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The Real GOOD Loser, A Story That Could…
Chapter Sixteen: a Hole
“You are not prepared for what is to come.”
— from the film Dune: Part Two
*
I stopped at my son’s school the other day to grab a packet of work his teacher had put together for him and the other students in his class. Doing so had me seeing something extremely disturbing.
Outside a fifth-grade classroom pieces of paper showed a student’s face and a section below where that student wrote a dream for their future. Of the fifteen or so I stopped to read, three of dreamt of…becoming a billionaire: “I love money,” the one I took a picture of wrote, “money is my only love!”
When I was in college I maybe dreamt of being a millionaire someday. I could maybe make a joke about inflation or something. But the fact young kids are dreaming of being billionaires now—at such a young age even—is evidence of a society normalizing something that shouldn’t be, and not at all funny to me.
It’s extremely disturbing.
As a young over thinker and over planner I punched numbers into a future value calculator never thinking about a billion dollars twenty years ago. I’ve always understood wealth to be skewed; with outliers who have much more than everyone else, but things have gotten completely out of hand.
“Money behaves like gravity now,” I wrote in my journal reflecting on this, “flowing naturally to those that have enough and leaving the rest of us fighting over not only money but everything.”
After Nel and Pras came over last week I had to buy my son another new controller for his Xbox. His controllers keep getting “stick drift” it’s called. My son blamed it on my students but it’s no one’s fault really: “I think this stuff is built not to last” —I wrote in that vent-filled journal entry‚ “to vacuum as much money as possible from my bank account.”
There was a time that I was a responsible adult; saving for retirement and college for my kids, but that seems impossible to me now. A lot of my frustrations have to do with Sirena at the moment—but does that make what I wrote in my journal wrong?
Growing up a fan of my business owning father, Capitalism appeared to me as a three-step process to success: Work hard—EARN your spot—get AHEAD of others not as dedicated as you. I have since seen it appear as a three-step process to conflict: Work hard—KEEP your spot—get ANGRY at others trying to take it from you. Maybe Capitalism, like these stupid emotions of mine, is cyclical. All I know for sure, is being sold something literally everywhere I turn today has become exhausting and FAF…
The negative thoughts in my head have been getting louder lately. Before writing that in my journal me and my boys were watching The Hunger Games movie. I’d seen the movie many times, but not being in the best mental state had me realizing how gross the whole concept of that movie was.
Required by their government, kids kill kids for entertainment in that movie. It’s only rated PG-13 though because they don’t show the actually killing.
Watching it with my boys I started thinking about that Sprinkle Scale I used with my students a few weeks ago—Maybe I should call it The Poison Scale instead, I thought. Hearing me complain, the twins told me a PG-13 movie could use one f-word and still be rated PG-13. Where they heard that I’m not sure… But its f’d up, I thought.
It is now December in the year 2020 and on this Wednesday I’m about to visit Lauryn after school. I have a poster in my hand rolled up and protected in tight plastic. I debated bringing Lauryn this gift, but ultimately decided it was necessary.
“Where do I take this pain of mine? I run, but it stays right by my side.”
A line from a Metallica song interrupts my thoughts as I walk toward Lauryn’s apartment building.
Metallica’s song One was used in the background of an episode of 20/20 my mom was watching the other night: How much tragedy do you need to feed yourself mom? I thought critically seeing her watch that show investigating some real tragic event.
With my emotions on tilt lately, no one is safe from my criticism.
“Hold me till it sleeps.”
In the shower this morning, I was listening to the three Metallica songs I added to my playlist after hearing them on that show my mom was watching.
I pay for AppleMusic on my phone. The Family Plan for me and my boys only costs another twelve bucks a month or something. I think I remember Metallica complaining about their music being on AppleMusic a while back.
With royalties dwindling, even successful musicians are fighting for more of that disappearing money pie to survive this outrageously expensive world. We all have resentments. We all want more… Where do I take this pain of mine?
