Dr. Felder, or “Doc”, as we called him, had been at Lynbrook High for at least ten years when I entered the program my freshman year. I came in a nervous frosh clarinetist and four years later, graduated a little more musically proficient, a little more confident and with my head a little higher. I’d like to attribute some of that to Doc.

Now there’s a ton of things I could say about band. In fact, you could probably dig way back in the archives of this blog and find many a band story (I was a serious band geek, no shame about that).

Doc stood 6 feet and then some, slightly balding with kind features. He was a man with high standards, having graduated with a music doctorate from UCSD (hence, “Doc”). This meant that his ensembles were invariably at the top of our district. We sent kids all over the place, from state ensembles to music conservatories.

Whether you loved him or hated him (you rarely were in the middle), Doc pushed you hard. He wasn’t afraid to let his emotions show–oftentimes, this would mean that he would raise his voice and express his frustration–“Come on, altos! Get it right!” or “Why can’t you pull this together?” For us slackers, it had a way of grinding us (reluctantly) into action. Sometimes it even pushed us to greatness.

More often than not, Doc was out and about the band room, greeting us as we walked in for fourth period Wind Ensemble, giving hugs and talking it up with his students.

I have memories of Doc during marching band season: he’d be out on the bleachers barking into a megaphone as we marched from set to set in the muddy grass.

Doc was widowed a few years before any of us knew him. He had several adult sons who’d occasionally pop into the band room and Doc would introduce with a beaming smile on his face. He never talked openly about his wife’s death, and we never dared to ask.

Now that I look back on it, Doc almost played a parental role to many of us. He’d be firm with discipline, always pushing us to reach the musical potential in us and never allowing us to compromise. And as kids usually are with their parents, we always regarded Doc with a mixture of awe, fear and loathing.

I became a section leader my junior year and I won’t forget how the weight of that responsibility felt on my shoulders. Doc chose me! I sure hope I don’t let him down! And those years as section leader allowed me to see how much he cared about the musical performance and the well-being of us kids.

I remember him pulling me aside a couple of times and just having pleasant conversations about life. It was nice knowing he cared enough about my life and didn’t always talk shop.

Sophomore year, our band and orchestra took a tour of China. That trip was particularly memorable, as Doc gave us his expectation that we be international ambassadors along with his imperative to have fun. So we laughed as he struggled with the fatigue of eating sixteen Chinese meals in a row, or made conversation with the head of the Chinese musical academy we performed at, or conducted us with his usual grace and poise.

Doc even wrote my letter of recommendation to Stanford University. We all know how well that turned out.
Midway through sophomore year, Doc remarried. His wife was a kind Japanese-American lady named Pam–his dentist, as we all found out–who had a sweet little girl who we’d see playing on the bleachers during a few of our nighttime practices.Doc didn’t have to stay with us. The man had an impressive list of musical accomplishment to his name, having jammed with many of the jazz greats in his day (Ellington, Monk, and Hancock). But he had stayed with the Lynbrook music program for over fifteen years, building it into a veritable powerhouse.

I have a horribly vivid memory of playing the alto clarinet for a piece we performed my senior year in the Wind Ensemble. The E-flat alto clarinet is the big-brother of the standard B-flat clarinet; a little longer and larger and lower. It’s also completely different instrument to play. Doc chose me to learn it for this one song (“Oh gosh! I hope I don’t disappoint!”), and so I tugged home the school’s beat-up alto clarinet and attempted to get that miserable thing to make sounds.

In the course of a month, I had a small degree of mastery over the instrument (but because that instrument was so darn beat-up, it still had its problems). One of them was squeaking. The adjustment made to my embouchure (mouth position) was too much to adjust to, and so I invariably ended up squeaking once in awhile throughout the piece. And since this was a soft, flowing melodic piece, these squeaks were not trivial.

Then county music competitions rolled around, and you can guess what happened. I totally messed it up. Our wind ensemble took the stage, and everybody was quiet, and I was sitting front-row in the center. We played, I wrestled with that blasted alto clarinet. My embouchure wasn’t loose enough. I totally messed it up.
After the performance, my glaring errors still fresh in my memory (and undoubtedly the judges’), Doc came up to me and gave me a hug. “Great job,” he told me, and grinned. Before I could apologize for anything, he walked off to congratulate others.

There are few men I respected then as much as Doc. And he’s still there at Lynbrook. They tell me he’s planning on retiring soon, and I tell myself I should go back and visit. And it will be with a mix of fear and trepidation and anticipation. I wonder what he’ll say to me, I wonder if he’ll even remember me. And I wonder if he’ll know how he’s shaped the person I’ve become.

That was two [?] months ago, and my ankle still hasn’t healed right. And I can’t run like I usually do. And my bike tires are underinflated and I haven’t gotten around to buying a pump. So since I’ve been home, I’ve been active maybe a total of zero times. And intake is definitely exceeding output. Yeah, I hate whiners, especially hypocritical ones.

Mom, why is your food so good. Cursesssss…

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I love thrift store shopping. It’s those gems you find once in awhile that make it worthwhile. It’s the built-in dealfinder [read: cheap (I get this from my dad)] that is in my DNA.

Tried to go exploring today up Highway 9 (Big Basin) but alas, my fears of wasting fuel conquered my desire to see what’s on the other side of the highway. It’s a wonderful feeling though, driving with the windows down, music up, and the forest around you. Too bad it costs you an arm and a leg these days.

