Diary of a Cool Kid
I
I’m from the West Side.
No, really, I was born on the west side of St. Louis, Missouri. My father was attending seminary at the time—Covenant Theological Seminary to be precise. It was 1992, March 21. My family lived in St. Louis for another two years as my father completed schooling and graduated with a Master of Divinity.
Very soon there afterward, the Wilkies arrived in the new house in Evansville, Indiana. That’s situated in southern part of the state which, even though it’s still above the Mason-Dixon Line, is never claimed by its central and northern counterparts.
I was young then; preschool was my social empire.
The house was two stories and was planted squarely upon the basement which sported the boy’s den. Lair. Cage. Any of those words would do. In any case, Brock, Jacob, and I were given nearly free reign over that territory. It was a colony that even sported salutary neglect. What parent would want to go down there anyways? I’m sure my mother appreciated scooting away to her twelve hour shifts at the emergency room. My sisters lived in the upper world—on the surface if you will.
Who knows horrible acts three very adolescent boys performed in the underworld?
II
When I tell people how many times my family has uprooted and moved to a new location, I usually get a sympathetic nod, or “that must have been tough.” In reality, the move from Evansville wasn’t marked by any sorrow. Excitement accompanied, instead. Charleston, West Virginia (Nope, I’ve never journeyed to Charleston, South Carolina. I hope it’s better than its hillbilly equivalent) was a new place for adventure for a boy about to enter Kindergarten.
We lived on a manse. For those who don’t know what that is, a manse can also be called a parsonage; it’s a house built on church property to house its pastor. Because my dad was the newly ordained pastor, we made ourselves cozy in our new abode.
Again, those family members who possessed both a y-chromosome and no maturity were sent to the den. I can recall untold hours and hours standing at the table we had set up down there playing with my forever-favorite childhood toy: LEGO. I had a particularly nasty habit too. Brock, my oldest brother, was a master engineer of LEGO blocks. He wasn’t even in middle school mind you, and he would construct machines and structures that he saw on movies and television. His skills at that age were honed to creating Power Ranger zords (yes, I watched Power Rangers), space-faring vessels from Star Wars, and any other thing that popped in his head.
I, being an ideal youngest brother, broke as many as I could. Sometimes it was on accident; other times…not so much.
The first Wilkie computer was purchased while in West Virginia. Before that time, my brothers and I were rarely subjected to the “brain-rotting” of game systems. Sure, we had a Sega Genesis at one time, but Sonic has long worn out its welcome in society. Our computer opened the door for video games in my life for years to come. Now, I have the new Halo: ODST on preorder at Gamestop. It has been a considerable change to be sure.
We lived in Cross Lanes (a small, unincorporated town outside Charleston) for ten years; therefore, it encompasses most of my life. So much happened during that time. My parents were strict in believing that all of their five children should receive a good education. In my second through fourth grade years myself and my siblings attended a Christian, private, classical school called Covenant. I hypothesize that such a great education at an early age helped me garner skills that I have now—I am using one of them at this very moment. Just to understand to what degree Mom and Dad wanted a great education for us, I’ll say that the commute from Cross Lanes to Huntington where the school was consumed a full forty-five minutes of our lives every trip.
I learned years later that my sisters had nicknamed Covenant as the Convent. Why? Well, it was a good classical school: uniforms, Latin courses in elementary school, harsh rules and punishment based on language and conduct, etcetera. Janelle and Lorin both graduated from Covenant in the same year. Their class was comprised of four graduates.
When they scurried off to college, my brothers and I also left. For a year, we were home schooled. Then Jake and I were taught by Mom, and Brock went to a nearby public school, where he became a member of the ROTC which would later lead him to a career in the United States Marines.
Let me take a moment to describe myself.
At the time, I was a little kid with glasses and braces, and my personality fit them. Well, it did unless you factor in my attitude. I was a hothead to be sure. I couldn’t take a joke or a tease no matter how genial or well intentioned it was which only fueled the prodding of Brock and Jake.
In short, I wasn’t exactly a pleasant little angel to know personally.