The three Metallica songs I added to my playlist were from the band’s Load album; the one I bought more than once probably: Until It Sleeps, King Nothing, and Hero of the Day.
There’s something about listening to three songs that helps change my moods I’ve noticed. One of those songs asked me a question that had me in another world for a few minutes this morning. “Are you satisfied?” That song asked me during my little impromptu head bang session in the shower.
No Mr. Metallica, I thought with water dripping off me, I am most definitely not satisfied.
Another song had me thinking of Ethan from that halfway house and what he said that first day he and I showed up there. “Careful what you wish,” that song sang; sounding like Ethan to me, “careful what you say, careful what you wish, you may regret it. Careful what you wish you just might get it.”
“Mama they try and break me,” the third song sang to me on my way to Lauryn’s just now…I hadn’t noticed the Mama reference until then.
The words are out there I thought hearing that; the words I’ll need when speaking to her. Lauryn I’m sure never listened to Metallica before—Would it be weird to just listen to music together?
Climbing the stairs to her third-floor apartment I see Lauryn waiting for me. She is always prettied up whenever I see her, but right now I can see the toll the last few weeks has taken on her. Coming together at the top of the stairs I want to give her a hug. That’s not permitted because of social distancing rules now though, nor would it be deemed socially appropriate anyways probably.
“This is for you,” I say handing her the hollow tube in my hand. Thanking me, Lauryn invites me into her home.
The apartment I walk into is empty of stuff. The essentials I see, but this is not a place full of things like most homes I am accustomed to walking into. A single Yankee Candle is lit on a coffee table in front of a loveseat in the living room; giving reason to this place smelling like a fresh Christmas tree.
Lauryn offers me a seat on the couch. Sitting down, I notice a piece of double-sided tape hanging from the ceiling above my head.
Tape like this is used to catch flies. This one has nothing on it currently but seeing it makes me think of my drug days. And reminds me that there are so many people out there still struggling.
“What is this?” Lauryn says, referring to hollow tube in her hand.
“Open it,” I tell her.
Struggling with that tight plastic, Lauryn eventually unrolls the poster within. Laying it on the table in front of us she uses the candle as a weight to keep it from rolling up.
The poster we look at is from the movie Mr. Church. On it is a picture of Eddie Murphy wearing a bowler hat appearing as his character, Henry Church. Across the bottom a quote from the movie reads: A book is read from beginning to end but is best understood from end to beginning.
“You don’t need to hang this up,” I say as Lauryn looks at the poster I had created and ordered on some website. “Just don’t throw it away.” —I tap the poster lying in front of us— “Someday this poster will make sense to you Lauryn.”
Lauryn talks softly at first but soon begins to ramble. She wants to know what I’ve heard and what I know. I give her simple answers as what I heard doesn’t matter…what matters is what she wants to tell me right now.
I can tell a lot of what Lauryn says to me is a running script that has been playing in her mind. It’s not my place to validate or contradict worries and fears that torment her. I thought she’d sound sad, but instead she sounds angry.
“It happened right f**ing there,” she says pointing at a spot on the floor across the room. “How am I supposed to live here now…What f***ing choice do I have though?”
At these words the room gets quiet. I look at the burning candle sitting on the poster in front of us and try to think of something to say. “Are you planning to go back to work?” I ask.
“Working to barely survive the rest of my life isn’t something I’m in a rush to get back to,” she says sounding suddenly depressed. “I’ll have to eventually,” she adds.
I see Lauryn’s angry eyes replaced by a pair of dead ones. She looks depleted of caring. And it dawns on me what a stupid question I just asked the girl who was released from a psych hospital for taking a bunch of Advil pills only a few days ago.
“How’s Nel?” I ask, “He was telling me he doesn’t know what to do for you.”
“He’s stupid Mr. J,” she answers. “He just doesn’t get it.”
I pause for a moment. “All people are slightly stupid Lauryn,” I say to this attack on her boyfriend. “Nel’s just trying to fit in like the rest of us.”
