Listen to chapter audio by clicking play above… Listen and Read at the same time to improve your “focusing fortitude” :0) Pictures related to chapter can be found by scrolling to bottom of this page. Enjoy the ride…
The Real GOOD Loser, A Story That Could…
Chapter Eleven: Worry
“For my whole life, I didn’t know if I even really existed…but I do.”
—from the film Joker
*
Playing the role of the Joker, Joaquin Phoenix talks to his publicly provided psychiatrist: “Is it just me or is it getting crazier out there?” he asks.
In the scene prior he is being paid to wear a clown costume and hold a sign on a busy street to advertise for a local business. This kind but troubled man; who enjoys his job, has his sign stolen from him by a group of boys who he then chases and eventually gets brutally beaten by. The Joker’s laughing face before asking his psychiatrist that question haunts me.
“It is certainly tense,” the downtrodden psychiatrist says in response to the Joker’s question. “People are upset. They’re struggling. Looking for work. These are tough times.”
It’s Friday, the day before Halloween, and week eight of the school year is coming to an end. Miss Lily and I are working together in her office as snow falls outside her windows. Snow on Halloween is unusual, but this year just keeps getting more and more unusual it seems— Is it just me or is it getting crazier out there?
“As kids we loved the heroes…as adults we understand the villains.”
That quote with an image of the Joker showed up on my Facebook feed. I used it as a warm-up activity with my students this past week. Afterwards I explained why watching that movie was so difficult for me.
When I told Lily about that chat Principal Sam had with me about that diverge story—the one she encouraged I enter in that contest—she went and talked to our principal about it. “The kids love his stories,” she claims to have said. “They like not knowing what to expect. That sometimes he’s funny and sometimes he’s serious. That he keeps things interesting… You’d know that if you listened to people.”
According to Lily the students like me; even if they don’t much show it. Lily’s defense got me an apology from our principal later that same day, but Principal Sam has acted cold towards her ever since. I would never ask Lily to do what she did, but that’s just who she is.
“When do you think you and Principal Sam will kiss and make up?” I ask her from across the desk our laptops share.
“We’ll be fine,” Lily answers casually. “People just don’t like being called out. It’s an ego killer.”
Lily and I begin to gossip about Principal Sam; about how that ego was long overdue for a little adjustment; and how Lily is everyone’s hero for giving our principal a long overdue reality check.
“People like being a Karen,” Lily says. “Arguing and finding ways to make life difficult for people today.”
Lily’s comment has me looking up the definition of what a “Karen” is on Wikipedia: a name society has given toa middle-class white woman who is perceived as entitled or demanding beyond the scope of what is normal.
I’m not above the name games we play today. My youngest and I have started calling people “Beverlies” because of this show The Goldbergs we watch.
In that show, Adam’s mom—Beverly—lies and exaggerates to keep her kids safely scared of people…and the world in general. When I see a mom doing this in the real world my son and I will give each other a look that says, “Someone’s being Beverlied.”
Lily takes a piece of chocolate and hands it to me across the desk. “Try it,” she says, “It’s really good.”
Bringing the chocolate to my nose I can tell its dark chocolate. I’m not usually a big fan of dark chocolate. “Smells good,” I say, placing it in my mouth.
Somewhat enjoying this treat, I watch Lily put her hair into a ponytail across the top of our laptop screens. She flattens her hair and then refocuses her attention on the laptop in front of her. We are both working on a lesson for my class next week: Deciphering Texts, we are calling it.
Not wanting to get back to work quite yet, I offer a distraction. “I’ve got an appointment to get myself fixed next week.”
Lily looks up from her computer. “What?” she says at my sharing of personal information.
“You know…” I snip the air with my fingers. “It’s an easy surgery I guess. The guy doing it made feel like I was gonna throw up when he explained it though. I’m not good with blood.”
“Are you talking about a vasectomy J?”
“Yup…If that’s what it’s called,” I nod and offer a goofy smile. “What else could I be talking about?”
“Do you really think you’re ready for that? What if you meet someone who wants kids?”
