Hot For Teacher

“She has to know, right?”

“I don’t know, man.  Does she?  Know what?”

“Know that her words are very flattering.  Very, very flattering.”

“I mean, sure she’s your teacher and we’d all like to believe teachers are more aware than their students, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s thinking like you think she’s thinking.”

“I’m not saying I know how she’s thinking.  I’m just saying that it has been a long time since anyone has said I’m fascinating, endearing, and an enigma.”

“Whoa, slow down buddy.  She didn’t say you were fascinating, endearing and enigmatic.  She said your writing was.”

“Hey, don’t ruin this moment for me.”

“Okay, okay.”

“So what do you think my next play should be?”

“All I know is that she’s your number one contender right now.”

“Think so?”

“Definitely.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“You said she reads your blog?”

“She said she does.  She even used the word ‘wildly’ to describe an aspect of them.  ‘Wildly’.  I like that.”

“You told me that she said your blog was ‘wildly different’ than your discussion posts for class.”

“Like I said, ‘wildly’.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

A Family Man

“My God, she’s almost four,” he realized suddenly.  “My sister is only three years older than me, and sometimes that seems like too much of an age difference.”

“Even if there was a bun in the oven today,” he resumed, “her sibling would be four and a half years younger.  And there is no baking going on.”

In an instant his mind was burdened with memories from childhood.  His sister was always there.  Concerning his brother, if he had any memories from before Sam was born, he chalked them up to false-memories anyhow.  He does remember his brother being born, though.  He remembers it because, of all reasons, McDonald’s.  Jerry–watching him for the day–took him to McDonald’s and the happy meal came with a Detroit Lion’s player’s trading card.  It was awesome.  (Sam turned out to be cool as well.)

All the pride and certainty that he felt about his parenting skill vanished upon full recognition of the result of his selfishness.

“It’s cut and dry.  She’s going to miss out because of me.  It’s as simple as that.  Am I too picky?  Too jaded?  Too rational?” he asked himself, alone.

Then it hit him.  He was out of his element.  With the right woman, he may have been able to fake it ’til he made it regarding a traditional family.  But now?  Now a traditional family was as ethereal as the end of a rainbow.  He knew he must acknowledge that.

“Done,” he acknowledged.

“Step two,” he recited, “Gather all the information.”

“Non-traditional family.  How is that going to look?  What can I learn from others as I try to start mine?  And another thing,” he thought anxiously, “Why do I feel like I should keep this create-a-new-family desire away from public scrutiny?  That’s gotta change.”

A Hike’s End

The woods are

Always darkest first, I remember.

It’s just the two of us.

He says we need to hurry because

It’ll be too dark to see

Soon.

Each step directly in front of the last,

The trail’s raised edges keep my vanishing course sure.

Darkness encroaching, he says to go faster.

Nearly running,

I am struck by terror.

It is dark,

We’re separated from the group,

We are alone.

He is big,

I am small.

Could I out run him?

The plants are coming faster now,

Like my heartbeats, thoughts,

And him.

I want to sprint,

But can’t.

Campfire voices announce the end.

I stop.

He approaches.

I look into his eyes.

He says he’d rather not

Be out so late next time.

Body Language

“Please, please don’t talk to me today.  Not today.  Can’t it wait?” he thought to himself.  The big boss was scheduled to arrive any minute.  The day was a slow one, and that meant plenty of random tasks could be accomplished.  The problem was he was looking for new work.  No, that’s not quite it.  The problem was he hated lying.  He had tried it a couple times in his life.  It never felt good.  And he could tell that today was going to be no different.  He wanted to know what kind of situation work is that it forced him to lie.

The big boss being there is what bothered him so.  In order to keep his job he’d answer the man’s insincere question with, “Good.  Things are good.  How about you?”  Inside, though, he’d be thinking, “Not great.  In fact, I can’t think of a single reason why anyone would do this work except to get paid.  And that’s just not how I’m going to live.”