For a second this comment gives birth to a small smile on Lauryn’s face…it lacks the light I am accustomed to seeing and I feel myself want to hug her again.
Lauryn has run out of things to share with me and so I decide it’s time for me to share a few things with her. What I am about to tell her goes against my better judgement, but she’s hurting, and I feel guilty keeping this from her.
“Lauryn,” I start, “have you been keeping up with the weekly articles I’ve been writing for class?”
“Yeah, I have.”
“So, you read the one about depression last week?”
“Yeah,” she says, “I did.”
I think to hear a tone of sympathy in her voice. “I would never put what I’m about to tell you in writing Lauryn, so I hope what I say here can stay between us?”
She nods her head, “Of course,” she says.
“I wrote about depression last week because a lot of people in recovery can relate. What I didn’t tell you guys is I was diagnosed with bi-polar schizophrenia then—My second ex-wife would want me to add the word severe to that diagnoses.”
Why I tell Lauryn this thing about Sirena I’m not sure; it might be nervous rambling or pent-up frustration. Sirena described my diagnoses to someone this way once and it’s bothered me ever since. My mind quickly feeds me a memory of something else a person said to me not long ago—
“You had a demon that lived inside of you Jose, but you’ve overcome it.”
Congratulating me for doing so well lately, a family friend said this to me. It would be one thing if this person was referring to addiction…but they weren’t. This person knew my storied past and was inferring that my mental struggles were a result of “the devil” inside me. That one stung. Labels and statements like those are what keep a person like me in hiding I think.
“Do you know what that diagnoses means Lauryn?” I ask her.
“I know what bi-polar is,” she says. “Does that other part mean you like see shit that isn’t really there? You know…like in the movies and shit?”
Lauryn’s use of inappropriate language mixed with brutal honesty is painfully heartwarming. I’ve questioned my diagnoses for a long time now and often feel like I’m insulting a true sufferer of schizophrenia. I’ve definitely experienced manic depression from what I can tell. It’s that manic euphoria I get hung up on.
I tried acting confidently deluded back before I was given that diagnoses, but I think that was just my attempt at explaining unexplainable ideas I had. With how secretly unhinged I’ve been feeling lately though, I’m starting to worry they might have been right.
“For some people that means they see things that aren’t there,” I tell Lauryn. “That’s not me I don’t think. My imagination just gets the best of me sometimes. The real question is why I don’t tell people…Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t want to guess,” she says. “Why?”
I feel myself uncomfortable talking about this but seeing Lauryn not think about her own problems at the moment pushes me forward.
“I’m embarrassed, I was given that diagnosis during a dark time in my life and spent a long time fighting it. I have issues for sure but as long as I’m taking care of myself I don’t want to tell people things that will have them losing trust in me.”
“Does Principal Sam know?” she asks.
“No,” I answer. “That’s the point. No one knows—my boys don’t even know.”
“Why not?” she asks.
“I don’t know…” I answer slowly. “Just not important right now, I guess.”
“Will you ever tell them?”
This is a question I don’t know how to answer. I debate telling Lauryn I’ve been off all medication for a year now, but I told a friend that recently and immediately saw the concern wake up in their eyes. People say a diagnoses doesn’t define you, but I’m not really sure that’s true.
I’m an addict. I’ve accepted it. I’m susceptible to mental illness, especially depression. My mind ruminates on negative feedback from others, and I expect too much of myself. My mind hates me sometimes.
Accepting these things was hard for me. Convincing myself I can be successful despite them is harder. Does all this make me destine to have a hard life? Or does all this make me destine to have the life I’m meant to have?
Thinking this, I picture the quote on the banner hung on my bedroom wall: We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.
“I hope I don’t have to tell my boys Lauryn,” I say deciding to keep some secrets. “I only told you because of what you’re going through. Because I know it will scar you.. you can’t pretend it won’t.”