“I’m pretty sure I should be done at this point,” I answer. “It wouldn’t be fair to my boys…I’m spread thin already.”
Lily sounds like my mom again. What I’ve just said to her isn’t the whole truth, but it’s enough for this conversation.
People like to say “It goes bye too fast” when talking about raising kids. I’m sure I’ll feel that way myself someday, but what people often fail to mention is what a painfully slow process it can be.
I’m more of a friend to my kids than a dad most of the time I think—maybe that’s why I find it so hard.
The other day my youngest forgot to bring his iPad to Sirena’s brother’s house. Dropping it off, her brother teased me. “Enable much,” he said. His criticism was valid and is just one of the many reasons I think getting fixed is the responsible thing for me to do at this point.
Talking to Lily now my throat hurts. Last night I had all my boys with me. They were acting crazy and so I semi-yelled at them. They stopped for a second, I turned away, and they proceeded to act crazy and giggle and joke again. Eventually I spazzed. “Can you just listen to me for once!” I yelled to the point of seeing stars and pounded the kitchen counter where I was cleaning dishes for the third time.
I hate yelling. I really do. I just don’t know what else to do sometimes. I love my boys but selfishly look forward to when they are older…and I can maybe have a life of my own again.
“It’s not like I’m using the thing anyways,” I continue explaining my decision to Lily. “It would be just my luck to get someone pregnant if I did though.”
I shrug my shoulders and offer Lily another goofy look. She shakes her head at me but is unable to hold in a smile. “You’re an idiot,” she says. “You should really think about it though. And if you’re not active what’s the rush?”
“With two ex-wives and three kids, I don’t think I’m rushing anything.”
“I still think you should wait,” Lily says in doctorly fashion. “But really we need to finish these conversations. Let’s just get them done.”
Lily looks down at her laptop and goes back to typing. Looking down at mine I begin questioning myself again. I’m comfortable around Lily in a way I haven’t been around a girl in a long time, but it’s easy for someone like her to plant a seed of doubt in my head.
I’m mostly getting that surgery to ensure I don’t sabotage my life more than I already have, but like I just said: it’s not like I’m using the thing—Maybe I should wait?
The doctor says I’ll need to ice myself for a few days and I’m not sure how I’ll explain that to my boys anyway. I’ll end up telling the twins about it; they’re old enough, but then they’ll wonder if that means I literally won’t have any testicles anymore. Then funny dad will be tempted to explain the accuracy and inaccuracy of their assumption.
I’m constantly amazed at the things my boys believe, but as a kid myself I was the same. A friend once told me that after a man ejaculates one hundred times he can no longer get an erection. It sounds silly to me now but back then I remember trying to keep count—I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.
A few minutes pass when a knock on the door interrupts the funny thoughts in my head and the silent punching of keyboards.
“Come in,” Lily says loudly.
The door opens and Lauryn stands looking suspiciously at us.
“Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds,” she says. “Can one of you let me in Principal Sam’s office? I need to get the speaker to bring outside.”
“I got it,” I say standing up and disrupting the awkwardness that has just entered the room.
Lauryn points two fingers at her eyes and then directs them at Lily and me. “I’m watching you two,” she says.
I watch these two girls exchange a look with one another. The only thing Lily and I have to feel guilty about is not wearing our masks in school. Knowing Lauryn won’t snitch on us, I put mine on and push her out the door.
With Halloween being tomorrow Principal Sam told the students they could have the afternoon off. With snow falling outside they’re a bit more excited for this than they probably would have been otherwise.
Principal Sam called this break from classroom time “warranted” this morning; as many towns have cancelled trick-or-treating because of this pandemic. Hearing Principal Sam say that I couldn’t help but wonder how much learning was gonna happen anyways.
Walking beside Lauryn, I’m wearing a Batman’s Robin shirt today. With the heavy sweatshirt I have underneath the students have been calling me “Fat Robin” all day: “It’s Robin’s Quarantine-Fifteen,” I told them; Covid had a lot of us packing on a few extra pounds and I’m no exception.
