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The Real GOOD Loser, A Story That Could…
Start of Act Three: The Prestige
“The futurist gentlemen. The futurist is here. He sees all. He knows what’s best for you whether you like it or not.”
—from the film Captain America: Civil War
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Chapter Nineteen: Power of Possibility
“I’m something of a magician…Prepare to be amazed.”
— from the film Wonka
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It’s two days before Christmas day in the year 2020, and I find myself looking out the large front window in my apartment above the garage at my parents’ house, at a flock of plastic pink flamingos taking a stroll in a winter wonderland below me.
Flamingos are our city bird or something. Sixty of them were used to celebrate a relative’s birthday a few summers ago. Nel called them pelicans when my boys first took them out of the garage.
“Flamingos don’t fly until they’re shown how.” A minute ago, Lauryn was looking out this window with me and my son and said this thing to him about flying flamingos. Now I stand here alone wondering if she was joking or not—I’ll Google it later.
Lauryn and my youngest are inside playing with Legos behind me, as I drink my coffee and look out this window at Nel and Pras fooling around with my twins in the snow below. Nel and Pras talked a lot about my boys and “Ernie” and “Linda” after they came over on Thanksgiving; most everyone calls my parents by their first name.
With this pandemic, social gatherings are still not being encouraged and so were talking about what little plans we had for holiday break when Lauryn suggested my family should meet her: “Don’t you want them to meet Mama, Mr. J?” she said.
The fact Lauryn was trying to act cheerful that day made me hopeful she’ll make it past this difficult time. These students then basically invited themselves over today. “I’ll drive,” Nel told the group.
I’ve come to the realization that Christmas brings out the worst in me. It represents everything I don’t like about the world today: the mass exchanging of money for stuff. With the news of my program not getting funded; and this whole Sirena thing, I’m feeling extra Scroogey this year.
The twins spend Christmas Eve at their moms. My youngest spends it at Sirena’s until late when he gets dropped off here to open presents from Santa in the morning with me. Two days before Christmas day—today—has basically become my Christmas with the boys I guess. With nothing planned, I let these students invite themselves over knowing my boys would again enjoy the company.
I told Lily I hate the idea of gifts in general: “Getting them as much as giving them” I said. If an idea for a gift comes to me, I’ll do it. I made a calendar for my neighbors’ kids Owen and Dani this year of pictures I took during the pandemic; that I thought was a cool gift. But as a person that tries acting like they care about people all year, having to buy a gift for one of the hundred reasons we’ve created to buy gifts to prove to someone we care is beyond irritating to me.
Having Lily to vent to has been a blessing. While I do genuinely hate Christmas right now, talking to her has had me at least laughing at myself for it. I know how I sound talking about this and do my best to hide it from my boys, but I can’t much hide it from myself: “Kind of like that stupid elf,” I told Lily, “Skittles is the stupid name my son gave ours.”
Looking out this window, the television I bought my boys for Christmas last year is wedged between a couch behind me. I—slash Santa—bought the boys that tv and a basketball hoop for this big living room last year. The next day a basketball hit the new tv and broke it.
My boys felt awful when that happened, but really it didn’t bother me much. Despite what Sirena wants to say, I really don’t care about money. I know I should, and will have to soon, but that day I tried making a joke of it and told my boys we’d use that broken tv to prank someone someday. Really though, it’s only wedged behind that coach now because it’s a hassle throwing away.
I was talking to these students about things that would change in the future the day I told them this TV story. I said Christmas won’t be consumer driven when my kids are adults: “People will have learned by then,” I said, “that, or completely out of money by then.” That day I told them how I call presents “landfill”— Bah humbug, I should have maybe added.
When Lauryn asked me if my twins still believed in Santa that day I said I think they might and asked if I should tell them the truth: “They already know Mr. J,” Nel said acting like he knew my boys better than I do, “They just don’t want you to know they know.”
Hearing that had me thinking of my twin’s other dad. He thinks my twins know and are just playing dumb for us and their siblings.
My twins have a great mom and a great environment at her house. Her and the man she is with now—who has earned the name “other dad” in my mind—have two girls together and are basically married without the title. Their mom is happier with him than she ever was with me. As is Sirena with her new man it appears…making me the common denominator in both of these failed marriages of mine.
These twins playing in the snow will already be in high school next year. Watching them now has me thinking about the day I attended their fifth-grade graduation….
I had just gotten out of the halfway house and sat in the bleachers of their gymnasium watching this video their teachers had put together that had the song Count On Me by Bruno Mars playing in the background. With both hands in my jacket pockets, I clenched my jaw and sucked hard on my tongue watching it; something I learned to do to stop myself from crying in public.
