Entry #21

Yearly Update

There are certain things that assert you a year has in fact passed. How about your birthday. How about a holiday. And somethings assert that even more time has passed. How about a new driver's license, nipple hair, your CPR/First Aid in need of renewal. Some years wouldn't seem like years without these things. They are sometimes the only thing in the year that changed. The years can bleed together...same house, same roomies, same job, same grocery store...it's not bad, it's just hard to tell where the years are. You wake up and say, "Is it really Christmas today!?" Compare to new job, new house, new roomies, hmmmmmm...how about an uncertain future. I KNOW I will remember this year. This one means something. This one will make the next ones. Yes, it has been a year.

Entry #20

Style Points

Working at a school can make you self-conscience about your stlye...even if you fancy yourself a "confident" person. You gotta try to look professional, but not dorky, and also not sell-out on your personal style beliefs.

I am at a cooperative house eating at a huge table for their annual "punksgiving" dinner. Not quite the most accurate name for the event, but everyone gets the idea. Politically radical people getting together around thanksgiving time and eating vegan food. I even dressed up a bit for irony's sake I guess. In true cooperative house style, we are going around the table with an awkward get to know you game where you say your name and then share your biggest fear. "Fear of not sledding enough," I say just to combat the awful answer of "fear of driving in the snow." Move to Cleveland if you want to see real snow.

On the way home, skateboard wheels approached from behind, probably someone from the dinner. No, I did not recognize this skater boy. I gave him that skater/punk/radical/shared views kind of head nod...and got a blank stare back to my dress shoed, khakied, button up shirt, adult hat wearing lameness. He did not recognize me either. My biggest fear was realized.

Call it gradeschool to fret over style, to make an effort to contrast the homogeneous look of the everyday man only to identify with a smaller equally homogeneous subculture. But that combination of contrast with identity, feels good. It's me. So I will not look too professional, or too dorky, and I will wear a Nirvana era Dave Grohl patch on my hooded sweatshirt to school. It's just a matter of what you want to hear, and what you want to talk about. Them: "you look professional" Me: "Thanks, I'm a slave to societal standards" Them: "That shirt is tacky, where'd you get it, JC penny?" Me: "I think it looks nice" Them: "Who is that girl on that patch?" Me (with excitement): "THIS is Dave Grohl, let me tell you...." I can't just stand by and let my worst fear get the best of me.

Entry #19

Full Time Job

To have a trade is to work anytime on any day. The village doctor is bound to the village by the trade. Expected and demanded to help, even when under qualified, to just offer relief of worry if anything. Like a musician. It is not what you do, it is what you are. Music is your reflex to living. You'll sing to strangers in strange places, you'll sing to family at weddings and funerals. You'll sing for supper, you'll sing because you want to, you'll sing because you have to. The doctor will heal in the middle of the night. The plumber will fix the leak on a Saturday. And the musician will give the starting note for a birthday song, or fill in the church choir for the holidays, or entertain a party...well...go ahead....you must have a song you know!? You ARE a musician aren't you? Yes indeed I am, a family trade you could say.

Entry #18

Chaos, or luck, or fate...or something

Call it whatever you want. There is some force that seems to make things happen…even if that force is just the comedy that is your life. Me and my friends like to tempt that force by traveling the country playing at “shows” in punk bands. We are leaning back on a rope that’s frayed. The crust band is playing and the crusty turn out is in full effect. They dance into the hot water tank and water starts to flood the basement. Set over. Show over? They turn off the water. We set up out off the water and trust the rubber in our shoes. Someone trips out the extension cord to the lights/PA/amps and he thinks the fuse blew…so he flips ALL the switches. Electrician guy at the show says the circuit breaker is shot. Show over, party starts. We did not come for a party. Through the kindness of some friends we manage to get a few bucks…and a place to finish the show. After a few calls the announcement is made by our hero that the show has been moved…to our tourmates ex-boy’s house. What are the chances? 100% in this comedy. On the way out some idiot sexually harasses our friend and our other friend pushes him and they take off. We are standing there like, "what happened” and drunk guy is all like, “are you all lining up to me?…I’ll kill you.” My brother is pissed. I have to push my brother into the car and say we are leaving and we do, quickly. We get to the other show, I mean party, and we set up quick and both bands play quickly. The people are nice and it is well received. We even had fun. Then one of the party house's residents decides that a closing acoustic performance is necessary....by him on the mini-ramp outside. He plays for too long and everyone is yelling. I am loading the last thing, a snare drum, and the cops roll up on us. I tell them they are probably looking for the one gloved frat boy boxing match raging at the end of the street. They tell me they are looking for the loud bands. I say our show got cancelled so we came to this party for an acoustic performance. They ask if we got payed. No. Then the guys at the house come out. Every weekend this month the cop says to the party boys. We seem to be in the clear but the house ends up with a $300 ticket and we drive off laughing at the force that is laughing at all of us.