Lauryn isn’t dressed up herself—she’s too cool for that—but is wearing a Kobe Bryant jersey today and has been telling people she’s dressed as “The G.O.A.T.” for Halloween.
Kobe Bryant died a year ago in a helicopter crash with his thirteen-year-old daughter Gianna sitting next to him. The thought of them looking into each other’s eyes during their final moments made me physically ill when the news broke.
This world needs better role models. With a lot of athletes saying “I don’t get paid to be a role model” I think Kobe understood he was one whether he wanted to be or not. This too must start in school though. We have to teach these future athletes and celebrities and YouTubers and influencers how to be good role models…and that clearly isn’t happening today.
I was reminded of this just this morning when Lauryn’s jersey sparked a conversation about taunting. “Let them taunt,” I watched Nel say. “They’re big boys.”
A man from a local recovery program was meeting with the students. When Nel said that this man stayed silent and let the students rally around Nel’s opinion about taunting. Watching from a corner, I told myself this visitor didn’t say anything because he was scared of being critical of these sensitive students of ours, but the truth is that man probably agreed with Nel.
Sitting there I recalled buying a mouth guard with my twins. “Dad,” my son said showing me the packaging for his mouthguard, “It’s called ‘The Trash Talker’.” — A company making money by promoting trash talking to our kids…how nice.
As usual, my boys know better than anyone how I feel about this. When we watch sports together, they, like me, get annoyed with all the over-dramatic acting and self-celebration and self-promotion that exists in professional sports today. While they are boys and do enjoy some of the fighting and trash talking we watch—especially in hockey I’m finding—they know how their overly sensitive dad feels about it.
Watching my boys play their sports is when raising them feels like a painfully slow process to me. It’s not that I don’t care necessarily, it’s just that I don’t care like everyone else does. In that stretch of time, it is abundantly clear to me that I do not fit in the world in which I exist as I simply don’t care about winning.
Maybe being competitive was beaten out of me with all the losing I’ve done lately, but even as a kid I don’t think it was winning that drove me. It was more about not wanting to let people down; and the desire not to embarrass myself I think. I’m not a give everyone a trophy person either though. Maybe there’s just an element of luck in all competition that doesn’t agree with me hoping to create my own luck today.
“A society that promotes competition always struggles with trust.”
I heard that in one of my audiobooks recently. I felt like that guy in the Elf movie who yells “YES!” when sharing the idea of another writer with his boss. That simple statement explains so much of what I see happening in the world around me and made me feel justified in not fitting in.
When everything’s a competition, it’s natural to believe we are being taken advantage of, or screwed over, or cheated, so that someone else can win. That “when you get punched you punch back” mentality might work in sports, but when an entire civilization lives that way, I think this current reality is what you get.
When Sirena and I used to watch the kids play sports together she’d remind me to keep my opinions to myself because of how opposite they were to everyone else’s. Sitting alone watching my kids play sports now, I watch two games happening at the same time. The actual game and the blame game that goes on during and after.
Blame refs. Blame coaches. Blame other players. Blame. Blame. Blame. “A society promoting competition always struggles with trust”. Yes! Yes! Yes!
I feel the same way when I’m watching professional sports. Stadiums full of people that care so passionately about winning. I wish I cared like them sometimes; it’s why I gamble on sports sometimes—because I want to care. I hate who I am when I gamble on sports though…it’s a problem.
Watching professional sports there’s also that little issue of the fighting over the disappearing money pie that’s completely FAF to most of us— What’s the point of Generational Wealth if we have no generations to leave it to?
On Facebook I saw a retired football player take a dig at a baseball players contract: “Shoulda learned to hit a ball and not the gap,” that running back wrote. If millionaires are feeling resentful, how do you think the rest of us feel?
Trickle-down economics didn’t apply when cutting taxes, but it applies to astronomical salaries of players. Yes, billionaires can most definitely afford it…but they don’t. Rather, it trickles down to us: Teachers — Construction workers — Doctors — Nurses — Dunkin Donut Employees — Suckers and fans at all levels of society.
