Written by Michael Claxton
You are reading a milestone column today. If you told the high school version of me I would someday write 300 essays for a college newspaper, I would have fainted on the spot. First, because that sounds like way more work than I would have wanted to take on at 18. But also, because it would mean one of my two career dreams had come true.
First, I wanted to be an English teacher. The wonderful teachers in my life stoked my love of writing and reading literature and helped me get better at both. As I watched them in front of the classroom day after day, I thought to myself, “I want to do what they do.” Granted, they made it all look much easier than I have since discovered teaching to be, but they set me on a path that has blessed my life for nearly 30 years.
My second dream was to be a humor columnist. I grew up in Georgia and often read a writer named Lewis Grizzard, who wrote weekly for the “Atlanta Journal.” As I devoured his witty musings on life, love, sports and the Waffle House, I thought to myself, “I want to do what he does.” I shared that dream with a friend who told me jobs like that were hard to get and that I had best stick to teaching. So, I put the idea on the back burner.
It stayed there for over a decade. Two years into my career at Harding, I had Heather Browning in my class. She was the editor for this newspaper and liked my sense of humor. Heather invited me to write an article for The Bison, and I sent in a piece about a recent trip overseas. That turned into an invitation to submit more, and by the next semester, I was writing for nearly every issue of the paper. I have now been doing that for 18 years.
It will save time if you complain to Heather directly.
I’m so grateful to Student Publications for putting up with my nonsense and giving me space to write about whatever I want. From stories of my childhood to tales of funny things that happen to me in restaurants, from thoughts about pop culture to tributes for friends who have passed on, I’ve had the freedom to write 800 words a week on things that mattered to me.
I’ve written deeply confessional pieces about my ineptitude at lawn maintenance or my affection for the Toyota I drove for 23 years or the fact I have seven file cabinets in my house. I’ve even taken on challenges sent in by readers, such as the time I wrote a whole column without using the letter “E,” or the week I submitted one entirely in limericks.
I have a few favorite stories I’ve gotten to share, such as the one about my one-and-only adventure in babysitting, or the time I tried to purchase a woman’s pocketbook as a Christmas gift, or the day I was mistaken for Mr. Noodle at Wendy’s, or the time I tried to help transport a basketball goal from one side of town to the next and nearly bought the farm riding in the back of a truck and trying to hold the crazy thing down in the wind.
Of course, I’ve tried to tackle serious issues, too. I’ve written about the national air guitar championships, the world’s oldest piece of fruitcake, and the guy who got so fed up with politics in his native Belgium that he put the whole country up for sale on eBay (I love the fact that eBay took the listing down “to avoid confusion”).
I need to thank my editorial board — a group of colleagues who have heard drafts of many of these articles over the years. They have helped me catch all kinds of mistakes or come up with better ways to say things. They even told me one time that I should cancel a column. You see, as a man who lives alone with his file cabinets, I have no one at home to say, “You think that’s funny, dear, but it’s not.” So, sometimes the editorial board has to step up.
But they may not have prevented enough of my nonsense. I’ve just done the math, and it seems I have inflicted over 240,000 words on the Harding nation since 2005. I feel the need to apologize.
But not necessarily to stop. As long as readers tell me they enjoy what I write, I plan to keep going. I am seldom happier than when composing a new “Just the Clax,” and I’m thankful to Harding for this wonderful ride. And to my loyal readers — thanks, but you may need a hobby.
