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The Real GOOD Loser, A Story That Could…

Chapter 8: The Bull

 “The world is changing. You’ll have to decide who you’re loyal to.”

—from the film Divergent

*

Future civilizations will study how entertainment and the internet transformed our world. They will be able to look at our behavior differently with an understanding we cannot comprehend today. They will use what is happening now to improve future life on this planet…

The district has announced that In-Person-Learning will begin next week, but right now me and my students are still doing lessons remotely. Minimizing this quote on screen, I see their faces in their boxes. “So,” I ask them, “what did you think?” 

I had given them this quote at the end of the day yesterday to read and reflect on in their journals for homework. “In just a sentence or two,” I told them, “Tell me what this might mean for the future.” 

With no one volunteering I force them to. “Pras,” I say, “what did you write.”  

Looking down, Pras reads from his journal. “Classes are taught to kids about the Industrial Revolution and how that changed everything. Someday a class will be taught about the Internet Revolution and how that changed everything too.” —Pras looks up from his journal— “That’s pretty much what you were looking for, right Mr. J?” 

“I like it Pras,” I answer with a confirming nod. “What did you write Lauryn?” 

“Honestly…” Lauryn says straightening up to look at me from her box on screen. “I found the assignment annoying. Just some words to push hope at us. I knew you wouldn’t want to hear that, so I didn’t write anything.” 

Like she often does Lauryn is challenging me—honestly. Her use of the that word before offering a critical opinion makes me think of my mother, who, like Lauryn, likes to push buttons with her honesty from time to time. I think Lauryn didn’t do my assignment and is just deflecting at the moment. Of course, I know better than to say that to her.

“Fair enough Lauryn,” I say trying to sound sympathetic. “Nel, how about you? What do you write?”

Nel’s eyes look down and then up and then shift to something as he prepares to respond. “I agree with Lauryn,” he says after a moment. 

On the top left of my screen Lauryn smiles and I see Nel smile from his box on the other side. They don’t smile to each other but instead to the camera in front of them; making me, Pras, and Candace feel like a third wheel on a date. 

“Try thinking as an individual Nel and not as a boyfriend,” I say to his smiling face. “I’m sure Lauryn can take an honest opinion from you.” 

Nel’s face turns immediately serious. “She’s right Mr. J,” he says. “The assignment didn’t make sense. I just wrote some crap to say I did it.” 

The tone in which Nel speaks irritates me but him sticking with his girlfriend has me wondering if maybe he’s just a bit smarter than I give him credit for. Not wanting to put Candace in the awkward position of answering next, I decide to start the day’s lesson.

All week I have been working with them on something I titled The Sprinkle Scale. Introducing the lesson, I defined the word as we would use it: Sprinkle (a verb): to tell a story using pieces of truth. 

The scale I created for this lesson is a horizonal ten-point scale with the number zero on the far left, next the word REAL, and the number ten on the far right, next to the word FICTION. 

We’ve been using this scale all week to rate television shows, movies, and single scenes of entertainment. The objective is simple: How much of what we are being fed is based on real life stuff, and how much of if it is sprinkled with fiction to make it more entertaining to its audience? 

I didn’t tell these students, but the word sprinkle was a word I stole from councilor John at the halfway house. When I was there my wife began dating our landscaper and so he told me to consider her a “sprinkler of truth”. While I stole that word from him, the idea for this lesson was born out of a conversation with my twins back at the end of last school year.

We had started watching scary movies together and flipping through the channels one day the movie Seven was on. We didn’t watch it long but in the few minutes we did, I explained to them that the movie was called Seven because this killer was choosing one victim for each of the seven deadly sins. I was then asked if the movie was based on a true story. I said it wasn’t. 

“Dad,” one of them then said after just a minute of inner contemplation, “I’m thinking so hard right now…someone could really do this.”

My son “thinking so hard” had me laughing that day. But him believing someone could really pull off such a tactful and methodical series of murders was in no way funny to me. Thinking on it later was when I came up with this Sprinkle Scale lesson for this class. It’s also when I realized my life could be a warning about what happens when a person commits those seven deadly sins. 

Introducing this lesson to my students I told them about that conversation with my twins and played a clip from that movie Seven for them: “Wanting people to listen you can’t just tap them on the shoulder anymore.” —The killer in that movie spoke from the back of a police vehicle— “You need to hit them in the head with a sledgehammer. Then you’ll notice you’ve got their strict attention.”

I used that quote, and a few others from this show Westworld, to illustrate how writers insert lines into their stories that speak to how they see the world. “There are secrets hiding everywhere writers want you to find,” I said. “Most don’t hear it, but conversations of relevance are snuck into what we watch all the time.”

That day I also had us listen to the entrance song to the show Sopranos: “Woke up this morning,” that catchy jingle sings, “Got yourself a gun.” I then required them to write a one-page reflection in their journals in reference to this writing prompt I provided: 

If someone were to binge-watch the show Sopranos they’d anticipate something awful happening at each suspenseful pause. Screenwriters are trained to ramp up drama whenever possible, and that show is a masterpiece in how it’s done. Do you think that feeling stays with a person in real life? Do you think the entertainment we are consuming is twisting our perception of reality? Why or why not?

Each day a student has picked a show of their choosing and ranked it using our scale. As a class we discussed it and agreed with the ranking or offered a different one of our own. Today is Lauryn’s day to share. She’s chosen the show 13 Reasons Why. 

“I ranked the show a two on The Sprinkle Scale,” Lauryn says after reviewing her choice. 

Lauryn’s ranking suggests this show is very accurate to how things are in real life. The show Lauryn has chosen is a high school drama: a “soap opera for kids” I call it. A child in the show committed suicide and left a video outlining the 13 Reasons Why she felt compelled to do it. 

Lauryn was required to inform me of the show she would be discussing today and so I watched two episodes last night. The premise is one I’ve seen many times. Someone gets treated poorly, so that person treats another person poorly, and so on. This cycle continues until no one is to blame but everyone. While I haven’t seen the entire show, I’m rather certain that’s where its headed.

So far I have mostly agreed with rankings and kept conversations on track when needed. I am about to step out of this passive observer role with Lauryn however; knowing I’m destined to get myself in trouble by doing so. 

