If there was a calendar that had a photograph for each month of my life in 2009, these are the pictures you would see. None of these images exist, so I will have to describe them to you. Consider it a slideshow without the slides.
JANUARY: Here’s me presenting questions during Brainamania. I’m wearing the tie to make me look like I know all the answers.
FEBRUARY: Here’s me making the students run through the chariot-race scene in Long Live Tendonitis for the twenty-seventh time. They think I’m making them do it again so that it will get better. Actually, I’m making them do it again, because it makes me laugh.
MARCH: Here’s me watching a bunch of people watching Long Live Tendonitis. You can’t really tell in the dark, but I’m smiling.
APRIL: Here’s me in Oklahoma speaking at a seminar for Bible class teachers. Although I might look intense, that’s actually terror on my face.
MAY: Here’s me putting in a wood floor at the house. Notice the way the thin layer of sawdust makes all the furniture look rustic.
JUNE: Here’s me with my dad and sister making a run for a school building in Agate, Colorado. Just behind us, in the near-distance, you can see the tornado.
JULY: Here’s me at Kamp, pushing adolescents into a giant mud pit. Don’t overlook that everyone is smiling.
AUGUST: Here’s me at the campground in Montana getting stung in the head by a bee while climbing a steep mountain. Strangely enough, this was exactly what was written in the fortune cookie.
SEPTEMBER: Here’s me looking down. On my desk there’s a cooking timer that looks like an apple. That tells me when I can look up. This was a game I played for quite awhile called, “Save the Retina.”
OCTOBER: Here’s me watching the senior play from above the stage, waiting to drop the periscopes. I’m wearing black so that I can sneak down the ladder and hit a giant metal pole for the climactic scene. I’ve got my fingers crossed that next year I will be doing something unusual.
NOVEMBER: Here’s me in the grown-up play smashing a watermelon. Those glasses are not my real glasses, so the look of concentration is because I’m trying not to miss the floor.
DECEMBER: Here’s me driving through a blizzard two days before Christmas wondering why I always end up driving through a blizzard two days before Christmas. But look—I’m happy.