III
Eighth grade year, I was enrolled in another private, Christian establishment that, thank the Lord, was a mile down the road. Its standards for learning were not quite as steep as Covenant, but Cross Lanes Christian School was far stricter in other areas.
The administration at the school fully believed that it was the sole authority over every sphere in the lives of the students. Rules regarding behavior were stretched to the home life. They would enact discipline if gossip leaked of any “immoral” activity. And guess who decided what was moral?
Alcohol was viewed as an abomination which sat very coolly with my very German family. If only they knew…but, to promote plausible deniability, I won’t go there.
The school’s breed of Christianity was called dispensationalism. I began to ask Dad theological questions when they began to force their beliefs on me. In a way, their zeal to mold me into one of them pushed me further into my family’s own theology: Reformed theology. I don’t want to bore anyone by listing the points written by John Calvin for Covenantal beliefs, but I will say that I am now a firm follower.
My real persona began to emerge during this time. I started to shed my irritability as I simply lost interest in it. I indulged myself in heavy reading, art, video games, and personal writing. All three somehow contributed into the birth my current self. I sang in the church choir, noted the opposite sex, took guitar lessons for a time, and, in short, was exploring life.
It wasn’t until the final odyssey that I really became who I am today.
IV
For several years previously (it’s 2006 by now), we would visit my grandmother in North Carolina. Her name is Giselle, but everyone just calls her Oma, which is the intimate German term for grandmother. She owns a bed and breakfast in Lake Lure called The Lodge on Lake Lure. Every summer, we would camp down there and work for her, but more of this later.
This year was a momentous one for the Wilkie family. Janelle and Lorin graduated from college, Brock graduated from high school and had his face set towards boot camp, and my grandmother Jane Wilkie died. And it all happened on the same day too.
Faith Presbyterian had never been a church for my father. The congregation, over the ten years Dad preached there, dwindled through rampant gossip and slander. In short, he was tired of them, and it was a good time to leave. All of the family except for him was already living in Lake Lure for the summer; we merely made the transplant permanent.
What I said above was partly incorrect. This move was difficult for me to accept. After ten years among the Appalachian Mountains, I was attached to the place in a myriad of different ways. But the word of the parents was final.
Jake and I were rather unsure about ourselves when we walked into RS Central high school for the first time nearly four years ago. Jake was becoming into a fit, proud, good-looking, may I say, typical teenager. I was…something else. After a life of private school, I was unprepared for public pandemonium. Still, I adapted somewhat quickly.
I like to believe that high school was the final step in becoming me. However, it was far from easy. Freshman year I remained much the same: introverted at school, active at home. To me, my four siblings were always my best friends; now, I had one brother who, I regret to say, had other friends.
Janelle was engaged that fall. Her wedding in May of 2007 will always remain in my mind as one of the happiest days I have lived. One of the happiest, mind you. My brother-in-law Tyler is a true delight to have close. I am glad that he is a part of this family.
Moving forward: as a sophomore, I was challenged most fiercely by the World. I cannot give specifics into this, but I can say that I emerged forged in faith as a better person and Christian through God’s grace.
I remember thinking that junior year was the greatest year I had ever experienced. I had some fairly close friends, and I was comfortable with myself in many ways. To say that the spiritual hardships were over would be false however. This time, God was a little craftier in how he rescued me. Unfortunately, I can’t be very specific; I’ll just state that romance is a very powerful thing.
V
Our new house was set in place on March 1 2008. I use “set in place” because it was a modular. However, it wasn’t until fall of my junior year that I was able to take up residence.
By now, my family has altered members. Janelle and Tyler moved to Harrisonburg, Virginia, Brock was deployed to Afghanistan, Jake would soon be married (his baby was born the very day that I wrote this), and Lorin would also be wedded on the fifth of September. However, my grandfather Opa moved over here from California after the death of my step-grandmother.
“I can’t believe my youngest child is a senior,” was all my mom could say one day was we were running errands. Truthfully, it took me some amount of time to accustom to the title. I can’t wait to see where I go next on this road of life (cliché, I know). I hope that it is different, and new. But I hope that my future is just as fun and exciting, and, indeed, challenging as the road I’ve already traveled
I
I’m from the West Side.