“What if I told you I rank the show an eight on our scale Lauryn…honestly.”

I say the word honestly in a sarcastic tone, making sure Lauryn catches the sarcasm. My ranking suggests I feel this show is more fiction than real. 

Lauryn does not need to defend her ranking of the show as Pras jumps in instead. “Mr. J,” he says, “Bullying is real. You can’t say this stuff isn’t really happening.”

“Yes, Pras, bullying is real,” I reply calmly. “But to make shows like this entertaining they bundle the worst of the worst and feed it to us like it’s normal. Truly mean people aren’t everywhere like these shows we watch make us believe…I’ve told you that already.”

“But this show isn’t a bunch of kids doing Karate on each other Mr. J.” Lauryn says.

“Yeah,” adds Nel, “This shit happens all the time. It’s everywhere. You’re lying to yourself if you think it isn’t.”

“Alright Nel,” I say trying to remain calm, “give me an example then.”

At my request these students do what I ask; they start sharing stories. Not with me, but with each other. It’s Thursday now and this is the third straight day of listening to them talk like this to one another and I can’t help but feel drained by it. 

To practice using this scale on Monday, I had us watch a collection of YouTube videos I selected over the summer. I had us break for five minutes, watch them individually, and then come back to discuss them as a group. 

Part of my original assignment required them to: “Count the number of negative behaviors and/or not nice or difficult people you see in the first five minutes of the show you review”. 

We practiced doing this with those short YouTube videos. Arguing over what behavior I considered “negative” and what behavior they considered “joking” became too much of a battle, and so I scrapped that part of the assignment. 

That discussion with them had me thinking of the show Impractical Jokers my boys like watching. I watch it with them, but they know I don’t much like it. I think seeing me be annoyed makes it funnier to them. I grew up a part of the Jackass Generation, so I get why they like it, but those shows are becoming harder and harder for me to watch with how I think they’re impacting life in the real world.

The students on this computer in front of me continue sharing stories with each other. Things that have happened to their friends—Things that have happened to people they know—Things they’ve seen on the news and on social media. All of it intended to get me, their teacher, to see the light: To see the cruelty that childhood seems to require these days.

I’m not blind to the behaviors these students are describing. When I take my boys to Doyle Field to watch our high school football team play, I see how crappy kids treat one another most of the time. Kids do this thinking it’s cool or funny, because—in my opinion—at some point all that “joking” on screen became our reality. 

I also know that kids have been treating other kids poorly forever. And that we will forever turn that behavior into good entertainment. I simply refuse to let myself believe that things can’t get better…in the real world.

“When your little you learn how to see things that aren’t there, and when you grow up you learn how to make them real.” 

This quote from a show called The Haunting of Hill House will be what these students reflect on tonight. Not telling them the name of the show, the question they must answer in their journals will be this: What could a person take this quote to mean?

I chose that quote from my entertainment journal after listening to Pras discuss the show Euphoria yesterday; another high school soap opera but one much darker than Lauryn’s 13 Reasons Why. After the discussion we had about that show yesterday, I could have predicted where this conversation today would go. 

These students have no clue how hard it is to be the positive voice here. To watch all these shows, I pay for God knows how many streaming services. One of them started playing commercials recently. If I don’t want commercials all I need to do is pay an additional $2.99 per month. 

Interested to see why this company had done this, I Googled it. According to the company’s official statement they want to: invest more money in compelling content. 

“Camouflaging greed with words, one of the few well-paying jobs for those willing to sell their souls to do it.” 

I wrote that in my journal after reading that company’s explanation of adding commercials. That’s why I keep a journal. I can write my frustrations down and not say them out loud. 

Sampling an episode of Pras’s show Euphoria was painful in many ways but enlightening in others. It had me thinking about pornography; and how that is yet another thing that needs to be addressed in schools. “Heaven help the poor soul that attempts tackling that subject,” I wrote in my journal. 

The list of entertainment I’m finding unwatchable is getting longer and longer. These students, like most everyone I encounter, just don’t see things like me though. And trying to get them to is starting to feel more and more impossible every day. 

Candace reviewed the show Cobra Kai the first day we did this on Tuesday. Me and my boys love this spinoff of The Karate Kid movies. Making sure everyone in this class had seen it, I suggested Candace review it to get us going and get her involved. That show is number one on Netflix now. Before that I think it was Tiger King—what an entertainingly shallow show that was. 

Entertainment is produced to make money. With a ton of people in the world, entertainment does not need to speak to everyone to be profitable. Feed enough people what they want, and you’ll make your money…damn the consequences. 

“The Sprinkle Scale is not a scientific instrument. There are no right or wrong numbers to assign a piece of entertainment using the scale.” —I explained this when I first introduced the lesson— “It’s simply a tool to get you to acknowledge the entertainment value of the food you are feeding your minds.” 

Remembering these words, I decide now is a good time to put an end to this gossip session happening in my mind and on this computer screen in front of me. 

“Are any of you as mean to each other as these kids you’re talking about are?” 

Blank faces look back at me. 

I’m asking them to admit to acting like jerks and know they won’t to a teacher. One by one I make each of them tell me they’re not as mean as these people and characters we’ve been talking about. 

“Would any of you want to be friends with someone so mean?” —Blank faces look back at me again— “So, if you’re not this mean, and you wouldn’t be friends with someone so mean, then where are all these mean people hiding?” 

For a short second I think I might have won, until Lauryn speaks. “Everywhere Mr. J,” she says eying me seriously through the computer screen. 

I watch heads nod in agreement and feel the exhaustion and frustration consume me. It’s entertainment Lauryn, I feel myself want to lecture her, how do you not recognize that?

People often tell me to “focus on the positive” when I’m feeling low. Its moments like this that make me hate hearing that— How can I focus on the positive when the negative is so damn loud?

The deeper message in every show these students have reviewed this week is that whatever bad behavior exists, it exists because we all feel alone in some way. With our attention spans getting shorter, that lesson is often overlooked, but much else sticks…and it’s not just these kids it’s happening to. 

People are not as mean or entertaining as these shows make us believe. Some might want to be, and try hard to be, but they’ll most always let you and themselves down by trying. Despite our deepest desires, and our most fabulous fantasies…life in the real world is nothing like what we see on screen.

