Built to Spill: Dano

Built to Spill

Tuesday, August 12 2003 5:06 PM PDT

This could turn into a guitar gear-snob blog very quickly, but I'll attempt to be kind to non-musicians.
This morning I burned about 2 hours on the internet, ate some egg burritos, and then went to AG with my little brother. We stopped at a guitar shop and I played with a couple of vintage guitar amps for a few hours. I found a nice Ampeg with the greatest tone ever, it's very warm and rich. I need to drag Kohler over there and make him check it out. I'll rationalize buying it if I can sell my fender. You want to buy a guitar and amp, Kevin?
Tonight I get to pick up a friend and head over to a bible study in Orcutt. That's always a blast. We play some music before, I've been putting my bass skill to work there, and the worship is always super intimate and relaxed. The study has been one of the biggest encouragements to my personal growth for a couple of years now. I can't wait to find a group in San Diego that will be even more edifying.

I hope someone can enjoy my college entrance essay. I promise it is amusing to some degree. It's darn long though, if you don't know me or Zach it may not be too fun.

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“Dude, check out the leech! No, it’s right there!” Years of martial arts training had developed my explosive strength, sense of balance and intuition of the trajectory of human bodies that marshaled that day to the task at hand: throwing my trusting friend headlong into a pool of water. Zach dropped gracefully into the clear pool, a brilliant projection of my physical control, delicate balance, and ultimate deceptiveness. I reveled in my soggy creation as he surfaced, eyes wide with surprise, and then I quickly made my way to the other side of the rock. My aunt Rose was the first to speak out: “Daniel, that wasn’t cool.” The same training triggered mental alarms as reality crystallized and my emotional and social worlds stood on the edge of a precipice.

The Salmon Creek trail is a stunning day hike just off Highway One past San Simeon. My aunt discovered it in her youth with her friends. The place leaves such an impression on the heart that I do my utmost to share the experience with the people that I care most about. My aunt, brother and I had rounded up my group of my two closest friends, Zach and Ryan, as well as Melody and Cecilia, young women whose company we enjoyed.

I had spent six years of my life totaling thousands of hours in the dojo training in Keichu-Do. As a tall, awkward kid, struggling through puberty, I was unconsciously drawn to its prospects. I remember vividly the day the bearded grandmaster confronted me with this opportunity through his thick Cajun accent. Later that day I was wearing the white pajamas the Japanese call a gi, learning stances from an acne-faced teenager.

All students are encouraged to teach techniques as soon as they learn them. The strong Christian influence generates unity, confidence and valuable interdependence among students. We are taught to love God above all things and hereby regard the welfare of our family and others above ourselves. My brother, mother and aunt and I joined and through competition and a dedication to teaching, we earned second-degree black belts. Even before our first black belt test, we had become the dojo’s senior instructors, responsible for operation of classes. Many years of our lives were entirely dedicated to equipping students with physical, mental and spiritual methods of defense. It developed in me a tremendous sense of accountability and empathy.

The uninitiated stumbled out of the van in awe of the rugged beauty. Within minutes, we were hiking through the wet earth smells and green forest along the creek. I had begun to pride myself for organizing a trip that everyone was enjoying. We had lunch in a cave that overlooks the waterfall, and after another hour of jumping from rock to rock to log along the water, I made a comment to Melody about throwing Zach into the water. I am now certain that I mentally blocked the underlying negativity of her laugh. Around the next bend in the trail, I created the climax of the trip by enticing Zach to the water’s edge and heaving him into the frigid pool.

A horrific silence ensued, as shocked faces glanced from the dripping, infuriated and degraded Zach, then to me, the perpetrator of violence and duplicity. “What the Hell were you thinking?” The words cut through the air and into my core as water streamed from his shirtsleeves. I quickly responded, “Hey, take it easy. Do you want to talk about it? Come on, let’s talk.” He twisted away from me as anger burned deep in his eyes, and my heart despaired. My aunt, sensing the distress of the group and understanding my responsibilities, herded everyone further on the trail as I struggled with my own emotional composure to salvage our friendship.

Zach had been trained by his life experiences to protect his vulnerability at all costs, and the event had demonstrated a physical weakness and gullibility in front of acquaintances we were both attempting to impress. “Bro, look, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal” I had no intention of harming Zach in any way. I offered to let him push me in the water, or to have my dry clothes and shoes. He began to understand my objective of humor. “Man, alright, but that was just carelessness.” Zach refused the rest of my approaches to help him, and I finally perceived his need to dry his own shoes and clothing and the contents of his backpack that included his journals and song diaries of extreme personal importance.

I walked back, head hung low, as Ryan, thankfully, went to talk to Zach. I could not miss the exasperated glance he leveled as we passed on the rocks. I apologized to the girls, “Sorry to ruin your day. I just wasn’t thinking.” They made it clear that Zach was the victim, not they. I directed my thoughts upon emotions and walked along the bank, watching the subtle interaction of trout as the rest of the group skipped rocks across the surface of their world. Zach was a friend, and someone who had needed a great deal of encouragement. Only for the exaltation of my own pride had I overlooked evident parts of his disposition when I threw him in. I was left with few options other than getting his dinner and listening to the overflow of emotions that would certainly proceed.

My failure as a teacher became even more ironic as I considered a bible passage from the third chapter of James that I had shared with Zach the prior week. It declared that perfect wisdom is "pure, then peaceable, gentle, reasonable, full of mercy and good fruits, unwavering, without hypocrisy." Even in extreme remorse, I noticed the slight agitation of the entire group as they picked through the pebble-covered ground. Finally, tempering truth with humor, Cecilia spoke up, " I don't think that we can trust you anymore." At this point, I would rather have been Zach.

My younger brother produced a pair of swimming trunks that produced an anger-diffusing, comical effect when Zach squeezed into them. I collected his belongings and Zach grunted his acceptance of another apology as he pulled wet, dirty socks onto his feet. The trip back down the trail went quickly, with minimal conversation. Somehow, I repeatedly dunked my own shoes as I slipped from stone to stone.

The drive was more leisurely, and we stopped in the town of Cambria to enjoy the ritual of a Western Pizza dinner. The tension of communication ended and Zach's restrictive experience of short shorts became tremendously funny as we ravenously consumed pizza with goat cheese. After returning home, Zach admitted that despite his rebaptism, he really enjoyed the trip and could not wait to get out there again. I picked him up later that night for a church service, amazed that he still wanted to participate. Somehow, we reconnected and were able to pray for each other.

Having already renewed my friendship with Zach, restoring my character in the eyes of the girls was paramount. I went to Cecilia's house. I was relieved to hear that her father laughed for minutes about the ambush, and that Cecilia and Melody felt that Zach was possibly unjustified in his anger. We spoke openly about my motives to push him, and somehow, the s accepted my failure in leadership. The more time we spent together, the more they recognized how far out of character the act was for me, yet how integral fortitude and compassion are to my relationships.

Since then, realizing my leadership potential has encouraged me to improve my social communication. As situations produced more tension within the group, I mediated and helped them honestly see their own motivations. My calling as a gentle servant of all people as a leader has at least partially materialized, an effort that began primarily through my friends’ encouragement. More recently, I spent an evening teaching the girls some essential self-defense moves, and we have plans to hold a women’s self-defense class in the dojo to prepare them for their upcoming senior trip. The event has allowed me to consider fully the emotional status and dependencies of those I interact with, and solidified my disposition toward honest communication.

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