The moment came and went without much excitement.  He had done it.  He had looked a man directly in the eye and lied.

Leaving work as soon as they let him, he went home and laid down.  Waking up three hours later, his stomach was still in knots.  Like when in the aircraft his hands began maneuvering the machine away from danger before his brain concluded there was danger ahead, he knew that he had to trust his body’s language now.  It was saving itself.

I Heard That His Face Was Blue

“I heard that his face was blue.”

“I heard that he still had a faint pulse, so they tried CPR on him for a long time.  It’s all about oxygen in the brain.  Doesn’t matter if there’s a pulse if the brain’s been deprived of it for that long.”

Any teacher looking toward the boys during the passing period could tell by their enhanced self-awareness that none of them possessed tools capable of handling the news.  As if bound by tacit consent, each of them did their part to keep the silence–the sadness–at bay.

“His parents were the first to see him in the tree early this morning.  Can you imagine it?” the boy asked, almost forgetting to avoid silence.  “Knowing that,” the boy stumbled to resume, “knowing that while you were sleeping in your bed, right outside your window your child was…” the boy couldn’t say it.

“I’ll tell you something.  His brother, Josh, is probably the reason I began lifting weights,” another interrupted in an attempt to lighten the mood.  Attentive and curious eyes rewarded his move.  “Seriously.  I remember in gym, in 7th or 8th grade, that a girl was in awe upon, at her request, seeing his flexed bicep.  She had such a big smile.”

Their acceptance of a prolonged silence told him they were happy to hear more of this odd revelation.

“Yep.  I remember going home and flexing.  I was so ashamed.  He wasn’t much stronger than me, but compared to the sphere sitting between his elbow and shoulder, mine was like a straw.  In that moment, I knew what I had to do if I wanted a girl’s attention.”

They shook their heads in disbelief at his confession, so he continued.

“Of course, if we were to replay the situation today, he’d look puny.  On that day the big difference between he and I was that he was flexing incorrectly, his arm bent all the way, while I was already using a more proper pose, arm bent at ninety degrees,” he modeled to an approving audience.  Dropping his arm, he concluded, “But she didn’t know any of that.  And without her, without that smile, I can’t say for sure that I would’ve ever picked up a weight.”

“Great story man,” one of them voiced, lighting laughter’s fuse.

“Give me a break!  It’s just a memory I had,” he answered, smiling as they shuffled off to their classes.

To Humanity or Not To Humanity

Those of you who left the world of academia long ago might be unaware that there is a debate raging about the humanities.  Are college students interested in majoring in the humanities?  Are they not?  Would they like to, but their practical mind says, “Don’t be a fool.  There are no jobs for humanities majors.”

My question is why is this debate even happening?  I suspect that students who major in vocational type degrees get their long-sought-after jobs and live happily ever after.  Just like students who major in the humanities or liberal arts degrees don’t get jobs related to their degree and live happily ever after.

There is some notion that accompanies attending college which goes something like, “If only we all do this right, we can achieve heaven on earth.”  Is that what we (humans) really think?

I say do what you want.  I wanted to get good grades and learn about why people behave they way they do.  So I majored in sociology.  Some people want to become very rich, so they major in fields that lend themselves to making money.  Other people want to paint, so they major in art.  I don’t see why this is a discussion.  Am I missing something?

I want to be the best that I can be.  Isn’t that enough?  Why do I have to conform to your utopia?  How about this:  You just do your best rather than worry about forecasting what will happen if nobody studies English or History anymore.  And I’ll do the same.  And then we’ll see what happens.

My Living Room Came To Life

“I don’t think you understand.  My living room came to life.  I can only interpret this to mean that my will, my hopes, my desires–that I–manifest the future,” Pete told his friend.