But—What if it could be?

My mind interrupts this internal monologue with a question: If we make the world appear better on screen, could that happen in real life? … Could changing the world really be so simple? 

*

Article Title: The Bull 

Dated: Friday, October 9^th, 2020

“People are starting to lose hope. It’s hard for many to believe there are extraordinary things inside themselves as well as others.”

—from the movie Unbreakable

In the Star Wars movie Empire Strikes Back, Yoda is teaching young Luke Skywalker how to be a Jedi and says this famous line: “You must unlearn what you have learned.” 

Why would a teacher tell their student to unlearn what they have learned? 

After the flack you all gave me this past week I’m smart enough not to try and answer that question here. I will however give you all a chance to answer it yourselves in just a little bit. First though I’ll be forcing you to listen to me again. (Sorry/not sorry.)

Humans created this thing we call entertainment thousands of years ago. Television has been around for about one hundred years and social media and the internet have been around for much less. While many of us appreciate these distractions in our lives, we must address the effect they are having on how we think and how we feel. That’s kind of why I’m here, my young padawans.

What is our concept of reality and what has helped create that concept of reality? 

Today there are enough reality televisions shows and true crime series to keep a person comfortably sedated on their couch for weeks and months on end. MTV’s Real World began in 1992. In the thirty years that show has been on television, has that show become more real or has humanity become more fake?

Other entertainment we enjoy uses misperception and deception to keep us engaged. If we are to assume humans are a product of their environment, what affect is this having on us? These are not rhetorical questions. I’d like you to really think about them as next week I’ll be requiring you to write a one-page reflection—lucky you.

“I believe there is a hero inside all of us that keeps us honest, gives us strength, and keeps us noble.” 

I wrote that in the proposal that would eventually get this class funded. It’s a line I had pirated from a Spiderman movie. I then wrote: Humanity faces a crises: To protect, maintain, and evolve their Emotional Intelligence. 

Those weren’t just words I used to get people’s attention then. It’s how I really feel. Please keep that in mind when I share silly stories like this next one with you….

“Did you know they put an elastic string around a bull’s testicles to make it go crazy like that?”

Me, my two cousins, and my three siblings were watching a bull riding competition at one of our regular Sunday dinners at my grandparents’ house when my cousin said this to us. 

He was the oldest of the bunch. Was my all-knowing big cousin correct—Was there really an elastic string tied around this bull’s testicles?

Watching this bull riding competition together, when the bull kicked its legs us kids would jump up and stare into the television attempting to see a string in that millisecond. It wasn’t just us kids entertained by this. Aunts, uncles, even my grandparents pondered the validity of my cousin’s statement that day. 

There would be no proof though unless one of us actually saw it: “You have to see it to believe it.” So, we all watched that day, and we all laughed together trying to “see it”.  

Those were simpler times back then. Before we could pause live television and before someone could have just Googled an answer; like I’m sure many of you will later. My uncle would play a joke on my dad shortly after that, telling him he’d won the chance to ride a bull at a bull-riding event coming to the Worcester Centrum. 

My uncle told my dad he had submitted him into a drawing and provided a professional looking letter saying he had won. If I get my gullibility from anyone it might be my dad; who showed up to that bull-riding event wearing a cowboy hat and looking much more excited than he probably should have.  

I can’t go back and experience that happy moment from my childhood, but a moment like that isn’t lost forever. Sharing that story with you now makes it live on. That’s why entertainment—despite its drawbacks—is so valuable: because it gives us humans a tool to keep memories like those alive and keep us connected in ways that might not always be obvious. 

How many apocalyptic endings to this world have you been fed as entertainment over the years? … How is this real-world Covid situation comparing to what you’ve seen on screen? 

Those—My Young Padawans—are rhetorical questions. Meaning, I don’t want you to answer them. I only use them here to get you thinking. Harass me later if you’d like but let me finish here first. 

Life isn’t always wonderful. Life can be hard, unsatisfying, and sometimes feel too long. Life might feel overwhelming and boring at the same time. Again, I’m not here to telling you anything you didn’t know already. 

Some days we are sad. Some days we are angry. Some days we are annoyed, worried, anxious, stressed, etc.——“Momma said there’d be days like this.” 

But then there are those wonderful few days and moments in the middle when we are happy. And that’s the goal…Right? 

In a world where life seems to be getting harder and harder year after year for the majority of us, and tragedy strikes everywhere you look, surviving another day is more often than not the goal for many of us. Not happiness. I wish this were not the case but there is simply too much evidence to support this statement. 

Maybe that’s why Hollywood makes so much money showing us these apocalyptic events? …  Maybe some of us find hope in believing the end of days is near? 

The pursuit of happiness is not something to be ashamed of. Like many of you I think my well-being lies at the center of the universe also. It’s how the human brain is wired and there is nothing wrong with that necessarily. It has something to do with self-preservation I think. 

That said, try and be grateful for simply being alive today if you can——Because trying to stay happy in this life is like riding a bull.

Life will kick you around. Life will punish you. Life will test you. Life will make you hold on while you wait for it to get tired and give up before you do. Unfortunately, the bull always wins. And we all eventually fall off. At that point the question is always the same: Will you get back on? 

I hope you will always get back on because there is no way to “Google” what the future holds. Maybe all the turmoil and struggle we have endured is one long commercial the universe is playing before it releases its grand final act?

Which reminds me—Did you know that in some religions the word apocalypse represents an awakening period for all of humanity? That’s quite different than what Hollywood has us believing it means. Which version do you think will come to be? 

Regardless of what Lauryn tells me, only time will answer this question. Whatever happens it promises to be one hell of a show though. So, gather your friends and sit up close, you won’t want to miss it. Maybe you could go and buy yourself a cowboy hat and watch it with me and my dad?

In case you were wondering, no one was able to see that string tied around the bull’s testicles that day. As an adult I have often felt like that bull though: thinking maybe I had a string down there myself. 

Only recently have I discovered the truth: that I am nothing like that bull. Instead, I am more like that string… Do you see it?

WEEKLY QUESTION FOR REFLECTION:

Why would a teacher tell his students to unlearn what they have learned? Have fun answering this question in your journals. Don’t worry I won’t judge you for your opinions until next week.

