Word: armes
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...this week he draws upon his experience as a father of two--Gillum, 8, and Emily, 6--for our cover story on kids' athletics. Earlier this spring, Dad spent every Saturday driving his players to the ballpark, cheering and, when the ball machine was down, subbing his writing arm for the Iron Mike. He is no rookie, though. "In grade school I played a lot of sports," he says. "The difference is, we would just bring our friends and some equipment and play." He retired from sports in high school and switched from imitating Mickey Mantle to E.B. White...
...reported to the Cambridge Police Department (CPD) he was nearly struck by a male driver while he was crossing the street in the crosswalk. When approached, the driver grabbed the pedestrian's arm and said, "I'm a police officer...You're under arrest!" The pedestrian demanded a badge from the suspect, but he left the scene without comment...
...that shooting a cop wins you honor these days; that all his contemporaries do is fight and shoot and get high and steal; that he will never identify the kid who shot him because ratting is the lowest; that he burns names under an R.I.P. tattoo on his left arm when close friends die; that he doesn't expect to live to 25; that sometimes he dreams about going legit and getting a really good job. Like what? "I don't know," he says. "Like maybe a telemarketer...
...this was going on, May 1997 approached. As a seasoned second-semester first-year, I had determined that by keeping my studies at arm's length for a semester, not only could I increase my tolerance for alcohol but also put myself in an irreversible predicament marked by poor, weaks, and forgettable grades. Despite my best rescue attempts during reading period, my grades slipped into the crapper, superflushed by the latest technology before I could reach in and grab them back. With my grade point average, of course, went my hopes for a successful life. There would be no opportunities...
Amazed at this, conceding that perhaps Harvard hadn't yet touched me with its Harvard Aura, I got up and said I was fine. I was soldiering on. Wasn't that what Invincible Harvard Students did? And so, ignoring the pain in the arm on which I had fallen, I returned to my Holworthy dorm room and typed two papers. As my injured right arm weakened, my left automatically compensated--and broke down. Five days later, with both hands swollen and tender, I reported to University Health Services, wanting nothing more than a sling and a ice pack. Instead...