No, really, I was born on the west side of St. Louis, Missouri. My father was attending seminary at the time—Covenant Theological Seminary to be precise. It was 1992, March 21. My family lived in St. Louis for another two years as my father completed schooling and graduated with a Master of Divinity.
Very soon there afterward, the Wilkies arrived in the new house in Evansville, Indiana. That’s situated in southern part of the state which, even though it’s still above the Mason-Dixon Line, is never claimed by its central and northern counterparts.
I was young then; preschool was my social empire.
The house was two stories and was planted squarely upon the basement which sported the boy’s den. Lair. Cage. Any of those words would do. In any case, Brock, Jacob, and I were given nearly free reign over that territory. It was a colony that even sported salutary neglect. What parent would want to go down there anyways? I’m sure my mother appreciated scooting away to her twelve hour shifts at the emergency room. My sisters lived in the upper world—on the surface if you will.
Who knows horrible acts three very adolescent boys performed in the underworld?
II
When I tell people how many times my family has uprooted and moved to a new location, I usually get a sympathetic nod, or “that must have been tough.” In reality, the move from Evansville wasn’t marked by any sorrow. Excitement accompanied, instead. Charleston, West Virginia (Nope, I’ve never journeyed to Charleston, South Carolina. I hope it’s better than its hillbilly equivalent) was a new place for adventure for a boy about to enter Kindergarten.
We lived on a manse. For those who don’t know what that is, a manse can also be called a parsonage; it’s a house built on church property to house its pastor. Because my dad was the newly ordained pastor, we made ourselves cozy in our new abode.
Again, those family members who possessed both a y-chromosome and no maturity were sent to the den. I can recall untold hours and hours standing at the table we had set up down there playing with my forever-favorite childhood toy: LEGO. I had a particularly nasty habit too. Brock, my oldest brother, was a master engineer of LEGO blocks. He wasn’t even in middle school mind you, and he would construct machines and structures that he saw on movies and television. His skills at that age were honed to creating Power Ranger zords (yes, I watched Power Rangers), space-faring vessels from Star Wars, and any other thing that popped in his head.
I, being an ideal youngest brother, broke as many as I could. Sometimes it was on accident; other times…not so much.
The first Wilkie computer was purchased while in West Virginia. Before that time, my brothers and I were rarely subjected to the “brain-rotting” of game systems. Sure, we had a Sega Genesis at one time, but Sonic has long worn out its welcome in society. Our computer opened the door for video games in my life for years to come. Now, I have the new Halo: ODST on preorder at Gamestop. It has been a considerable change to be sure.
We lived in Cross Lanes (a small, unincorporated town outside Charleston) for ten years; therefore, it encompasses most of my life. So much happened during that time. My parents were strict in believing that all of their five children should receive a good education. In my second through fourth grade years myself and my siblings attended a Christian, private, classical school called Covenant. I hypothesize that such a great education at an early age helped me garner skills that I have now—I am using one of them at this very moment. Just to understand to what degree Mom and Dad wanted a great education for us, I’ll say that the commute from Cross Lanes to Huntington where the school was consumed a full forty-five minutes of our lives every trip.
I learned years later that my sisters had nicknamed Covenant as the Convent. Why? Well, it was a good classical school: uniforms, Latin courses in elementary school, harsh rules and punishment based on language and conduct, etcetera. Janelle and Lorin both graduated from Covenant in the same year. Their class was comprised of four graduates.
When they scurried off to college, my brothers and I also left. For a year, we were home schooled. Then Jake and I were taught by Mom, and Brock went to a nearby public school, where he became a member of the ROTC which would later lead him to a career in the United States Marines.
Let me take a moment to describe myself.
At the time, I was a little kid with glasses and braces, and my personality fit them. Well, it did unless you factor in my attitude. I was a hothead to be sure. I couldn’t take a joke or a tease no matter how genial or well intentioned it was which only fueled the prodding of Brock and Jake.
In short, I wasn’t exactly a pleasant little angel to know personally.