The Teacher’s Playlist: 

Levitating (feat. Dababy) by Dua Lipa 

“I could take you for a ride.”

(End of Chapter 8)

Click here to continue to next chapter…

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 7: Doubt

 “I can only show you the door, you’re the one that has to walk through it.” 

— from the film The Matrix

We’ve already made in through our first month of this Covid disrupted school year. It is now the first Friday in October. I promised these four faces looking back at me from my computer that we’d spend a day listening to and discussing music. That day is today. 

I’ve also agreed to let Lauryn pick a few songs for my weekly articles going forward. As my selections continue to be “old” according to her. 

“My mind is a home I’m trapped in and its lonely inside this mansion.” 

We started class today by listening to a song titled Mansion by the rap artist NF. After making them write a reflection in their journals regarding this lyric from that song, I let them share their song selections. 

They were required to come to class today with a song that shared a positive message from a list of artists I provided them with. Nel started us off today by having me play a song titled WAP by Cardi B. I knew this song would be inappropriate by the reactions when Nel announced his choice but played it anyway. Realizing just how inappropriate the song was, I quickly stopped playing it. 

In my mind this class would be fun but with Nel’s little joke I immediately felt myself get frustrated. These students thought it was funny of course but them not taking this assignment seriously bothered me more than I let on. 

That’s why teaching is so hard. You try and do something new like this, but boundaries are always pushed. It’s just easier being the strict teacher no one likes most of the time.

The only inspiring song I’ve heard today was Candace’s. Candace is my fourth student in this class and the complete opposite of Pras; my “active participator”. Candace had me play the song Rise Up by Andra Day. When I was playing her song I felt she looked uncomfortable to me and mentally scolded myself as that was that not how I hoped to get this shy student more involved in my class. 

My plan to have these students share inspiring songs was lost for the most part. All we’ve done today is listen to music they find entertaining for one reason or another. Right now, I’m playing the song titled Slippin’ by the rap artist DMX.

I had put this artist on that list I provided them with for a reason. When I asked Pras to pick a song from this artist he didn’t know any and so I suggested this one remembering it from when I was in high school. Hearing it play now—with these faces looking back at me—I understand why Candace felt uncomfortable earlier; as the words in the song have me feeling exposed. 

“Interesting little fact for all of you,” I say before letting the song completely finish. “I lived with DMX for a month…We lived in a sober house together in New Hampshire back in 2017.” 

“For real?” Nel says. “Are you friends with him. Like, can we meet him?”

I smile at Nel’s excitement but must disappoint him with the truth. “He barely came out of his room Nel. When he did someone in the house always had his ear, so I left him alone. All I said was thanks to him the night he bought me and the guys in the house pizza…” 

I knew my students would get a kick out of this; that’s why I planned this little announcement for today’s class. Personally, I don’t find myself in awe of celebrities anymore. These students on screen don’t need to know that though and so I let them ask me their questions and only think about why that is.

This world is full of people who were once famous for something they did in the past. I’m sure plenty of people love the attention this brings, but I’m just as sure a lot don’t. Today I watch people on screen and wonder how the roles they play for us affect them in the real world. 

Just because these people made it once doesn’t mean they made it forever. Most of them are struggling to earn a living and are probably just as unsatisfied with this world as the rest of us—They probably feel used and manipulated too. 

“That’s a reflection of your own personal issues J.” 

Words from a friend who called me and my thoughts “delusional” dance around in my head as I think on this. Of course, that friend is right to a degree, but seeing DMX back then fed these views of mine. He looked so tired of this world…just like me. 

Keeping these thoughts to myself, I continue my conversation with Nel. “He was in a fight to get his life back together Nel. Who was I to him anyway? I just knew you guys would get a kick out of it. I did sneak a picture of him though.”

In the picture I show them DMX is wearing a solid red hoody and pair of red shoes to match. In the background one of the councilors who worked at the house can be seen in the distance. My students and I talk about this for a few minutes, and I tell them a bit more about the time I spent at that house. 

Before I know it, class is almost over. Attempting to end class, I ask the faces on screen a question: “Is there anything else we should talk about before we end for the week?” 

“Yeah—” Pras jumps at the question, “Big Orange tested positive for Covid Mr. J… You heard the news right?”

“Yes,” I answer with an uninspiring nod, “I did hear that Pras.”

President Donald Trump has tested positive for Covid. Knowing Pras is only saying this so he can tell us how he feels about it, I prepare myself.

“He’s faking!” Pras says looking disgusted. “It’s a plan to get himself re-elected. He’ll recover then make some executive order for another Stimulus Deal. Everyone’s gonna get another check with his name on it and he’ll buy himself another four years in office… watch Mr. J.” 

Pras has just done it, he’s gone political, and I immediately regret not ending this class early as I’d rather listen to that WAP song than talk about any of this. 

Pras asked me if I was a Trump supporter our second week together. “I’m a dreamer Pras,” I said, “As a dad I just wish my boys didn’t live in a world where the way he talks to people is acceptable.” 

This is a line I’ve perfected. Pras took it to mean I was not a supporter. Which is kind of the goal of this carefully constructed response I use on people I guess.  

I live in two worlds. When I do construction I’m surrounded by Trump supporters. When I’m teaching it’s the complete opposite. I try to avoid the conversation all together but when asked if I’m a fan of his I use this line about myself being a dreamer. 

Pointing to my kids and the way Mr. Trump talks, supporters and non-supporters will usually just nod in agreement. I then shut my mouth and let the other person tell me whatever they want. 

Avoiding political talk is like playing an unwinnable game of dodgeball today. Billy Maddison style dodgeball—the real kind—before we got soft and play whatever they play in school now. This game is tearing families and friends apart everywhere and at this moment it’s Sunny-In-Philadelphia-clear-to-me that this game is not about to end anytime soon. 

An advantage of teaching remotely is I don’t have to listen to teachers talk about this political stuff. While I’m not interested in this upcoming election, Nel and Pras very much are. I watch them act like soldiers for their respective parties on my computer screen and want nothing more than to jump out of my own skin. 