Lauryn’s eyes harden as I turn the focus back on her and a sense of calmness hits me unexpectantly. “There are things about my past I don’t tell people Lauryn. And I’ve literally run away to stay hidden at times. I don’t want that for you—What happened was an accident.”
Time seems to stop at these words. The young girl sitting beside me no longer looks angry and she doesn’t look afraid of me and isn’t eyeing me like I might be crazy; which often happens when people hear of my diagnoses. Lauryn instead looks at me now like I might understand what she’s going through.
I see tears gathering in her eyes and begin filling the silence with words….
Leaving Lauryn’s apartment, I find myself feeling strangely hopeful. I didn’t tell Lauryn what I’m dealing with now, but that visit reminded me that what I’m dealing with now isn’t really that bad. Or even important really.
Telling Lauryn about my difficult past and everything that happened before that fire had her opening up to me. I even got to tell her something Councilor John said to me.
“Life is forcing humility on you,” I repeated John’s words to her, “but there’s a thin line between being humble and being ashamed. That’s why so many people don’t get it…you have nothing to be ashamed of Lauryn.”
*
Article Title: a Hole
Dated: Friday, December 4th, 2020
“Education is the path from cocky ignorance to miserable uncertainty.”
— a quote credited to Mark Twain
Did you know Mark Twain’s real name was Samuel Langhorne Clemens?
Why would a respected historical figure and author use a fake name? … Was he self-conscious of how people in his time would react to his thoughts and opinions? … How would a person like that behave in our social media crazed and internet connected world today?
I can be a lot sometimes and will show you why someone might want to keep their thoughts and opinions anonymous by sharing another story with you in just a moment. First though let me quickly share with you something I wrote in my journal the other day:
The reason most people we consider successful today are not the nicest people, is because being an a-hole is either a pre-requisite to achieving greatness in this world today, or an inevitable biproduct of getting there. If you ever do make, someone is going to call you an a-hole. You might as well accept, a-hole.
The following article is rated PG-13: Reader discretion is advised.
Lauryn, this one’s for you….
Mini wars are happening everywhere today. The one happening on our roads; where we take these vehicles we were sold as a way to buy happiness, can leave most anyone frustrated with everyone and everything.
Those in a rush to get somewhere, and those in a rush to get nowhere, are lucky to survive their journey without giving themselves a sore throat by yelling or pulling a finger by flipping someone off.
While driving, one will encounter wrinkles of stupidity everywhere. And endless attempts at controlling it.
A stupid sign here — A stupid line there — One stupid way — No stupid way — A stupid rotary — An extra stupid light that doesn’t work properly —Etc.
Unfortunately, you can’t control stupid… only entice it maybe.
Who designs these road projects anyway?
In construction my dad used to say “too many cooks in the kitchen” when too many people were trying to be the boss on a jobsite. When this happens, chaos ensues, and nothing gets done. Or gets done properly, I should say.
I think that’s what’s happening with a lot of these road projects today. The same might be said about what’s happening—or not happening—in classrooms as well. Can I say anomalously?
Like usual, I can say smart sounding things but will now share a story with you that might illustrate how I, your teacher, might be King Stupid. Buckle up kiddos because this one might be rough…
I was on my way home from work traveling the same two-lane highway I always travel and listening to some audio book about inner peace. The day before I had gotten annoyed with my sister-in-law and called her the b-word. That’s a word you can’t take back easily.
On this drive, I was debating on how to make things right with her and thinking about that person who told me I say “I’m sorry” too much. The day I called my sister-in-law the b-word, I was spraying weed killer near her kids. Rather than saying something directly to me, she muttered something under her breath about what I was doing.
NEWS FLASH: I kinda suck and do things not thinking sometimes.
My mind is often all over the place and I wasn’t thinking about what I was doing that day. My sister-in-law’s annoyance with me was warranted. With how her and my brother have me tiptoeing around their children all the time, so was some of mine though, I think.
