come I would do things that I enjoy, that are fulfilling--no matter what they are.

Who am I?

A long time ago, in a county far, far in the boonies...
(not really that far)

This is Supposed to be Scrolling
Episode MCCLVIII
Rutherford County has been invaded by an unstoppable force of Germans. Germans from West Virginia. This combination has created a hybrid that cannot be defeated. In order to ensure victory, they have a secret weapon: CALEB WILKIE.
Taking up residence in the Lake Lure area, they remain out of sight of the innocent town folk of Rutherfordton. Wilkie, being sent to school at RS Central, has infiltrated the ranks of the students. If he is not discovered soon, many lives could be at risk. Armed with an aggressive dedication to nerd knowledge, inconceivable talent in Halo, and an endless amount of useless knowledge, he could threaten the peace of the entire galaxy...

I do hope you enjoyed my tribute to one of the greatest series in film. I remain an established Star Wars fan to this day--and I do believe I always will be.

Barring the drama, the above prologue is true. In 2006, I moved, along with my family, to North Carolina. My permanent residence started August of that year, and soon afterward, I began attending RS Central. Like my most people, I can claim that my four years at high school have changed me dramatically. In a very cliche fashion, this term of my life has shaped me into who I am. It has made me come into my own. It has made me find myself.
Pick one of these, and we'll continue.
However, you describe it, the above statements are true. But how? For example, in high school my taste in music and fashion has matured, I have honed my writing and speaking skills, I have become confident in my own self (that was vague), I have fallen in love, I have grown my sideburns and I have shaved them, I have created a great yearbook, I have published articles in the school paper, I have written a book (for better or worse), and I have created many friendships that simply did not exist in my younger days.
All the above can be condensed into blah, blah, blah...blah, blah.
But all of these have been critical in the creation of the Caleb Joseph Wilkie that exists right now and is writing this blog. Some of the events are more important than others. Some have been temporary, while others will never leave me until my last days.
The characters that helped me along the way are far greater than I will ever be. I am eternally thankful to my family (you can read anything specific in previous posts) and comrades (you know who you are). Assuredly, the greatest vehicle in changing me was my girlfriend Jennifer, but you, dear reader, have little business in knowing much about that.
When I pause and begin to reminisce. I begin to feel like Jean Val Jean. A character in my favorite musical Les Miserables (and quite possibly one of the most compelling stories ever created), Jean Val Jean rises from sinner to saint. He experiences a life of heartache and loss that could never be envied by any sane person. But during one song in the musical called "Who Am I?" Jean faces a great decision. It merely is who am I?
I feel that high school has taken me far on this road of discovery. This journey of who I am. But much of the task is yet to be done.
So, if you please, I'm off to answer this magnificent riddle...

Poem in Your Pocket!

Today is National "Poem in Your Pocket" Day!
In honor of this glorious day, I give to you....

What To Do About Sharks
by Vivian Shipley

1.
If a hammerhead or a great white makes
waves during your workshop or poetry reading,
don't flap your elbows or slap at it with rolled
manuscripts. Sharks thrive on visual stimulation.
2.
Blow out candles. Ease away from the podium,
and wait at least ten minutes before going
for a light switch. Join hands to keep karma
with the other poets. It's okay to recite
poems you memorized in fifth grade,
Joyce Kilmer, in desperation, even Longfellow.
3.
Rule of thumb: it's a shark not a dolphin
if it is slamming about the room, hugging,
blowing air kisses. Performers, sharks
are almost all instinct and no brain. Without
a sense of occasion, they'll crash any gig,
underwater or not, from Madagascar to Malibu.
4.
Being eyed by a shark can be exasperating,
but don't rush or shift from foot to foot
to induce motion sickness. Sharks are immune.
They are, however, dyslexic. Flash cover quotes,
prize-winning poems directly in front of both eyes.
Better yet—stop reading. Pull your new hardback
from a knapsack, and if the shark noses you
with repeated sharp jabs, hit it on the snout.
5.
If all else fails, sharks have a keen sense
of hearing. Sing The Battle Hymn of the Republic
at the top of your lungs. Sharks have short
attention spans, get bored, leave if there is
no open mike. So, swing into another verse:
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! His truth is marching on.