Listening to Nel attack Pras for what he’s just said about Mr. Trump, I take a mental break from the flicking contest happening on the computer screen in front of me to reflect on my own personal background with this P-word I’ve learned to despise…Politics.

In 2008, I found myself working as a Customer Service Rep at a phone center for Fidelity Investments. I had left that sales job with John Hancock and remember being rather content working for this company for a short time. 

In the midst of the financial crises that year, the Republicans ran John McCain against the Democrat nominee Barack Obama. With the pretty young and loud Alaskan, Sarah Palin as McCain’s running mate, that election made for some good Saturday Night Live skits but provided no real competition. I remember thinking McCain was too old to be a reputable candidate that year. Preparing for this Trump verse Biden election I find that funny now. 

While the country rejoiced at Obama’s win that year—and what it meant historically—I couldn’t help but think Obama was walking himself into the lion’s den at the time. 

To me the Republicans knew someone would be blamed for the fallout from the financial crisis that year and didn’t want a Republican in office when it happened. I thought they lost that election on purpose. I’ve since learned that how I interpret reality isn’t always accurate and so maybe I was wrong…but that’s still how I felt. 

In college I studied economic theories that stopped seeming applicable that year. Today I’d like to study the economics of wealth and hate if I could: When money is printed and sucked up more and more by the few at the very top, will the ones in the middle fight amongst themselves and blame the majority for their ill fate? 

That year I spent hours on the phone trying to explain option calls to novice traders and FDIC Insurance to scared seniors. Sprinkled in were calls from those who just wanted to vent and talk and blame and sometimes cry. The housing crises was the obvious culprit to what happened that year, but I got to hear a lot of different theories on the root cause of it all.  

Some said it all started when we came off the gold standard in the early 1970’s. With crypto currencies today I wonder if those people are like me and wondering if money is even real at this point. Others blamed the Democrat Bill Clinton’s deregulation of the banking industry in the nineties. Listening to that argument I remembered how me and my dad felt about building regulations that made construction unnecessarily difficult for us. 

Did conditioning us to hate that word regulations in one way make it easy to convince us it wasn’t needed elsewhere? 

Others pointed their fingers to the Republican Ronald Reagan’s Trickle-Down-Economic theories of the early eighties. The one’s I’m certain my dad somehow connects to saving his construction company back when he was first starting out. 

“That was a scary time—I thought I was gonna lose everything.” My dad’s told me stories of that time. I was only just born then. 

In all the years I worked construction with my dad growing up, I never remembered him talking politics. Or even at all caring about it. I hear him talk now though. 

He’s a Trump supporter. Not one to attach a flag to his pickup truck but a “closet supporter” I’d label him: a hardworking man frustrated with where this country is headed. My dad, like Nel, thinks Trump will “shake things up”. Which often forces my dad to turn a blind eye to some of this president’s behavior. 

The other day I heard my dad call Trump “childish”.  On tv, Trump was mocking someone again and my dad used that word childish to rationalize Trump’s mean and bullying behavior. 

Donald Trump deflects blame and shows no remorse for his actions while pointing fingers and words at others. That’s why I simply can’t be a vocal supporter. Some people that voted for him might act that way in their private lives, but that’s not at all my dad. 

My dad’s fulltime job is head of maintenance at a prison now. A job he took because of the Government benefits it receives after surfing a rafter down from a second story roof we were framing and shattering his wrist. He’s also an immigrant from Canada who only recently became an official U.S. citizen. I can’t help but see the irony in all that given Trump’s stance on immigration and government spending.

I have become somewhat of an expert at not engaging in political talk today but growing up enjoyed talking politics with my grandfather. He was a dedicated and rewarded employee of General Electric during a different time; before corporate pensions plans were replaced with 401k matching plans that gave us individuals the freedom—and obligation—of planning our financial futures. 

“Do you realize how much Trump has done for this country Pras? Show him some respect. I hope you’re right—I hope he does find a way to win. We need him now more than ever.”

Trying to remember how it felt to care, big words and big opinions continue to divide Nel and Pras on my computer screen. 

“Even if he has to lie and cheat to get re-elected Nel? You realize people call him the anti-Christ right?”

“Yeah,” Nel replies, “and some people call him the second coming. Trump’s a doer Pras. He gets shit done. He represents everything that makes this the greatest country in the world.”

I watch Pras make another disgusted face at Nel’s comment. “Whatever you say Nel,” he says coldly. “Just know you’re the reason people hate this country.”

I think we might all be rats in some experiment—I think the invention of social media might have been a cage created for us. 

Listening to these students argue has me thinking paranoid thoughts again. 

What happens when a society trusts no one yet believes everything? … What happens when people don’t know what to believe so they believe nothing instead? … I think us rats are discovering the answers to these questions right now. 

My utter disdain of politics could be traced back to a very specific date eight years after that 2008 financial crash: The day of the Republican Primary debate on Thursday, March 3^rd, 2016. 

That night I had stayed up late to hear the governor of Ohio John Kasich speak. He wasn’t well known but I remember liking him for some reason. Unfortunately, that was the night I remember the circus coming to town.

On television I watched Donald Trump, Marco Rubio, and Ted Cruz discuss hand sizes with one another; a perceived testament of their manhood. John Kasich stood in the background soon to be forgotten. 

Two months after that debate was when I accidentally burnt my house down. My family was concerned I was losing my grip on reality then as I insisted on finishing that story I was working on. To appease them, I checked myself into a hospital for a mental health check. In the waiting room of that hospital, I watched one patient spit on another in an argument over Donald Trump. 

That was June of 2016. Shortly after that I gave up my delusions of being a voice of reason in a world that seemed content on falling apart. That’s when I stopped caring about politics altogether, but four years later I find myself here…listening to Nel and Pras. 

“You two girls need to chill the f*** out.” —I watch Lauryn interject herself into their conversation— “You’re getting yourselves all horny over stuff you don’t understand. We’re all pawns and you two act like you have it all figured out.” 

“I know more than you think!” Nel snaps. “I’m not asleep. Or another cog in the machine…I’m no sheep—believe that.”

The hostility between this couple on screen keeps Pras quiet and I see Candace looking as uncomfortable as I feel. A break in the action makes it clear it is now my turn to step into the ring. 