Her and my brother would be labeled “helicopter parents” and are honestly much better at parenting than I am. I’ve decided I’m not a bad parent necessarily… I’m just different. If it takes a village, I’d be the odd villager maybe.
As a family, we all very much like each other. But make no mistakes about it—we all very much dislike each other as well.
ANOTHER NEWS FLASH: Everyone gossips to a degree, and family can sometimes be the best at it…that doesn’t mean we don’t love each other—to a degree.
I called my sister-in-law the b-word because I was dealing with things she didn’t know about that day and often feel judged by her. On my drive home, I was thinking about this as the traffic moved extremely slow because of a merge ahead. Annoyed, but not necessarily in a rush, I stayed in the left lane and listened to instructions on how to “breathe through stress”.
In my mirror, I noticed a car weaving around the slowed traffic behind me. There’s always someone trying to get ahead by doing this. Normally I’m the sucker that lets that person merge at the last second, but this day I was about to let my frustration get the best of me.
What this driver was doing was wrong; everyone knew it, but no one stopped him. I decided I’d be the one to teach this guy a lesson: “This will be fun,” I told myself.
As that car approached from behind, I matched speed with the car beside me. By doing this, I blocked this p-o-s from weaving around us. I used to watch my dad do this when I was just a kid. In no time this driver was right on my butt. I just played dumb and carefully maintained speed with the car alongside me.
Realizing I was purposely blocking him, eventually this man laid on his horn. In my mirror I watched him jerk around in his car before throwing two middle fingers at me. That’s when I turned my head ninety degrees to the right and blew this man a kiss. I then waived at him like a queen would in a parade…slowly dropping fingers until only one remained in the middle.
Doing this, I continued to look at this man in my mirror; admiring the anger I was waking up inside of him. “Bingo-Bango!” I congratulated myself out loud. “Got you a-Hole…that will teach you!”
Admiring my victory, I did not see the traffic stop in front of me—BAM! I hit the car in front of me and as a result was hit by this man from behind. Traffic stopped and I was about to encounter this man I had just been purposely frustrating.
This would not be good, I thought.
Something amazing happened that day. A miracle, maybe. Getting out of our vehicles, me and this man did not get out looking to fight like you might imagine. Other drivers who had seen the two of us acting like idiots walked towards us. We were both caught and the fingers we wanted to point at each other were about to be silenced by all the fingers pointing at us.
With other drivers walking towards us that day, I looked at this man and said two words before they swarmed: “I’m sorry.”
On that day this man and I could have reacted differently. Instead of anger and revenge, we were both wired to feel sorrow and forgiveness in that intense moment. This is not often the case. That’s why I said it might have been a miracle.
After that accident this man and I had to deal with insurance stuff. Surprisingly he and I became friendly in the process; his name is Nick and he has a family like me and owns an ambulance company in the area. “Kinda ironic a guy that owns an ambulance company drives like such a-hole,” I joked with him.
The lesson I learned that day I try not to forget: We had a lot more in common than we knew when we were just two a-Holes trying to get to our destination.
Saying sorry is never a bad thing. I don’t care what people tell me. If someone wants to say it’s a sign of weakness, fine, but offering someone our forgiveness is never wrong as refusing to will often lead to the dark side of The Force.
In Star Wars, Yoda says: “Anger, fear, and aggression are the dark side of the Force.” He is then asked if the dark side is stronger. “No, no,” he responds, “Quicker, easier, more seductive.”
Again, Yoda is wiser and much less inappropriate than me…. but I still think King Stupid here is funnier. :0)
WEEKLY QUESTION FOR REFLECTION:
“We had a lot more in common than we knew when we were just two a-Holes trying to get to our destination.” Please think of someone in your life you are upset with currently. In your journals write about how they, not you, might feel at the moment.
The Teacher’s Playlist:
A**hole by Denis Leary
“Maybe I shouldn’t be singing this song….”
*
(End of Chapter 16)
Recovery High School 