Twenty-five dollar lesson

Nick and Chad are best friends. They have walked home from elementary school together every single day for seven years. On the Friday before Easter break their eighth grade year, they were walking out the doors by the fourth grade rooms and saw that Mrs. E’s purse was sitting on her desk and that she had some money sticking out. Nick convinced Chad to stand guard while he went into the room to snatch the money. Chad did not want to steal the money at all, he just wanted to go home and eat a snack, but since Nick was his best friend, he stayed and helped him steal the money anyhow. After the quick dash to the purse Nick returned with twenty-five dollars. Two ten-dollar bills and five ones is what they had stolen. The two thieves quickly ran out the double doors of the school in the direction of their homes just as they did every day. Once they got off the school property they slowed their pace down to a walk and began the trek home not saying a word until out of the blue, Chad turns to Nick and slugs him in the shoulder as hard as he could.
“Hey, what’s that for?”

“For stealing money from Mrs. E. Why would you want to steal from her?” Chad asked him as the guilt of stealing from his fourth grade teacher was burning inside him.

Nick looked at Chad as he dug into his pocket and said, “Here, here’s your half.”

Chad smacked his hand away and told him to keep it.
As the idea of being the only one with the stolen money weighed on Nick’s mind, he began to have second thoughts about what he did. The boys walked for a while in silence, until Nick out of the blue turned and slugged Chad in the arm as hard as he could.

“What,” exclaimed Chad as he grabbed his left shoulder.

Nick glared at Chad and got in his face and said “don’t act like you’re any better than me for stealing this money, just because you didn’t actually take the money, you still helped me.”

“Well I don’t want to steal it anymore,” Chad demanded as the two stood on the sidewalk facing each other about a block from school. “Besides, what if someone seen us running out of her room, they will know it was us who stole Mrs. E’s money.”

Nick answered him, “Well, what do you want to do about it?” “Huh” “You gonna bring it back to her room and tell her, are ya?”

“Maybe I will, Maybe we both should.”

Nick thought Chad was crazy, “Are you kidding me,” Nick said as he turned his head from side to side as though he was looking for someone to be behind him, “We’ll get in so much trouble for this!”

Neither Chad nor Nick said anything for a short while and as they still remained on the sidewalk looking at each other, they realized what they needed to do. As they peeked into Mrs. E’s room, they saw her sitting at her desk grading papers. She must had heard them because without looking up she motioned to the boys to come in. “Shut the door Nicholus,” Mrs. E said in the same voice she used to discipline Nick with five years ago.

“Mrs. E, we have something to tell you, Chad spoke up first.

“Nick, is this true?” Mrs. E questioned the boy.

Nick nodded his head and stared at the ground, “We went in your purse after school and took some money from it.”

Then there was a long disturbing silence until Mrs. E broke it by saying, “Yes I knew that you boys had been in here, I saw your backsides flying through the double doors as I turned the corner.

This news seemed to make Chad and Nick feel even worse. As their shoulders slumped and their heads hung in shame, Nick put the money back on the desk and said that he was sorry. Chad followed by saying the same.

“You know I was very disappointed when I realized that you boys stole money from my purse. It isn’t about twenty-five dollars boys, you boys know better than this. Your parents would be very disappointed with you would they not Chad?” Mrs. E asked as she looked directly in Chad’s eyes.

He couldn’t even say a word. Chad just nodded a little and gulped.

“Are you going to tell them?” Chad finally asked from under his shameful demeanor.

“I think I will let you tell them,” Mrs. E said as she organized and put her papers away.

Nick and Chad looked at each other, both thinking to themselves that their Easter break was over. Their parents were going to be furious with them.

“Now you boys get out of here, we’ll continue this after Easter break, after you tell your parents. You boys think about what you did today, Mrs. E began to preach.

“It was a terrible thing you did by coming in here and stealing money from my purse, but it was also an admirable thing you did by coming back and confessing. It tells me that you know that what you did was wrong, and that it will never happen again. Which is why I’m not going to tell Principal Cobb. But right now I have to go pick up a few things from the store so I must go.

“Thank you for not telling Principal Cobb,” Nick said as he sighed.

“By the way, when we come back from Easter break I expect an essay explaining all the events of this ordeal including your parent’s signature. See you boys next week,” Mrs. E said as she locked the door to her room and walked in the opposite direction of the boys.