Entry #17

I Rule

We are outside at the picnic table doing a natural found art project. Tying sticks together with yarn and gluing beads on rocks as eyes. Nothing like brand new glue...you don't have to squeeze it too hard to get it to come out and it is not all blocked up with old crusty glue. This glue had a seal under the screw top and the kids just could not get it off. Me to the rescue. I stick my thumbnail under the lip of the rubber stopper and pop it out. The glue blob shined in the sun and hung in the air for what seemed like minutes. Half the bottle. Covered one sleeve. A glob inside a hood. Most of it in red long hair. She was shocked. But, she took it well while everyone else freaked out at me. I took the 3 victims to the bathroom to wash up, which it all came out no problem. Like every hero enters the scene to loud roars of the crowd, I could hear the kids chanting "SUE HIM, SUE HIM!" as I walked the kids back to the playground. Did I mention it was a private school with a high tuition? I said, "the solution to every problem is not to sue someone." I am glad it came out with water.

Entry #16

Who am I to say?

It is hard to tell what will really affect kids in the long run. I always just try to give kids the skills they need to deal with their current environment, seeing every situation as a microcosm of a situation they will deal with in another context. If they can adapt to this environment and be happy and let others be happy then they can do it in any environment. Who I am I to say that using Jenga blocks with paper scraps taped on them to make a graveyard for all pets who have passesd away over the years is kind of…well, weird?

Lead by Example

In the gym instead of outside again. It has been below 15 degress all week with mind numbing windchills.The kids need exercise. They need some kind of way to blow off steam. Hot little tea pots they are on days like these. My physical education skills are being put to the test by 35 rowdy kids after a long day of school. I am using every game I know. My throat is toast, so I grab a cone to use as a megaphone to get everyone’s attention to start round two of our hula-hoop relay race. Everyone loves the idea sooo much that they grab cones too…and all hell breaks loose. I am cracking up as my boss comes in to see what all the racket is.

Entry #15

Van Story

For all we knew, the van was running on magic at that point anyway. Our mechanic friend said not to drive it more than 200 miles, that way, if it died, triple A would tow 100, drop it off, we could call them again and have them tow it the last 100. There was a full month where it would only drive in first gear, which we did a lot…and then it miraculously worked again…so we took it on tour and drove it all the time, duh. A while later it was having problems again. If you stopped at a light, you had to drop it into first, then second, then in to drive to get it up to speed…semi-automatic my friends joked. Sooo…we drove it to Kentucky for a show on a friend’s farm. Turns out a transmission on its way out is not helped by steep hills, equipment, and 7 people. We were not surprised, the time had come, we used up all the magic. We tried one last time and then left it on the side of the hill walking the remaining mile up the hill with our guitars and sleeping bags to the barn where the show was about to start. Through the night calls resulted in a place within 60 mile to tow the van and leave until we figured out what to do with it. The Tow truck arrived at 5 AM along with our bestest friends who came to pick us up and take us back to Columbus for work that day. Apparantley, the wood plank bridge across the river to the van was not sturdy enough to convince the tow truck driver that it would hold him, his truck, and our van. Like a bobsled team 8 of us are running, Pushing the van past haystacks and free roaming cows on a below freezing morning against a black sky. With the lightest person behind the wheel, we gained just enough speed to get the van up a hill and onto the precarious and icy bridge. Those on the sides jumped in the opened doors to avoid falling off and the rest gave the last push across the bridge to the tow truck. 170,000 miles. Two trips to the West Coast. A few tours to the East Coast and in the Midwest. Two trips south to Florida and back. One trip to Canada. Countless drives between Berea and Columbus. As it pulled away on the truck, I could see the thick layer of memories on all the windows in the form of frost. The dreams and friendships, the steamy windows, the sharpie scrawled directions on napkins and the gas station food wrappers. That Van took us places. We bought it, we ruined it, we loved it and hated it. A Mazda MPV 2000 mini-van, we looked like a family going to soccer practice. A week later we said goodbye to the “Most Punk Van,” the “Sailboat, the “Egg,” the “Joint,” at a Scrap Yard in Louisville. The $300 was more than I expected but it is hard to put a price on something priceless. The money went right into our friends’ gas tank to pay for gas on another tour. And so the “Joint” did what it did best…took us on one last tour.

check out www.midwestrock.org/delay for a picture of the van's last stand.

Entry #14

UNO!

If you work with kids in some capacity, it is a lot like playing Uno...sometimes literally that's what it is. But in this case...the players in your game can choose to give you a break and make your day, or they could hit you with the draw four and change the color to something you don't have. But in my book, it is better than the sure bet draw four that other jobs I have had offer. ...I enter the room to crying on my right and a drippy, broken ice baggy...an injury to the funny bone. On my left the classroom teacher asks if I can have everyone clean out the cubby after the kids have grabbed their coats and bags. All the extra stuff left behind...gloves without a partner, old snacks, toys, erasers; they all go into a big box sitting next to our circle. "OK...now that you all have your coats and bags, we need to take everything out of the cubby and put it in the big box...." Within seconds everyone one is all, "hey that's my weird piece of glittery string," and, "Hey this is John Grayson’s hat he was looking for it! I'll give it to him tomorrow..." And of course I'm all," Don't worry about what or whose it is just put it in the box." Minutes pass and children wander and spin and nothing is in the box because it is tipped over with 3 kids inside of it. Wild card, and they get to pick...