Absolutely the most phenomenal poem ever written! And why do you ask?
Well, it's simple really.
It's got sharks in it.

The Big Day(s)

To cite clichés and quotes, life can be many things:
A box of chocolates.
A roller coaster.
A journey.
An adventure.
I could keep on going, but I’ll spare you.
I’m 18 now, and I’ve already experienced many events that have lingered in my mind to this day. Some of these have had a great impact on me, while others are just vivid memories.

Sink or Swim
My grandmother used to run this retirement home in Venice.
…Venice, Florida. I wish it had been Venice, Italy. In any case, there was a pool in the back, and this event occurred when my family went down to visit. This was in the 90s so I was just a tyke back then. For some reason, while everyone was splashing and swimming, I decide it would be great idea to jump in—the deep end. What I remember most is that I looked back in forth, wondering—what? I suppose whether this was a good idea or not. The other image that I remember clearly is the view from underwater. I couldn’t swim, but I don’t remember panic—just that view of the water and all the bubbles rising to the surface. As this blog is being written by someone alive and well, you can assume that I was saved. In fact I was rescued by my oldest brother Brock. Who knows why? I’m the one who always wrecked his LEGO creations.
Thanks, Brock!

Virtual Affection
This next event may make my mother cringe.
During one visit to Georgia to visit family, my brothers and I experienced a “real” video game for the first time. Keep in mind that I’m ten(ish) and I’ve never owned a video game since our SEGA Genesis broke years ago. My cousin owned this game called Total Annihilation: Kingdoms. It was an RTS (for the illiterate out there that is a “Real-Time Strategy” game which is generally one of those video games where the player controls a bunch of guys and they all kill a bunch of the other team’s troops). This planted the seed for my video game love—ahem, my video game passion. What started it all was when my mother in search of this fantastic game for her own sons discovered another RTS: Stronghold. Ever since then, I was hooked. Stronghold remains as one of the best games I’ve ever played even though it’s ancient, the graphics are dreadful, and the sequels all were embarrassing. After that, it was Halo which captivated me; then it was all downhill from there.

Rescued by the Dark Knight
In all the comic books there’s always that helpless citizen saved by the caped hero. As this noble warrior dashes away the saved watches with wide eyes, a thunderstruck stupor, and a stuttered thanks. Well, I have my own story about that.
Away back in 2000-something or other between my seventh and eighth grade years the summer blockbusters were about to get obliterated by a remake: Batman Begins.
Now, now, I have always been a dedicated fan of the Dark Knight. So when I heard that this movie was coming out I was just giddy. After seeing the film (which I add is quite a great movie), myself with my siblings, who are all loyalists of the Caped Crusader, discussed it. All of us agreed it was quite good. Admittedly, I believe the sequel was better, but hey Batman Begins takes the spotlight in my lifetime. Why? Because after seeing that movie I had the first inspiration for a story. I don’t know what actually compelled me to start writing, but write I did. Ever since then it’s kind of been my passion. One day, maybe it’ll be my career.
Fat chance, Wilkie.

Oh, we’ll see about that.

Caleb Wilkie's Day Off

I’ve always thought skipping school is a great idea. School policy is that the student who misses more than two days of class has to make up those days. Personally, I think that this policy is foolish. The student is only injuring themselves (if there is injury at all—most likely there isn’t) when they skip school. What ever happened to personal accountability?
That’s my view on that.
Knowing now that I am all for skipping school, what would I do with my free day?
Well I’d probably wake up pretty early because I always tend to do that. Two cups of coffee most likely in front of the computer or outside on the porch would get me going. After a morning of writing, I would get together with some of my friends and go rock climbing because I rarely get to do this during the school year. After a day of bouldering, we would come back home and watch a movie and eat a fantastic meal.
An observer might think us humble I suppose. Rock climbing doesn’t require fashionable attire—unless of course the observer is from the climbing world. Climbers as a stereotype are nice and hospitable. When two groups meet at a rock, members from both discuss their skill level, they borrow crash pads, and encourage whoever is up on the boulder. For the extended excursion, climbers share meals with strangers or set up tents in the same vicinity. It’s a neighborhood of amiability that exists out there in the woods. I would cite nature itself for such behavior; people united to experience the wilderness find solace in human company. Most climbers are mindful of the environment. They all wear the normal brands: Patagonia, The North Face, Black Diamond, etcetera…
If I was out with my climbing companions we would blend into the small groups at the boulders. Someone is lugging a crash pad. We all have water bottles, chalk bags, and climbing shoes and we pet our neighbor’s dog when it intrudes on our excursion.
Few things make me feel more free than climbing. It’s a challenging activity, but I boulder which is the most leisurely of rock climbing styles. Still, bouldering presents me with plenty of problems to master. By the end of the day I wouldn’t regret a minute outside in the mountain hollers.
Perhaps the only regrettable party would be my Calculus class. With me gone, there would be few indeed who would ever answer questions. Poor souls.