Psychoanalytical voter not voting, I ask you

Who is the man of our time when it is air that we are talking
Who is the father of time when it is power we are talking
Who knows what I mean when I say to you oh sing the song. Sing the praise of our racing ego-maniac who develops under pressure and new faith that is drowning in the pit of sanctity.
Let it out, let the cry be heard from he who cast the first stone, and throw it back as hard as you can as though you know exactly where it finds its place in history. That one single stone alone, cold, smooth.
It is the path of the stone that determined the process of time.
A time of generations confiscates the newness of the holy grail, that has been ridden of its use.
Show the light of day and go to it as though you were being lured with unbreakable tests
Set the trap of the jungle with the eye and see the memory tomorrow. Forever will be it yours if you believe the ways of the sword are as much to do with the sword as it is to do with the eye. Behind every eye is the depth of the oceans, the ability to swim them and a hunger to move them.
Behind my eye
I see this poem

First Day of School

I woke up this morning and had a purpose, a certain motivation to make a difference in some child’s life. The darkness of my morning commute allowed for some anticipation as I sipped my tea. The questions were floating around in my head as I paid close attention to road signs, cautiously driving to Brookside. Work at an elementary school; It always sounded like something I would enjoy and would be good at but as for a career how would I know until I tried it right. So today was the first test, and what a test it was.
This morning when I woke up I never would have guessed I would be a hero on my first day of teaching, but I left Mrs. C’s classroom with a quiver and as I approached the door handle of my car I’m sure I had a tear on the verge. I still can’t believe my day ended the way it did. I think it was one of those experiences that you just remember for simple principle.
As I walked the students outside to their busses, one of my students returned hysterical, crying and shaking. I thought, what is the matter with this poor girl. So I kneeled down, embraced her in my arms a little and tried to talk to her. She had blurted out between wails that she lost her jacket. The school office secretary after hearing the commotion came and assisted me with this dilemma, which I greatly appreciated because it was helpful to have a motherly figure around at this point. So I decided that I would go find the jacket and bring it to her at her bus. She was off to bus twenty-seven and I was off to find the blue jean jacket, hoping that it would be near our room somewhere. I mean you never know with second graders, things appear in the strangest places with these kids.
I only took a few steps though until I realized this poor girl was absolutely terrified to go home with any type of bad news. She was scared for her safety I’m completely convinced of it. So when I found her jacket sitting on a chair in the hall, I picked up my pace to hurry back to the bus pick up to give her the jacket. But she had not made it to her bus. She ran back in the building desperately hoping to find the jean jacket herself. When I neared the doors of the building she made eye contact with me and as I kneeled down to give her the jacket she hugged me very tightly, as though I had just saved her of something terrible. It was a hug fueled by terror, not the hug that you want to receive from a second grader. She didn’t say a word, just hugged me and took off for bus twenty-seven.
Yeah, you can say that my first ever day of teaching was an interesting one. It was a day I will remember most likely for the rest of my life.

Looking Back...

I was in Cleveland this past weekend and decided to visit an old friend. I drove to All Saints Cemetary where he is buried and spent an hour or so catching up. The last time I was in All Saints was the day we buried our friend. So when I approached Mike's headstone I was happy to see that someone had recently visited and left three gords. Also there was a potted flower that was seeming to wither but still had enough red blossoms on it to break up the lack of color on the ground.

I have never really been to a cemetary to visit someone before, so I didn't really know what to do. I noticed a high school football player by his jersey, drive up in his black pick up and walk to a site close to where I was. I thought back to fridays after school when I played high school ball and realized my routine was much much different from this kid's. But the visit was very peaceful. I think theraputic even in some ways. It was nice to clear my mind and just sit there.

Yeah, I miss him. I realize that all the time. There has not been a day that I haven't thought about him in one way or another. It's been almost a year since his death, and I can still say that. He was a true friend, in many ways my best friend.

It's Not the Same Without You

It's Not the Same Without You 

Mike and I looking on in 99

Mike and I Looking On... 

We are With You...

Friday, October 22 

New Guy

I am looking to continue my writing career which has been on hold for the past few years. There has been a few things here and there but nothing I would concider professional. I also came to the conclusion that the best way to start writing again, was to start writing again. So this is it, my promise to myself that I will keep writing. It amazes me how far a writer can travel away from writing before they realize that it is still in them to write. After I graduated from The University of Findlay, where I was a Creative Writing major, I stopped writing. I had written so many English papers that I was just tired of writing. I guess I needed a break so I took three years off. Is that a long time I'm asking myself right now. I'll get back to you with what I come up with... Well it's been about two hours and I'm back at my computer. To answer my own question, I know of instances in which three years has been a lifetime. But I think that it was just the right period of time for me to put down the pen. I feel my writing voice has been rejuvinated and finally I can balance my life again.

Thirteen

It wasn’t her fault; she wasn’t even born yet. Yet somehow it was easier for me just to blame everything on a little sister that I never even gave a chance to. It’s amazing how life seemed so fine and dare I say “normal” one day, but by the time Mom left for work it seemed as though my life was ruined. Some memories are left in our minds so vividly that they will stay with us forever despite our attempts of trying to forget them. One of those memories that remains with me is the night my mom asked me, “How would you like another little brother or sister?”