“Alright guys,” I say to the momentary silence. “How about we listen to a song to chill out a bit before we all say goodbye for the weekend.”

Hoping a cheap laugh might get these students on screen to chill out, I press a button on my phone and play that song Nel had me play earlier. 

Luckily…it works. 

*

Article Title: P.A.I.N. through Doubt 

Dated: Friday, October 2^nd, 2020

 “With the advent of reason, everything seemed open to doubt, and each succeeding philosopher offered solutions differing from his (or her) predecessor.” 

— from the book The Passion of the Western Mind by Richard Tarnas

I struggle with a crippling sense of insecurity and avoid conflict and controversy in my life as much as possible. 

That might surprise you as people tell me I appear confident. The councilor at my halfway said I was suffering from a “crises of self-confidence” and said it was temporary. But I’ve felt this way for a quarter of my life at this point and so I’m not really sure I believe him…I want to. 

Rather than get upset over why I am this way today, I try to embrace it and have faith it will someday serve a purpose in my life. Why do I mention this here?

Last week I told you I’d be sending that article, Life’s Puzzle, to that recovery blog page. After sending it I got an email back from the blog’s administrator: “Please reduce wordcount to twelve-hundred words as stipulated in submission requirements and resubmit.” That’s what the email I got back said. 

Allow me to interpret what I took that to mean: “Your submission was overly wordy sir, please cut unnecessary fluff and resubmit—you appear to be trying too hard sir.”

Reading something I’ve written after a day or two always has me questioning myself. Reading that article again the whole thing sounded stupid to me. I found it overly wordy and to me it did appear I was acting like a “try hard”. Did I use that term correctly Nel?

I have since not resubmitted that article. “This grant requires I submit something,” I told myself in frustration, “it’s on them if they don’t use it.” 

NEWS FLASH: I am an addict distracted by desire, often wanting more of everything without often putting in the work. 

I’ve been told that patience is key to recovering from any and all traumas. That’s why I listed patience as a key to success in that article. I was using things I heard to sound smart. I probably shouldn’t have talked about faith in that article either as I struggle with that word myself.

Do you maybe see what I mean about that insecurity thing? 

There’s this show I like called Peaky Blinders. You should watch it. If you do use subtitles, it helps, trust me. 

In an episode of the show its main character, Tommy Shelby, is asked, “What made you angry?” Sucking on a cigarette in that scene, Tommy replies coolly. “Slowness,” he says, “In anything. I wanted to have everything already.” 

Can you maybe see why that line spoke to me after that NEWS FLASH I just shared?

Recovery is full of difficult moments that aren’t overcome with a strong work ethic or with an unbreakable sense of dedication. Being patient isn’t fun and the real world waiting for us after living in any mind altered state—whatever that may be—is not all sunshine and rainbows. I’m not here telling you anything you didn’t know already. 

With that said, let me now repeat some more words that were used on me once: “This world beats up its most beautiful people the most, learn to take it as a compliment.”

I only semi-recently discovered a talent for writing. With no proper schooling in the art, I’ve read and listened to some books for guidance. One I’m finding helpful is a book titled Stein on Writing. In it the author offers this gem: “Tell me and I’ll forget. Show me and you’ll involve me. Involvement is the first step towards understanding.” 

I like that quote because I think each of us are born a certain way and transform into the people we become because of the events we are involved in or live through and the stories we are told. I, for example, was told a story about how I would like a career in finance because I was good with numbers. I went to college for it, graduated, worked in the field, and only then realized that finance was not for me. 

What stories have made you the person you are today? 

That Life’s Puzzle article was supposed to be about struggle and how we all experience it. Here I’ll talk to you about another thing we all experience: Doubt. 

Last week’s article was philosophical in nature. As such discussions always leave me feeling inadequate, I’m going to instead tell you a story here. This story is about a boy, a man, and a woman….

The boy in my story grew up doubting his life would ever surmount to anything. As a child he believed there was nothing special about him. In the early years of his life, the one emotion many believe is the purpose for living was non-existent. This boy did not know love. He did not know what it felt to be loved or even what it was to love. In a world we say is magical, this boy felt P.A.I.N.—Personal Anguish Introduced (by life) Naturally. 

The man in my story became like a king in early childhood. People all over the world admired him and his rise to fame. Unfortunately, this man felt he was simply playing a character in someone else’s story. What he said was not how he felt and what he did was not often his choice. This man doubted people would ever respect him for who he really was. In a world so fake, this man felt P.A.I.N.

It doesn’t make sense yet, but both this boy and this man were brought to life by this woman. A woman with a dream. The world she lived in did not think kindly of those with dreams. People told her that even if she could write a book or make a movie, no one would understand a world that only existed in her mind. As others doubted her, this woman was forced over and over to doubt herself. In a world so real, this woman felt P.A.I.N.

The boy, the man, and the woman will forever be connected to one another. One without the other would have each of us living in a world much different than the one we are living in now. In order for us to have gotten here, each of these people had to experience P.A.I.N. 

In their P.A.I.N. there was one common ingredient: DOUBT. 

The boy in my story is Harry Potter. I think you know him. The man is Daniel Radcliffe. The actor who played Harry Potter. And the woman is J.K. Rowling. The creator of Harry Potter. 

Living under the stairs, Harry Potter doubted anyone cared he existed. Living on top of the entertainment world, Daniel Radcliffe doubted anyone appreciated him for who he really was. Living on the brink of poverty, J.K. Rowling doubted anyone would ever respect the dreams she held in her mind.

The point of the story is to have you recognize that doubt is part of life. Many of us grow up learning certain things. We are told how things are and how things work. As a result, we expect certain things in life. When things do not seem to make sense with our pre-conceived beliefs, doubt creeps into our mind. 

Some doubt themselves. Some doubt others. Some doubt EVERYTHING.  

Doubt is ‘ever-present’ in our lives. That means it never goes away. Even at the end of our lives doubt may haunt us. “Will I be remembered?” … “Does anything come next?” … “What was the point of all this?” 

The result of doubt can often lead to feelings of anger. We get frustrated with ourselves. With others. With the world. With life. With EVERYTHING. 

If it is natural to doubt, it is natural to become angry. That is how the cycle works. Do you agree? 