III
Eighth grade year, I was enrolled in another private, Christian establishment that, thank the Lord, was a mile down the road. Its standards for learning were not quite as steep as Covenant, but Cross Lanes Christian School was far stricter in other areas.
The administration at the school fully believed that it was the sole authority over every sphere in the lives of the students. Rules regarding behavior were stretched to the home life. They would enact discipline if gossip leaked of any “immoral” activity. And guess who decided what was moral?
Alcohol was viewed as an abomination which sat very coolly with my very German family. If only they knew…but, to promote plausible deniability, I won’t go there.
The school’s breed of Christianity was called dispensationalism. I began to ask Dad theological questions when they began to force their beliefs on me. In a way, their zeal to mold me into one of them pushed me further into my family’s own theology: Reformed theology. I don’t want to bore anyone by listing the points written by John Calvin for Covenantal beliefs, but I will say that I am now a firm follower.
My real persona began to emerge during this time. I started to shed my irritability as I simply lost interest in it. I indulged myself in heavy reading, art, video games, and personal writing. All three somehow contributed into the birth my current self. I sang in the church choir, noted the opposite sex, took guitar lessons for a time, and, in short, was exploring life.
It wasn’t until the final odyssey that I really became who I am today.
IV
For several years previously (it’s 2006 by now), we would visit my grandmother in North Carolina. Her name is Giselle, but everyone just calls her Oma, which is the intimate German term for grandmother. She owns a bed and breakfast in Lake Lure called The Lodge on Lake Lure. Every summer, we would camp down there and work for her, but more of this later.
This year was a momentous one for the Wilkie family. Janelle and Lorin graduated from college, Brock graduated from high school and had his face set towards boot camp, and my grandmother Jane Wilkie died. And it all happened on the same day too.
Faith Presbyterian had never been a church for my father. The congregation, over the ten years Dad preached there, dwindled through rampant gossip and slander. In short, he was tired of them, and it was a good time to leave. All of the family except for him was already living in Lake Lure for the summer; we merely made the transplant permanent.
What I said above was partly incorrect. This move was difficult for me to accept. After ten years among the Appalachian Mountains, I was attached to the place in a myriad of different ways. But the word of the parents was final.
Jake and I were rather unsure about ourselves when we walked into RS Central high school for the first time nearly four years ago. Jake was becoming into a fit, proud, good-looking, may I say, typical teenager. I was…something else. After a life of private school, I was unprepared for public pandemonium. Still, I adapted somewhat quickly.
I like to believe that high school was the final step in becoming me. However, it was far from easy. Freshman year I remained much the same: introverted at school, active at home. To me, my four siblings were always my best friends; now, I had one brother who, I regret to say, had other friends.
Janelle was engaged that fall. Her wedding in May of 2007 will always remain in my mind as one of the happiest days I have lived. One of the happiest, mind you. My brother-in-law Tyler is a true delight to have close. I am glad that he is a part of this family.
Moving forward: as a sophomore, I was challenged most fiercely by the World. I cannot give specifics into this, but I can say that I emerged forged in faith as a better person and Christian through God’s grace.
I remember thinking that junior year was the greatest year I had ever experienced. I had some fairly close friends, and I was comfortable with myself in many ways. To say that the spiritual hardships were over would be false however. This time, God was a little craftier in how he rescued me. Unfortunately, I can’t be very specific; I’ll just state that romance is a very powerful thing.
V
Our new house was set in place on March 1 2008. I use “set in place” because it was a modular. However, it wasn’t until fall of my junior year that I was able to take up residence.
By now, my family has altered members. Janelle and Tyler moved to Harrisonburg, Virginia, Brock was deployed to Afghanistan, Jake would soon be married (his baby was born the very day that I wrote this), and Lorin would also be wedded on the fifth of September. However, my grandfather Opa moved over here from California after the death of my step-grandmother.
“I can’t believe my youngest child is a senior,” was all my mom could say one day was we were running errands. Truthfully, it took me some amount of time to accustom to the title. I can’t wait to see where I go next on this road of life (cliché, I know). I hope that it is different, and new. But I hope that my future is just as fun and exciting, and, indeed, challenging as the road I’ve already traveled
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