As I laid on my stomach in front of the TV, thirteen years old and completely taken by surprise, I replied the first thought that came to mind, “I wouldn’t,” and turned my head from my mom who was nervously sitting on the recliner where she always sat to put her shoes on before she went to work, and continued watching the Monday Night Football game. My mom was 38 years old; I didn’t think she was pregnant, I just thought she was thinking of having another kid for some unknown reason. But before I could fix my attention to the game again, my mom said my name in a voice that rattled me. There was pain and a little joy in her voice, but it was awkward. Never before had I had a serious conversation with my mom about grown up things before.

She said to me, “Mark, turn around, I want to talk to you about this. “Mark”, she said, I’m going to have a baby in a few months, how do you feel about that?

I was speechless, absolutely nothing came to mind. I had nothing to say, I didn’t know what to think. After a moment of silence, I decided to deny the whole thing. “ Are you sure, how do you know?"

" I took a home test and it said I was going to be a mommy again.”

"But maybe it’s wrong, did you see a doctor?"

"No, not yet, I will soon though."

"Then you don’t know anything yet then."

I must have sounded so immature at that moment. Here my mom was trying to break the news to me that she was going to have a baby, and I was making her feel terrible about it. I got angry at my mom, I don’t know why but for some reason, when I was thirteen years old it must not of been cool to have a 38 year old mom who was pregnant. It was obviously an accident. I never wanted to imagine my parents having sex but that night I was forced to. My youngest sister was already eight years old and I just figured our family was already the way it was going to be.

My mom left for work that night to her plastics factory job just like every night, only I think she left with a tear in her eye because her oldest son was not going to make this easy for her. I said good bye but left out the hug, I love you have a good night bit, and went straight to my room where I tried to go to sleep so I could just forget about the events of the night.

Days, weeks went by, and the relationship I had with my mom declined. I talked very little to her, only when I needed something; lunch money, a parent's signature on a form for school, money for basketball shoes. Never did it seem like we talked about anything important; things parents and their kids talk about. I remember her trying so desperately hard to get me to open up. She would ask me everyday how my day was, and I would throw my books down and sternly say “fine!”

That is until the kids at school found out my mom was pregnant. I wasn’t always with the “cool” clique at school. I had my moments but not consistent enough to the point where anyone would understand that it wasn’t my fault. There was nothing I could do about it so why were they so cruel to me? The more my mom began to show it seemed the worse the harassment got. I know my mom sensed how upset I was but I was standing ignorant to my guns. I wasn’t going to let her know how I felt because that’s what she wanted. Instead I bottled all the shit up inside me, both at home and at school until one day when I just couldn’t stand it any more. It just got so old, listening to the same fat ass ask me if I got my mom pregnant on my way to 7th period English class. I’m not kidding, everyday for 3 weeks this fat ass gave me shit and everyday I ignored him. Not really though because as the 3rd week started, I began to get tears and would walk into class with my eyes all glassy. Each day was worse than the previous, except for Friday. I couldn’t take any more of Fatass’s repulsive remarks. I walked by myself as usual to English class, only as Fatass waited for me by the steps so he could say what he would as I walked past, I snapped. As soon as he got that shitty smile he got everyday when he saw me coming; right before words came out of his mouth; at the slightest quiver in his lip as though he was about to say “Mark." He never even got his lips together to pronounce my name before I threw my books and swung as hard as I could landing the most solid roundhouse, right fisted haymaker anyone at Glandorf Elementary had ever seen. I caught Fatass straight in the jaw, sending him down the flight of stairs, where I pursued to leap the entire flight, landing feet first on his gut. I felt the air escape from his body and it felt good. I remember screaming at him, taking all my aggression out on his ugly fat face. Left after left, right after right, the poor bastard didn’t have a chance of getting me off him. Not until I had bloodied his face and broke his ribs did I stop punching. It’s amazing no one heard us yelling, but it was downstairs in what we called the dungeon, so it worked out well for me. After I realized he wasn’t going to fight back, I got off him and walked straight out the front doors of the school covered in Fat ass’s blood and my tears.

Shaking and crying out of control I power walked as fast as I could to my house. But before I could get there, my English teacher who saw me walk past his class on my way out of the school, pulled up next to me in his Oldsmobile. I thought I was going to be in some very deep shit at that point but I didn’t care, I just kept walking. I kept walking, and before I knew it my English teacher was walking with me, he walked the rest of the way home with me. About half way home, Mr. Williams asked, “So you feel like talkin?”

“I don’t know, I don’t really have anything to say.”

“Okay, you don’t have to say anything.”