WEEKLY QUESTION FOR REFLECTION:

Do you believe there is a cyclical relationship between doubt and anger? In your journals, please use examples from your own life to justify your answer.

The Teacher’s Playlist: 

Where is the love? By Black Eyed Pees

“I think the whole world is addicted to the drama.”

*

(End of Chapter 7)

*

Click here to continue to next chapter…

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 6: Life’s Puzzle

 “You are on a quest for knowledge. Your mind is in a state of readiness. So… listen well.” 

— from The Simpsons, The Mysterious Voyage of Homer

The grant that funds this class requires I submit articles to this international recovery blog page. I haven’t submitted anything to this page since May of last year and have decided to kill two birds with one stone; the article I share with my students this week will double as the article for that page. 

Getting published on this page was a big deal when I first got out of that halfway house. Feeling like most of what I write is falling on deaf ears now, it feels like more of a burden to me today. Writing isn’t easy for me. In fact, it might be the hardest work I’ve ever done. That’s saying something given all the different jobs I’ve had over the years. 

I hated sales jobs. Selling televisions at Circuit City in high school. College Works Painters in college. Pella Windows after that. And John Hancock and Fidelity Investments for a time. Even collecting money as a paperboy when I was ten made me uncomfortable and anxious. 

Construction is physically hard work. And finance and teaching I’d call mentally exhausting work. But writing…well…writing is b-word. I can’t think of a better way to describe it right now. 

I guess I could have just stuck with the writing is the hardest work I’ve ever done thing— Oopsy… good thing I’m just talking to myself here.

I was watching the movie Lincoln the other day. That’s what gave me the idea to start this article I’m working on with this Thomas Jefferson quote. That movie showed what life was like during the Civil War in the 1860’s. It starts with a man stomping another’s face into the mud to kill him. Watching that scene, I couldn’t help but think we should never do that to one another again. With the guns and bombs we have today, I’m rather certain we won’t. 

I don’t consider this country peaceful today by any means but like to think things are just a little bit better now. A hundred and sixty years ago I could have jumped in my car—which didn’t exist then—and drove south for a few hours to find neighbors and brothers killing one another. 

We’ve come a long way, but those scars that once divided us are still there. Our not-so-civil war is more of a global one today though: The Haves verse Have Nots And Wants More War. 

When I was doing that finance thing I had this boss who was an amazing talker. I watched him explain the difficulties around spending money in retirement: he called it The High Watermark Problem: “When you have a certain amount of money, seeing it go down naturally makes a person nervous,” he said. 

He’d use that line to sell people annuities. He genuinely believed he was doing what was best for his clients. 

Super rich people must face this same so-called “problem” I figure; they want that Scrooge McDuck pool of money they’re swimming in not to go down. I was never, and will never, be comfortable telling people what to do with their money, but knowing the problems we face because of it, makes me wonder if we humans will ever find a way to get along. 

“Hey” —a voice in my head interrupts my negative thoughts— “It could happen: Retain, even in opposition, your capacity for astonishment.” 

Writing that quote from the Lincoln movie in my entertainment journal had me imagining what Old Abe might say to me about our world today. “It’s the journey,” he could say sharing his wisdom with me. “We love the pain. The depression. Then feeling alive again.” 

What my mind thinks about now that I’m not numbing it with substances is rather fun sometimes— Could Abraham Lincoln gaze into his phone as long as I can today?

“You spend how many hours looking into that thing good sir?” he could ask visiting me from the past. “What focusing fortitude you must have.”

From Old Abe’s perspective, humanity should be consuming a lot of knowledge in the time we spend on our phones. 

“Sorry Abe,” I’d have to tell him, “It doesn’t work like that yet. Really all we do is distract ourselves with dumb stuff all day. Or try to dodge dumb stuff all day…it’s a lot to explain Abe.” 

A ring coming from my phone lying on the desk in front of me brings me back from wherever my mind just had me. Pressing a button, I answer it. 

“What’s up,” the voice on the phones says, “How are the candidates doing?” 

“The candidates?” I respond half-listening.

“Stop typing and talk to me punk…It is me after all.” 

Looking down I see Marsh grinning at me, wearing that thin beard I still haven’t gotten used to yet. “Alright Mr. Bighead,” I say, “Just give me a second to finish this one thing.”

“Fine Mr. Important,” Marsh says teasingly. “I’ll be right back.”  

I watch Marsh leave his phone and refocus my attention on the computer screen in front of me. It takes me only second to finish the sentence I was working on. I save the document, Life’s Puzzle, and look at my youngest son sitting on the couch to my right. His teacher, Miss Dunn, just dismissed him for lunch; he’s now watching Big City Greens on his iPad. 

My youngest is in first grade and being taught remotely also. While I run my class and do my thing, he works at a little make-shift desk behind me. He has a small white board in his “Learning Center” where I write the date and our word of the day each morning. I’ve even strung up Christmas lights in an attempt to make him excited for this “Unique Learning Experience”. 

All over the world parents like me are being asked to multi-task like this. Regardless of profession, we are all teachers in one way or another now, and juggling responsibilities has become our life: Pandemic Life. 

Today I overheard his teacher talking to his class about Realistic Fiction; a characteristic of story that was never even discussed when I was in school. Us parents, slash teachers, are doing the best we can, but most of us feel lost. On Facebook the latest complaint I saw revolved around the way division is taught to kids today. I do my best not to participate in the complaining but it’s impossible to exist without at least hearing it. 

Grabbing my phone off the desk, I stand up and walk over to my son. “Ham and cheese for lunch bud?” I say rubbing the dirty-blonde hair on his head. Not taking his eyes off the screen in front of him, he responds sweetly. “Yes please,” he says.

In the episode of Big City Greens playing on his screen, Cricket’s dad is finding himself infatuated with a video game. I’ve seen this episode. I’ve seen all the episodes of this show actually— Is this show educational? 

That was a question my family debated the other day. I love the life lessons this show sneaks in but have a sister-in-law who doesn’t let her kids watch it. Her kids are into Bluey; a cute show about a family of dogs. And my sister’s kid; the youngest of the cousins, is into Peppa Pig. 

