dream.

I was taking a social work class that was held in the basement of the church I grew up attending. Ernie Harwell was the teacher. I was having a hard time paying attention because I was just so amazed that Ernie Harwell was my professor. He asked for volunteers to read a play and my hand shot up in the air and I bounced up and down in my seat and whispered "pick me pick me pick me" like that annoying ass-kisser in 1st grade that wants to answer every single question the teacher asks. Mr. Harwell picked me and several other students. I had the first line in the play but every time I tried to read it I realized that my A.D.D. went into super-overdrive and the words wouldn't stay still on the page. I couldn't read. I tried several times to read the passage aloud but I kept skipping words and lines on the page. Mr. Harwell thanked me and asked me to sit down. I was mortified. I took a break in the class to take some stuff out to my car. As I was walking up the stairs, Mr. Harwell passed me. He walked to his car and started packing his trunk with his suitcases and books. I wondered who was reading the play. I went back into the classroom and Sparky Anderson was teaching. He had placed a brand new pair of sneakers in front of everyone. They were all different styles and sizes but each one had his autograph. When he was done speaking, the plan was for us to choose a pair of shoes. I was debating whether I should try to get a pair of shoes that looked cool that might not fit, or get a pair that fit but might not look cool. I decided that I should get cool shoes even if they didn't fit because I wouldn't be wearing them around anyway. Then Mr. Anderson thanked his assistants for taking the time to autograph the shoes for him.