We walked a while and I decided to break the silence. “So am I in trouble or what?”

“Well, you never came to class this afternoon and last time I checked, I don’t think beating up a student and skipping class was allowed, but I could be wrong.”

I looked at Mr. Williams and he smiled. “So I guess this means that I’m going to be in trouble when Principal Brinkman finds out about this.”

“I think Principal Brinkman already knows. He’s covering our class right now. I told him what happened and asked if I could go after you alone.”

“You did. Why?”

“Because I know how you feel. I saw what Matt was doing but instead of barging in your business, I left it up for you to handle. Are you mad that I let that happen?

I thought about it for a while. I was mad at first but then I thought about it some more and realized why Mr. Williams let Fatass tease me all that time. It was because, as he put it, “it took a tough man to accept all that teasing without punching his lights out. You have a lot of character Mark, if your mother knew what Matt said to you all those times and you didn’t hit him, she would be very proud of you.”

I looked at Mr. Williams sternly because he had brought my mom into this conversation. I had not even thought about my mom since we started talking. I thought about how mad I was and how bad I wanted to go hit Fattass again. I also remember thinking why Mr. Williams asked Principal Brinkman to come after me alone. It really had me puzzled.

“Just keep my mom out of this alright.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you mad. Is that a sore topic for you?”

“I said keep my mom out of it!”

“You know Mark, I’m not going to try to bring you back to school, because I know that it is the last place that you want to be right now, anyway, Principal Brinkman instructed me to pick you up and bring you home and tell your parents about what happened. I’m going to let you tell them, and you will tell them won’t you?”

“I’m not going to have any choice, there’s my mom looking out the window right now probably wondering why the hell I’m not in school and my teacher is walking beside me.” Yeah, I’ll tell em.”

“Alright then.”

“Hey Mark by the way, remember what I said about how it takes a tough man to walk away from a fight?”

“Yeah.”

“It takes a foolish man to walk away from his mother.” And he turned and started walking back to his car.

I’d like to say that things were better with my mom after this, but they weren’t. In fact, it wasn’t until the day my little sister came home from the hospital that I even cared to see my mom or my sister. When the rest of my family went to the hospital to visit them I lied and said I had basketball practice and couldn’t go. But the day finally came when I had to face the truth, and that was the day they came home from the hospital. I had managed to hang low all day, despite all the guests talking with mom as she rocked the baby. I stayed clear all day until I came down from my room to get a drink. It was dark when I opened the door to the living room from my room, so I figured everyone was sleeping. I walked through the living room to the kitchen and flipped the light on. I remember thinking to myself that it was wrong that I didn’t even talk to my mom or hold my sister all day. After I flipped the kitchen light off and was about to open the door to the stairway, my mom turned the lamp beside the recliner on, startling me. I turned to her as she held her child; she was absolutely exhausted. She said she couldn’t sleep because she was thinking about me. With no expression in her face, she simply asked me: “Do you want to hold your little sister?”

I told my mom that I was too tired and I was going to bed. But before I could get up the stairs my mom said with that mother’s voice that you cannot ignore, “Mark, I want you to hold your sister.”

“All right." I managed to spit out as thousands of emotions raced through my body. My mom stood up and I sat down in the same recliner she was in the night she asked me how I would like a little brother or sister. At that moment I remembered how I felt that particular night, and then for the first time I wondered how she must have felt. Before I collected my thoughts, my mom had placed my baby sister in my arms. I looked up at my mom as I sat rocking my sister. My mom's face was filled with exhaustion most of all, but just enough happiness shined through to make me think. I looked at my baby sister and it finally occurred to me. My mom stood watching with tears rolling down her cheeks and I began to cry. I was so embarrassed and felt so much shame that I couldn’t stop crying until my mom comforted me with a hug and said “You know what Mark, Amy looks just like you did when we brought you home from the hospital.”

Quote of the Day

"The alleged power to charm down insanity, or ferosity
in beasts, is a power behind the eye." Ralph Waldo Emerson

Wild Encounters at 7 O’clock in the Morning

Through an upstairs window,
between the openings of the blinds-
the light of morning is already
in streaks on the wall I’m thinking on.

Despite my exhaustion-
I cannot sleep.

I want to relax-- to rest my mind,
To be set free of this transe.
While the night lingers over my bed
and rapidly has me wondering…

Spontaneous Writing Combustion

Writing is my spaceghost which inhabits my only layer
forget not what man has offered
but concentrate on the unknown.
Why you ask such a question?

To embrace the ewok of faith
that never was it known
to any of its followers
the truth of its realm.

By any standards below
my intention to dethrown
the answer to this question
that remains top the helm

Confused some act but surely depend
on the sun's rise each day
by I too they and some others as well
look forward to the time of the play.