I was there alone that day but even if my parents were with me, I’d still have felt the same. I felt so painfully alone around people then. I’m a little better now, but not always.
My boy’s Papa was there that day just a few bleacher seats to my right. When I’m near him I wonder if a piece of sand feels as completely unnecessary as I do. My life was a disaster then—Didn’t he know I was sorry?
I started dating his daughter as a freshman in high school. When I proposed to her I made a snowman in front of his house to do it. He made a comment to me that day about not trusting me as I had broken up with her twice before finally deciding she was the one. He was mostly joking when he said that as we were good friends then, but with how things ended his words reflected on hit different. At that graduation I could understand why he hated me. I hated me too.
Not long after that graduation he and I ran into each other at the gas station. Surprisingly, he acknowledged me. “Glad to see you working again,” he said. I had my construction boots on and was driving my dad’s truck. “You’ll be able to help more now I assume,” he added.
I didn’t have time to say anything that day as he quickly got in his truck and left; proud of himself for sticking up for his daughter I assumed. He was talking about money. That was another big “I F’ING HATE MY LIFE!” moment for me.
I guarantee his daughter doesn’t tell him about the extra money I give her before school each year for clothes. Or that money I give her to use for presents from Santa each year. She doesn’t ask for this money I just give it…without a thank you from her obviously.
He probably doesn’t know I give her more than I’m legally required to each month. Or about the tax credits and stimulus payments I let her have. He might not care to remember me willingly giving his daughter half of everything when we got divorced either. And he most definitely wouldn’t care I have literally nothing now and get nothing for raising my other son.
My twins love their Papa. “Some people just can’t forgive,” I tell them when I know their upset he ignores me.
No amount of money I could give would be enough. The only way he’ll overcome the hate he feels towards me would be by understanding and accepting that that divorce wasn’t all my fault. His resentments have turned him bitter, and I hate the role I’ve played in that because he really is a good person…I was closer to him and his wife more than my own parents in high school.
In my mind us becoming friends again would be simple. He’d walk up to me and shake my hand in front of the twins. He’d call me an a-hole and I would call him an a-hole back. We would both laugh, and it all would be forgotten.
I know that delusion is unlikely to ever happen. But do wish my boy’s Mema and I could be close again: “She’s the best back scratcher,” I tell them—I miss her the most.
Feeling underappreciated makes me extra sad around Christmas. And angry too I think. I know I can’t be alone. That’s why I look at this entire holiday as just one big event stoking those resentments dividing us.
Thinking this to myself—while standing at this window—I can’t help but picture Jim Carey’s Grinch standing on top of that mountain listing all the people he loathes: Where would my list end? I wonder.
Having this conversation with myself, the four boys moving in the snow below look up at me. I nod my head to confirm that I do in fact see the artwork with those flamingos in the U-driveway below. “Yes, I see it,” I mouth smiling at them.
In my mind I sometimes refer to my twin’s mom as Martyr Mom. I started using that name after seeing an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond where Ray uses that word on Debra and gets himself in trouble.
Martyr Mom doesn’t like to ask for my help or involve me in things if she doesn’t have to. She really is a great mom though. She’s the reason my boys say “love you” whenever they say goodbye; words my family don’t often use on one another.
The twins were only two when their mom and I got divorced. On the day I moved out for good their identical little heads popped up from the bottom of a window that was eye-level with our driveway. Their little faces in that window tormented me for a long time.
I’m the one that asked for the divorce but none of it was easy for me. I remember driving around back then listening to Highway Twenty Ride by the Zac Brown Band and crying.
I told myself I had no choice but to leave. Martyr Mom wasn’t involving my parents in their lives—she didn’t “trust them watching them” she said—and I just felt like a passenger along for the ride.
I told myself that by the time these boys were adults I’d be a better father to them than had I stayed. That was always just me justifying a difficult and very selfish decision though. A decision Percocet helped numb me to its consequences for a while.
Outside this window I continue to watch my twins play the role of Dumb and Dumber; while Pras and Nel play the role of Dumberer and Dumbest. They all giggle looking up at me once more and I can only once again shake my head at the arrangement of flamingos in the snow below that now clearly resemble a gigantic penis and balls.
With my coffee in hand, I look across the street and wonder what the Tall’s are thinking about all this. If these neighbors are watching, they’re probably just laughing at us like usual—they know this is the fun house.
Down the road I see Geanna and Gemma—both spelt with a G—headed this way with their little white dog. I’m horrible with names and currently forcing myself to remember theirs as Gemma got mad I forgot hers just the other day. One of those girls is my twins age and one is a bit younger. Their mother called moving into this neighborhood “living the American Dream” when we first met not long ago.