Given that Pete, like any man, has an impressive streak of riding high on life at times, we should note that his claim isn’t quite unfounded.  Before explaining his claim’s seeming impossibility, we must first denote 2012’s sublime specimen of synchronicity.  Back in 1989, as a mere child of eight our hero saw the film Top Gun.  You know, the movie starring Tom Cruise that pretty much did recruiter’s jobs for them ever since?  Yeah, that Top Gun.  He then went on to become a military pilot.  While serving as a pilot, he was a member of a squadron which had an unofficial theme song.  The theme song was Bon Jovi’s Wanted Dead or Alive.  Here’s the kicker.  In 2012, Tom Cruise starred in a film called Rock of Ages (which unlike Top Gun did not inspire anyone) in which he (TC) sings Wanted Dead or Alive.  Think about that for a second.  Coincidence or not, that’s some seriously Mufasa C-O-L shit.

Back to our story…

“No Pete, I do understand.  I just don’t think it’s more than a coincidence.  I don’t think there is any hidden meaning.  I can’t believe I’m even acknowledging the idea that you control the future, but I am, and you don’t,” the Debbie-downer replied.

“You can’t tell me it’s just coincidence.  When people walk into this place what do they see first?  Metallica hanging on the wall.  Then they notice the beautifully 670lb Steinway and Sons grand piano,” Pete said, taking a breath that signaled that he was not going down without a fight.  “And last night, for all the world to see, Metallica and a Steinway and Sons piano performed together on the same stage!  How many people have Steinway and Metallica in the same room?” he asked, using hand motions to bolster his claim.  “How many?  Maybe 3.  Maybe 20.  But I’m one of them,” he said, his crescendo one self-assessment away from its peak.  “Man, I feel good right now!”

“Yes Pete.  And did you notice that you have a globe of Earth in the room too?  And the performance happened on Earth!” his friend mocked.  Continuing, he said, “And there are lights in this room!  And the concert had lights!”  Pete was no longer smiling.  “And we’re in a room.  And they performed in a room!”

“Go to hell.”

“And there are people in this room…”

Bright

He always chuckled to himself on the mornings that he forgot to turn on the lights.  Freshly shaved, he’d come out of the bathroom and see her eating in the dark.

She always answered “good” when asked her state of being, no matter the level of light, and this morning was no different.  After breakfast she began playing with her dolls in her normal talkative way.

“Okay.  I’m just going to brush my teeth and we’ll be ready to go,” he explained.

“Okay,” she responded.

As he turned the water off and reached for the towel he noticed she wasn’t talking anymore.

“Hey.  You okay?  How come you’re not talking anymore?” he asked, walking by her, still gathering everything together.

“I don’t want to brush my teeth daddy,” she confessed.

“Well, well, well,” he laughed.  “And you might have gotten out of it if you didn’t say anything.  Think about that for next time.  For now, let’s go brush your teeth.”

Amazing Girl-Child Lives Outside of Space and Time!

Her small size leads you to believe that you know all there is to know about her.

You are correct to discern that she cries a lot, talks a lot, can’t do math, can’t read, eats an incredible amount of food considering her weight, plays with toys, likes to be tucked in at night, asks to have her hand held if she’s not being carried, places a frightening level of trust in adults, and sometimes has accidents.

You’re also correct if you guess that she can’t carry on a conversation which furthers any agenda, she has a surprising stubbornness, her fantasy world is repetitious, and very few of her actions are original.  It is easy to see why people like her have lost their appeal.  They require attention.  They need help.  They listen; they believe; they mimic; they obey; they break; they depend on others; they spill their milk regularly.

What you might not notice is that she can’t tell time.  That’s right.  She doesn’t know what time is.  Not just what time of day it is, but she doesn’t have an awareness of time.  Can you remember what life was like before you knew what time was?  Probably not.  But maybe you can remember something about life before you used an alarm clock to remind you that your life was so important that you must stop resting.  Being around her–being around them–is the closest thing any of us will get to living without time again.

Without time 40 lbs never felt so light; repetitious stories never sounded so good; cleaning up spills never required less energy; soothing cries never seemed so desirable.  Without time raising a child never seemed so natural.