Just Like…

Lately, I have a new routine. I work later in the day so to avoid sleeping in way too late and then just getting up and going to work, I get up and go running. I feel much better this way. No matter what I do in a day, if I have ran I have at least done something. When explaining this to a friend, I defended my up early method by saying, “I’d rather get up early and then take a nap later if I’m still tired.” “Sounds like you’re on the dad schedule,” my friend said. I froze…he was right. My dad…and almost all my friend’s dad’s stay up a little late, wake up really early daily, even on the weekend, and then take an epic nap at some point in the day. “Well…I’m trying to emulate all the great dads I know!” I said through my laughter. “It’s a little early for that!” my friend joked back.

Dance Steps

“Hey, you took 4 steps!” he shouted at the boy who had just pegged him with the dodgeball. Everyone here knows that this playground only allows 3 steps before a throw. “Well,” I said, “he took 3 steps, then crow hopped, and threw. I say it’s fair.” “Crow hopped!?” they questioned. “Duh,” I thought. Why would 7 year olds understand what a crow hop is? I decided I should explain it to avoid any other dodgeball number of steps arguments. I had to think. I don’t even know how to explain it. I just do it. It’s that hop that an outfielder takes right before throwing the ball all the way to the infield. It’s an American cultural dance. Never really learned…more inherited in the backyard or ball field. Watched and then mimicked. Anytime I throw hard or far I do it like a reflex. “Well guys,” I began, “you get 3 steps and then you can do a little hop before you throw like this.” I thought showing it would be the best. “So we get 4 steps?” They weren’t getting it. “Let’s try it in slow motion. 3 steps, drag my back foot, hop up, turn, plant my back foot, step forward, and throw!” I explained. “Like 3 steps and a jump throw,” they were getting it. “Yeah, it just gives you more momentum and power,” I added. But the argument was over and the game was back on. Soon, they’ll all get it through just playing. The best way to learn it, necessity to throw further and harder to win in dodgeball. And unlike math formulas, they may never need more practice or need it re-explained. They’ll just go to throw…and do it.

More school/work Stories

Crazy Kids

Chaos is uncomfortable. The same feeling that compels me to organize my room is the one that wants kids to sit still and listen to me. But how could they? Their 6 hour school day ended just minutes before I entered their classroom. We played a game where the kids would have to mimic a rhythm I played on a plastic cup. The rhythm also included a pass of the cup and then the rhythm continued with a new cup. The speed would gradually increase. When it got to be too much I yelled and threw my cup into the air. It was followed by 10 cups, and 5 cups got smashed and the other 5 torn in half. Laughing, yelling, acting out…Chaos? Why did I feel the need to say “ok, ok, ok, let’s bring it down a notch.” I felt the same desire as they did to act out and so I did. I think I am just used to structure and instruction. Limitations. I wonder what would have happened had I just let them act out the full scene. Would they tear the place apart? Would the throw away the ruined cups and just line up for snack? I am not sure, but I’d like to find out where this “chaos” could take us.

John

I helped him down from the stage that was taller than he was. I thought it was safer then letting him plunge off of it into the air while I was supposed to be looking after him. As he ran towards the edge I called his name, “John…John! Please don’t jump off of the stage it is not safe…John.” He was oblivious to everything except “flying’ off of the stage. So as a last resort I just lightly physically slowed him down and helped him off of the stage. He sprinted down the hall to get outside as I called behind him, “walk please.” That’s when his teacher pulled me aside. “John is off of his medication this week so be patient with him.” I thanked her for the helpful explanation and felt sorry that John usually is in a medicine-induced world of docility. When I got outside I smiled to immediately see John with a foxtail in one hand, and a Frisbee in the other. “Austin, come play with me!” He yelled as the hood from his winter coat bounced around on his head like an astronauts’ space helmet. It had grown hot in the afternoon and so the rest of the coat was left behind. John’s game was aptly titled, “Frisbee Throw.” The game had rules but it never made sense to me fully. He would throw me the foxtail. If I caught it he would throw the Frisbee too. If I missed, he would say, “time for judgement,” and he would flip the Frisbee and then depending on which side came up he would arbitrarily decide if I won, lost, got points, threw him the foxtail, the Frisbee, or both, or whether I just kept them in my hands. For someone who couldn’t focus on certain things, he was so focused on this game. He wouldn’t let me quite and we played for more than an hour. It was like Calvin Ball, the game Calvin and Hobbes played in the comic we read earlier that week. The only rule was no rules, which really meant random rules. If we could all still imagine like that, we would be bored less often. And I thought about the overmedication of our society and our desire as “authority” figures to sometimes make some point to people we are “in charge” of even if they might not mentally be able to focus on us right at that moment. And I also thought about people that I know who can’t function in a healthy manner without medication. But in that moment I just wanted to play Frisbee Throw instead of thinking about all that shit. But at some point, it needs to be thought about, and I need to learn the healthiest way to interact with those around me.