“By the way,” Lauryn says; interrupting this conversation with myself, “I’m the one that told Principal Sam about your suicide story. I’m sorry you got in trouble for it.”
“I know you did Lauryn. You don’t have to be sorry.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t listen to what adults tell me to do so much, huh.”
I assume Lauryn’s comment means Principal Sam asked her to report on what’s happening in my class. Thinking this, I tell her why she really shouldn’t feel bad about it.
“I should probably thank you,” I tell her. “After that meeting with Principal Sam I had a breakthrough… I realized I’d have to start opening up to you guys if I really wanted our class to work.”
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“Just wait until you read this week’s article, you’ll understand.”
Lauryn looks at me for an answer. Grabbing the small speaker off the desk I don’t elaborate and the two of us leave the office.
“What are you doing for Halloween tomorrow?” she asks walking beside me down the hall.
“My town is still doing trick-or-treating, so me and the boys are going. It’s been a few years since I went with the twins so I’m pretty pumped.” —Lauryn knows all about my unique family situation—”My youngest turns seven the day after, so I have a little party planned and a blow-up-jumpy being delivered for the weekend.”
Telling her about this jumpy I think about the snow falling outside. The boys will probably have more fun because of it.
“Mr. J,” Lauryn says approaching the door to head outside, “your life is more f****d than you tell us, isn’t it?”
Beneath the mask covering my face, I laugh a response as I open the door to head into the snowy outdoors. “You have no idea Lauryn.”
*
Article Title: P.A.I.N. through Worry
Dated: Friday, October 30th, 2020
“I’m gonna climb over that anger wall of yours one of these days… and it’s gonna be glorious.”
— a quote from the film The Other Guys
“HOW COULD YOU CHANGE THE WORLD?”
Writing this question in all capital letters on my white board, I turn to look out at my students and ask the question I just wrote on the board. A familiar silence fills the room. Getting students to engage in class is difficult and this silence is something I’m accustomed to.
In fact…I expected it.
As a teacher, I often do this. I ease my students into a lesson by asking questions or doing something I know they won’t understand at first. Sooner or later, these students will learn to expect this from me.
Last week I wrote an article for them about anger. Reading it they may have been worried about that argument I had with their principal. I needed them to understand that just like every emotion, feeling angry is natural. That article I wrote was supposed to illustrate what happens when that emotion takes over.
When I was young I had quite the temper, looking back I almost always experienced feelings of shame after I’d let that temper get the best of me. Whether punching a wall or saying something mean to someone: I have come to believe that worrying about things done out of anger is inevitable.
Anger is something I’ve tried to learn how to embrace over the years. That doesn’t mean I enjoy being angry; or that I want to learn how to enjoy being angry, I hate being angry, that’s the truth. But I’ve come to realize that whenever something upsets me to the point of anger, there is usually a lesson to be learned once that difficult moment passes.
Looking at the world today there is plenty to be angry about. The article I wrote them actually connects to a reflection I’ll be asking theses students to complete in class. The writing prompt saved on my computer for that reads:
Social media connected us to everyone but left many of us feeling connected to no one… Am I lying? Everywhere you look today people seem content on being mediocre and organizing people to do anything in this Era of The Distracted Mind feels impossible…. Am I lying? Many people are hitting their “MAX F IT LEVEL” at the very same time, resulting in this reality where the overall quality of service and attention to detail in every industry has hit an all-time low…Am I lying?…How can a person know anymore? … And what can we do about it?
I made amends with their principal shortly after getting lectured and was never really as mad as I let these students believe. That article was just me stirring the pot a bit. That Tarzan commercial thing with my son really happened though, and I do really believe this world is falling apart because of resentments.
Some of what I wrote was inspired by a show called Mr. Robot. And that stuff about gambling was stuff I thought about after getting into an argument with my friends who I play in a fantasy football league with.
I’ve played in that fantasy football league with my friends since I was in high school. I’m considering not playing next year though because it’s making me not like people I really enjoy liking. They argue about everything, and all the ball-busting just isn’t fun to me anymore. I’m not sure what to do though because it’s one of the only times I get to talk to those friends.