I got tailed by like four or five fast drivers. Say it’s you being tailed. You’re new to the area, you’re driving a curvy two-lane highway. What do you do?

Picture of the Day

50% of the Interfellowship “iPray” Prayer Team

This was going somewhere (deeper) but I’m really tired.

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I’d been wondering for the longest time why my left eye kept hurting with my contacts on (this had been going on for a few months) and I finally went to my optometrist to check it out. Turns out I’ve had a scratched cornea and the hard contact in my eye hadn’t allowed it to heal. So now I’m only wearing one and only seeing foggy shapes through the other. Gives me kind of headaches sometimes, but boy, sight is such a gift.

It’s summer. The curtains are drawn back, a rosebush sits outside my open window, the air’s warm and I can sing without worry that the neighbors can hear me.

The darkness envelopes and embraces. I have four free hours at night, and I am overwhelmed. Simple things tend to do that–I pause a little as I walk out to my car and stare up at the heavens.

I think I’m on this people-withdrawal kind of stage. Like I’m all poop tired from Cal and talking to _everybody_ and my inner introvert needs some TLC. No, not my inner Emo Guy, who makes occasional appearances. But more contemplative times, more journaling, some prayer and meditation. I think I could stay this way for awhile.

Picture of the Day

Brendan and Julia, doing what they do best.

I will admit: I'm scared. I'm likely leading the prayer team next year at a time when I feel like I know the least about it, or I am not gifted with so-and-so's gifts. And I'd like to tell myself that's why I'm going ahead and doing it. But in so many ways that's why we're all scared whereever we're placed next year, and we're gonna plunge ahead saying that God, you've gotta catch us when we take this leaaaaap...

One thing that's crucial is losing this perfectionistic attitude of mine; this idea that being busy 24/7 is normal and healthy and perfectly doable. Leaving behind the idol of productivity and filling it with better things; things of intimacy with God and relationships and rest.

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Conversations Found
Sat around at the dining table with Mom and Dad tonight and just chatted. I love my parents. They are amazing role models and examples to me.

Conversations Lost
So in the process of reformatting my hard drive I lost my 4-year old archive of every single AIM conversation I ever had. Yes folks, that's a lot of social investment forever lost. Late night chats, guy talk, homework assignments, convos with crushes, and all around good times. The pack rat in me wants to cry. But something tells me this is something for the better. Quit looking behind you and start moving forward.

Self-awareness is so important but I must admit it's too hip and new school of a concept for me to admit I need more of it..

Photo of the Day

The best cost is no cost, says Jon Akutagawa.

Related posts

1. in the wake of the week jeremy lee, you rock. you dont know how much i appre­ci­ate the encour­age­ment. hang in...

Amazing. Amazing. I freakin can’t stop smiling. What an amazing way to end.

What to look forward to:
Chapter camp!
Ubuntu 6.06 Dapper Drake!
FAQQLY.com (now with MC Hammer! and Parry Shen! and Keiko Agena! And me!) And working with new interns Vicki and Hsiufan!
Reformatting my computer!
Solitude and time alone!
Using VIM!
Wearing my retainers after three months of not wearing them at all!
Ruby on Rails!
Getting glasses (again)!
Summer school!
Chillin!
The overuse of exclamation marks!

When your emptiness is their absence, and so you grip harder and squeeze tighter until your knuckles go white in a turbulent embrace; I’m talking about that feeling when you need to surface for some air but it’s been so long?

Sat: Psych160
Mon: History7B
Wed: CS186
Fri: EE40

Home. Hello, Summer =)

Sun: Catalina Chapter Camp.
Fri: Return home.

May 29th, Mon: Start work at FAQQLY… for reals. (We have an office now… wow!)

June 26th, Mon: UCB Summer Session C starts. I’ll be taking Math 55 (argh!)

August 18th, Fri: Summer Session Ends.

One Week of Freedom,

Goodbye Summer.

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ARR WHY IS 1 JOHN SO JUICY
I’m chewin’ and chewin’ and chewin’ and there’s still so much left over to munch on and digest. And it’s so freeing and lifegiving and CRAZY. WHOA.

————————————————–
What is an unhealthy relationship?
What are the telltale signs?

Leaving this open for y’all to call in.

HE: [paces room] It’s like I’m standing here at the precipice, some sort of mile high mountain [stands up on chair] and I’m looking down at the valley below and I scream and the valley’s so wide that my echo comes back to me a million times softer than before.

HIM: [whisper] My son, my son.

HE: Can’t you see? Can’t you see? I’m screaming for something, but I don’t know why. And the echoes come back and I think that’s all you are, God! Some sort of echo that I somehow need to pick out, decipher, cut out all the noise, and I have to do it all myself!

[Sits down in Chair, holding head in hands.]

HE: [voice breaking] Can’t you see? I just want to please You. But I’m so lost. So lost. And all I do is read verses like “If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him” and I can’t help but question why… [pause] why I still love this world so much if I know so many things in my head but not in my heart.. I can’t figure it out. Dad, I can’t figure this out.

HIM: [walks behind HE in chair, puts hands on HE’s shoulders]

HE: And it’s a lonely place, this Mount Everest and the air’s thin and I can’t scream much longer. And I’m starting to feel whispers of doubt, they clutch my heart and dry my bones and I start to question whether the love of you, my Dad, is really in me.

HIM: My son, I am Always.

[Fade]