In addition to that mom’s full-time job, she is starting an event planning business; POP By Posh she’s calling it. Hearing that I couldn’t help but think about when I tried opening my own business to pay for that so-called “American Dream” she referred to: “The American Trap,” I call it now
Buy a car—get a dog—get married—buy a house—have a kid—pile on the responsibilities as fast you can and soon you’ll be happy… “The American Trap.” God—I’m so miserable I can’t even stand listening to myself.
Below me, I watch the girls walk past without anyone acknowledging each other. Nel says something to my twins that has one laughing and one ducking his head; looking embarrassed.
I dream of a world where kids are friendlier towards each other and try to lead by example. That’s why we know Geanna and Gemma. But watching this lack of interaction occur from out this window is yet another reminder of the uphill battle I face.
The sound of crashing Legos gets my attention. Turning, I see my youngest has just emptied another bucket on the floor. The counter I can’t help but notice is a mess from that “moonshine” Nel was making with my boys before they went outside. I like to keep that counter clean and remind myself to clean it later.
Lauryn and my son are working on a Lego table to the left of that messy counter. Above their head hangs what I consider my most prized possession today.
When I got out of that halfway house Tammy—my son’s daycare teacher—wrote on a piece of paper “I am lucky because…” and had him tell her something to write. He drew two stick figures and had her write: “I see my Daddy!”
Lauryn and my son are spelling his name with Legos. From across the room, I watch her ask him how many letters are in each part of his name like he’s some dumb little kid. None of my kids‚ or these students—are dumb little kids, but this one most definitely isn’t.
While driving the other day he asked why the moon looked bigger than the sun after learning something in school. To answer his question, I used signs at different distances to explain why that was. Putting that together, he then asked about the size of space and if there was an end to it. Once he contemplated my too complex answer to that question this, not-really-dumb -little kid, asked if that was where God lived.
“Six—Six—Six.”
I see my son answer Lauryn’s question to how many letters are in each part of his name. With shocked fear in her eyes, Lauryn looks up at me watching this interaction from across the room. My son then watches the two of us smile and laugh at something he doesn’t understand.
Adults and their dumb signs, I think to myself, I’ll have to explain that to him later—Once I figure out how to answer that whole God thing… Children and their dumb questions.
On this day the serious business of growing up is being put on hold for all of us. My dad is downstairs making a batch of his homemade Cookie Dough and Oreo Ice Cream and Lily should be here any minute with the pizza she’s picking up from Athens. The plan is to eat and watch a movie. When Lily texted me saying she was on her way, I told her to look for flamingos.
Turning once again I look at the group of boys outside.
Maybe one day I’ll tell these boys everything that happened before. Maybe one day I’ll tell them the truth about Santa. Right now, however, I’ll iron in this memory being made in the snow below me; and hope that one day I’ll be remembering the good days and not the bad anymore.
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Article Title: Power of Possibility
Dated: Friday, December 25th, 2020
“People. We think. We reason. We have free will. We can change our destiny.”
—a quote from my favorite show Lost
For a week and a half, I tried to get all of you to see this world we are living in today with a sense ofImpermanence: a noun; meaning the state or fact of lasting for only a limited period of time.
With winter break coming up, I gave you an assignment titled The Power of Possibility in which I asked you to write a short story where you imagined the world thirty years from now; with only one stipulation: that things in thirty years are better than they are today: “How did it happen?” I asked.
I stole/pirated the idea for this assignment from an old Simpson’s episode. Your stories were so good, Miss Lily and I will be asking your permission to use them as examples of student work when we present this class for future funding. Here is a summary of what each of you wrote:
Nel titled his story: “Speed Free Zone.”
Listening to Nel rant about “power tripping cops” after he got his “undeserved traffic ticket” I encouraged him to use his frustration to change things. His story envisioned a world where registered cars had sensors placed in them. “Sensors placed in cars reported aggressive driving to insurance companies,” Nel wrote. “Reducing the amount of anger directed at cops responsible for giving tickets to drivers.”
Dear Nel, you had a hard time getting started but showed some truly original thinking on your part. Way to go kid!
Lauryn titled her story: “NON-FAF.”
Imagining a world that had outlawed filters on social media platforms because they were deemed a “public health risk”, parts of Lauryn’s story made me literally laugh out loud. I don’t do TikTok, yet, but the statistics regarding the growth of “influencers” since its creation blew me away.
Her story made me think of how I feel when I look at old pictures of myself. All of you will have many more pictures of yourself to look at someday and I worry about what that will do to your psyche.
Dear Lauryn, you made me think. Great work my dear!
Pras titled his story “RECYCLE ECONOMICS.”