Playing fantasy football might have ruined watching sports for me. It’s where my unhealthy obsession with trying to control the uncontrollable might have begun. Playing in that league with my friends has also showed me the drawbacks of democracy—When everyone has an equal voice…things can get very loud.
This week I have been talking to these students about worry and how it affects them.
“Worrying is like a rocking chair,” Van Wilder says in his movie. “It gives you something to do but it doesn’t get you anywhere.”
I used that quote to tell these student that while worrying might not get you anywhere, it does often serve a purpose: “Like helping us learn from past mistakes and avoid past misfortunes,” I told them.
The three tips in that article were not tips on how to survive this world…They were what a person would likely come to believe by watching too much television.
“What would happen if you COULD change the world?”
After Lauryn—one of my more lovable students—called my question “dumb” I changed the question on my white board just a bit.
“Imagine you could,” I turn from the board and ask. “What do you think would happen?”
Again, silent faces look back at me. I see Pras’s sleeping mind waking up though as he considers my question.
This is all I can do as a teacher. Inspire my students to think and to ask questions and to wonder… What if?
Discussions born out of this question are my favorite as you can never anticipate where they’ll go. That’s the beauty of encouraging people to use their imaginations— a skill we no longer use enough.
Right as I’m about to tell these students to write an answer to this question in their journals, a single voice breaks the silence. “You would piss a lot of people off,” the voice says.
The words are not spoken loudly and they come out muffled because the student who speaks has their head down and is wearing a hood. I assumed this student wasn’t listening, but you know what happens when you ‘ass-u-me’ (You make an ass out of you and me).
“What do you mean by that?” I kindly ask the hooded figure in front of me.
Candace’s eyes appear from under her hood as she raises her head to look at me before speaking. “Everyone thinks they know how to change the world Mr. J,” she says. “You’d have to convince people that what they think is wrong. Who wants to be told they’re wrong?”
I love when I’m asked questions I don’t know how to answer. “What do you think,” I ask the class, “is Candace right?”
“Mr. J,” Nel responds sounding utterly uninterested, “I’m trying to change my own life. I really don’t care about any of this.”
Nel’s words stop me in my tracks. I often get lost in these wonderful classes that exist in my mind and forget that this class is supposed to be about these students, not me. Looking at the frustration on Nel’s face I realize a lot of what I’m talking about is probably annoying to them. I’m up here trying to act all cheerful and shit, while their minds face other problems that are more personal to them.
Why am I up here jamming this idea of changing the world down their throats? — OH YES! —I remember now… Because I need them to!
As a dad with children growing up in this world full of people hitting MAX-F-IT LEVEL at the very same time, this is something I’m counting on. I need to encourage these students in front of me to do something to change my kids’ future. For that, this class is sort of about me—Don’t let them think otherwise, I mentally remind myself.
All these thoughts race through my head in an instant after Nel speaks. And I decide these students need me to act like an adult in this moment. They really have no clue how well I pretend to do this: I am actor on stage…and you, kiddos, are my audience.
“I understand how you feel Nel,” I say attempting to sound sympathetic. “But let me ask you this: Does human conflict affect your ability to find peace in your life?”
A look of confusion surfaces on Nel’s face—or maybe it’s annoyance.
“What I mean is, does the world around you ever cause you to get angry or worried?”
“Sometimes,” Nel responds. “I guess.”
“It does!” I say raising my voice. “Trust me. Most of us think this world stinks and we all want to change our lives. So, why not come together and change the world?”
Silent faces look back at me once more.
Really, I don’t want them to speak right now. I want them to think. More than anything though I want them to accept the truth— YOU are going to have to change this world.
WEEKLY QUESTION FOR REFLECTION:
“I have come to believe that worrying about things done out of anger is inevitable.” In your journals, please write whether or not you agree with this statement. Try to again think of examples from your own life.
The Teacher’s Playlist:
No Easy Way Out by Robert Tepper
“Some things are worth fighting for.”
*
(End of Chapter 11)
Click here to continue to next chapter…
Recovery High School 