Krazy Krauts

Fifty years ago, a determined family of four brave souls arrived in Chicago to begin their new lives in America. They were searching for the American Dream. Sure, the great immigrations of the last century were long gone, but the American Dream has this fantastic quality of never dying. With the drive to discover the freedom and greatness of America, these courageous few turned their backs on the affairs of the past.
And they knew the past all too well.
Alfred, the patriarch of this brigade, knew only to well the shadow of their old home. Germany was a wasteland, not only physically, but psychologically as well. Alfred had grown up in the same area as his wife Gisela in the Black Forest. A child when World War II engulfed civilization, and a mere boy when Hitler summoned the youths of Deutschland to do his bidding. Alfred was forced to join the army. Unwilling, however, to shed blood, Alfred waited for the proper moment. When the detachment arrived in the Black Forest, he fled into the hills, knowing the country far better than his pursuers. In the woods, he discovered many others sheltered there, hiding from the terrors of the Nazi. Alfred made do as best he could, but he could not hide forever.
The soldiers found him. Predictably, they were enraged by such insubordination and decided that the boy along with the others from the woods be executed. Alfred was set upon his knees and there he awaited the final shot.
But then they came. In all the glory of propaganda posters, the American air machine roared overhead. They rained tons of bombs down on the camp, sending the Germans scampering to their shelters.
Alfred got up. He ran like never before, and in his own words: "I staid hidden this time."

With such a story of real courage and sheer spunk, how could I dare not take interest in my heritage? Although Alfred is my mother's father, my own father one time told me that "our family is so German, it's sick." In many ways, we are a stereotypical European family. Fellowship in family and friends, the magnificence of food, and the discipline of hard word are critical components of our lives. Above all others, we hold to this maxim of Ben Franklin: "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to prosper." Even now, I'm looking at a series of steins all in a line in our dining room. Beneath them are two ornaments straight from Germany. One says, "Gott schutze unser Haus." God bless our house. Faith brings us together often. My mother and father were the first pious Christians in our family, and, through their testimony, most of my extended family now firmly holds to the Truth.
So, what about me? Where am I in all of these Deutsche Rowdytum? That's easy! I'm proud of my heritage. I love being German, and I love my family much. Almost daily I hear about the complaints of my peers. I just don't understand how not to get along with my family. They are my best of friends, and, until recently, nothing was more important to me than them.

So, putting an end to this absurdly lengthy post:
Mutti, Vatti! Ich liebe dich!

Pretzel Twister, thanks for rock'n'roll music, The Simpsons, and all the belly laughs.

John! Thank you for cooking better than anyone has a right to cook. And for getting me eaten alive by Sea Chiggers.

Jake, you allow me to vent all my pent up video game insanity. Thanks for being my comrade and chainsawing the bejeezus out of some Locust.

Furball! O'Nelle! JDAWG! And the many, many other titles that you have. Here's to you being a light in a dark world and an encouragement to all who see you. And thanks for that Tyler guy.

Speaking of, Tyler. You, my friend, I have only to thank for the hours of LEGO Batman and LEGO Star Wars. There is no comparison, and I'll never forget swimsuit stormtrooper.

The Rock in a Hard Place, Brock, you are THE MAN. You are a mastermind, and a powerful ally. May the Force be with you. Always.

And lastly I save for you, Jennifer Brooke Hall.
I love you, and thanks for the hat.