Imagining a world that had become more equitable—and perhaps kissing my butt some—Pras wrote: “If you give people more money it will be recycled back into the hands of the wealthy. Most of the population will die without amassing much wealth, but their lives would be lived more happily…The wealthy are admired rather than scared and hated.”
Dear Pras, your story would gather many cheers in our world today and at the same time receive a lot of ridicule. When that happens, you know you’re onto something. Nicely done my friend!
Unfortunately, none of us can live in the future. Rather, we must face the days ahead and deal with the world in which we exist today: The Not-So-Great One.
Here I’m tempted to discuss the evolutionary process of a species with you. But we are on break, and I don’t feel like putting that much work into this. So, I’m just gonna say something here I’m sure you’ve all heard before: “Be the change you want to see in the world.”
An entire class should be taught on how to do this. I’ll only share a few examples with here though hoping they might stick. The first being this: When you go to stores like Walmart—put your carriages away.
Don’t just fling them into the receptacle either. Take the extra few seconds to push together all those carriages that might be flung about. People will see you do this and maybe it won’t change anything in that moment, but people will know it was done and that begins a wrinkle.
Everything we do in life creates wrinkles…not just stupid things.
The worker responsible for putting those carriages away—who has their own problems and doesn’t make nearly enough—might appreciate someone in the world being considerate to them. A wrinkle. Someone might be watching you put that carriage away. They might remember and put a carriage away themselves someday. Another wrinkle.
Some of these stores are a like war zones and don’t have receptacles that work properly. But we’ll make them change that too. Eventually. When I go to a store and see all those carriages put away nicely, I’ll know you’re out there changing the world.
Also: DON’T KEEP A SCALE.
We all do this whether we realize it or not. We keep a scale of our good deeds and weigh it verse good deeds done for us. We are all so focused on what’s going on with ourselves, yet we all still find time to think about this scale… Try not to.
In my personal life I run into this scale thing a lot. People know I’m capable of doing a lot of things. And so, people still look for my help doing a lot of things.
My uncle made a comment to my grandfather over the summer about me not doing some work he needed done on his shed. That uncle was kind enough to drive me to those electronic shock therapy sessions I told you about. When I heard what he said, I took it to mean I owed him for when he helped me during my difficult time.
My uncle might be keeping a scale, I thought.
This uncle’s son tackled addiction with pills before me. I remember visiting him twice when he was in rehab. Did that son ever visit me when I was in that halfway house? No, he did not.
I love my cousin and my uncle, but in some ways was keeping a scale myself. Being aware of that however is part of growing; according to that book The Heart of Buddha’s Teaching I’ve been listening to during my walks. “Healing begins when ignorance comes to and end and understanding arises,” that book also tells me.
I’m reminded of a scene from the movie Billy Madison now.
In this movie Billy is a spoiled rich kid that goes back to school to prove to his father he’s not an idiot. He is. In the movie Billy tries making amends for being an insensitive jerk as a kid and calls a boy he bullied. That boy answers and accepts Billy’s apology like it’s no big deal. Hanging up the phone, we then see this grown man cross Billy’s name off a list that hangs on the wall behind him: “People to kill,” that list reads. That grown man then proceeds to put lipstick on himself.
The point: Don’t keep a scale——AND DO NOT KEEP A LIST!
We are all troubled high school kids whether we realize it or not and I understand if doing some of this can be difficult as we all carry baggage. To that however, I say this: “BE SELFISH!”
Be kind to yourself and others because it makes YOU feel better. Be kind because that’s who YOU are or because that’s who YOU want to become. Try not to do nice things because you expect something back. The favors we give are rarely matched by what we get back. But that’s okay because we become happier people by loading that scale with our good deeds.
Also. Also. Don’t be an “I told you so person”.
I say this to my boys all the time and can’t end this article without at least mentioning it here. All of you can do this. “You’re not like the others. You’re from a whole nother world—a different dimension. You open my eyes…and I’m ready to go. Lead me into the light.”
Yes…Lauryn…I did just quote a Katy Perry song. Feel free to bite me if you think that makes me lame. Or, as Katy says in that song…kiss me. You’re free to choose. Did I just make things awkward? Oopsy. My bad. Lol.
Have a great break everyone. I’ll talk to you all on New Year’s.
Sincerely Yours, with love, Mr. J
WEEKLY QUESTION FOR REFLECTION:
“We become happier people by loading that scale with our good deeds.” Be honest. Do you agree with this statement? In your journals explain why or why not. Fill a page!
The Teacher’s Playlist:
E.T. by Katy Perry
“They don’t understand you.”
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(End of Chapter 19)
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Recovery High School 