To me everything we watch is educational in one way or another. It’s what we take from shows that differ. Evidence being my niece who is talking a lot like one of those cute dogs currently and my nephew who is now speaking with a British accent like Peppa Pig. 

They say it’s us parent’s job to control what these kids are consuming on their devices. I find that impossible myself. YouTube has settings I could use, but trying to set them up makes my head spin. This first grader here knows more about how to navigate technology than I do.

“Have you found my shoe yet?” I ask the tech-wizard in front of me staring into his screen. 

“No,” my son answers; he looks up at me defensively. “I didn’t know which one you meant.”

“The Nike one…the one you and your brothers were hiding for fun yesterday.” 

Before my son can respond the phone in my hand speaks. “What’s up JoJo?”

Looking down at the phone in my hand, my son sees his Uncle Marshall and I watch his face return to sweet mode. He was about to raise his voice and tell me it was his brothers who hid that shoe; and then be mad at me for blaming everything on him…Adulting. 

“Nothing,” my son responds shyly to the face looking back at him. He’s not much of a talker with people he doesn’t see in person a lot; which is becoming something of an issue with this remote learning thing. 

“So…” Marsh says realizing he’ll have to be one to spark a conversation, “are you letting your dad date yet little man or what?”

My son’s face lights up at this question; an ongoing joke between the two of them. 

“Dad doesn’t need a girlfriend,” my son says speaking louder and clearer now. “He’s never gonna have a girlfriend!” 

“Well…” Marsh responds slowly. “How about a boyfriend then?” 

I watch my son’s face freeze as he contemplates the question presented to him. “That’s real nice M,” I say turning the phone so that Marsh can see me. 

Marsh knows why I’m a single dad now and refusing to date at the moment. This is just him having some fun my son. People have always questioned my sexuality for some reason though—I’m not really sure why that is. 

Maybe it’s because I’m comfortable with some casual man-touching from time to time. Or maybe it’s because I think it’s funny to say things like “man-touching” when referring to hugs and things of that nature. Either way it doesn’t bother me much. My good friend tells me life might be easier for me if I were gay. He’s gay himself, so I think he’s allowed to say that. 

While I’m simply not wired that way, I like to think I understand why my friend says this. I’m constantly walking on eggshells around women these days. I think a lot of it has to do with this ongoing battle between the sexes that just seems silly to me today. 

The last girl I tried dating; who I’m still friends with luckily, got upset with me for saying she “needed a man” recently. It was a joke, but she got super annoyed with me. “I am a strong person J,” she said. “I don’t need a man in my life to be happy. I would maybe like one…but I definitely don’t need one.”

I think I only said that because she mentioned needing to take AC-units out of her windows or something. She then went on to say that while she might “like” to drink water, she doesn’t want someone telling her she “needs” to drink water. 

She reads a lot like I do. Maybe she read the same book I did about dependent relationships and how one can be happy alone. Maybe she heard me use that word “need” and it triggered something I didn’t mean to trigger. Maybe that’s why she got mad at my words. 

But my words weren’t an attack. If she truly trusted me as a person she’d know that. And there lies the rub. Her lack of trust in others and heightened intellect interferes with the durability of her happiness…thank God I didn’t say that to her. 

With so many fiercely independent women out there today, a guy like me who wants to feel needed; like water maybe, thinks his son might be right—Dad doesn’t need a girlfriend. 

At the kitchen counter, I’m making my son his sandwich while continuing my conversation with Marsh. Struggling to peal slices of cheese apart I remember that post I saw on Facebook about this. 

“Why can’t the idiots figure out this cheese problem,” that post read. I can’t remember all the words but do remember how that post ended. “Everything in this world is falling apart…Except this cheese! lol.”

“The Candidates, what are they up to now?” 

Attempting to restart our conversation from earlier, Marsh says this through the phone sitting on the counter. Knowing now what he’s referring to I reply smartly. “Changing the future of course,” I tell him.  

When I told Marsh I’d have only four students in class he tried spinning it as a good thing. In an article I wrote for that blog a while back I compared myself to John Locke from the show Lost: “I find myself in a fight to believe something,” is what I wrote. Marsh reminded me that there were only a few characters that could save the world at the end of that show; Candidates they were called.

That show Lost kept me entertained and engaged for years. It’s the first show I remember watching in High Definition. The visuals and sound had me in a different world. That stuff doesn’t much matter to me these days. I need a good story to keep me engaged now and stories just seem to be getting worse right along with my attention span. 

I was working at a phone center as a stock trader during that shows final few seasons and remember reading fan theories on Lostpedia between calls. The idea of so many people paying attention to a story one’s mind had created always appealed to me. 

I didn’t much like the ending of that show; the writers had to make it up on the fly I heard. “Maybe they could write a new one,” I wrote in that article Marsh read, “Maybe I could help.”

Interested to hear how my class is going, Marsh continues asking questions as I finish making my son his sandwich. “Have you shown them your video yet?” he asks through the phone.   

“I’m not showing them…I told you already.”  

“You really should,” he replies. “That’s what started this whole thing. It’s what got me on board.”  

Grabbing my phone and my son’s sandwich off the counter, I attempt to change the topic.

“They’re making fun of my song choices… Got any suggestions?”

Marsh takes a moment to think. “Use something from Dax,” he says. “Or 2-Pac’s Changes. These kids need to hear that one.” 

I take a seat on the couch next to my son and look questioningly at Marsh through the phone. “Wouldn’t that be considered racially insensitive of me though?” 

“Oh—f*** you,” Marsh says aggressively; not editing himself of course. 

My son pretends not to hear what his Uncle Marsh just said, but I see his face move just a little. Standing up, I walk through the kitchen and into the bedroom. Marsh sees what I’m doing and waits so my son won’t hear the language being used. 

Marsh continues in a calmer voice once I’m alone. “Why would that be racially insensitive J? Because those singers are black, and you grew up a privileged white boy? That’s a ridiculous way to think.” —Marsh stops and eyes me through the phone— “Skin color doesn’t mean shit. These kids need the real you…seriously…stop being a pussy J.”

Marsh and I continue talking for a while longer. As usual he makes good points but deep down I know I’ll never be as comfortable as he wants me to be. I am definitely not him. 

Saying goodbye, I grab my son and myself a pickle from the fridge and then head back to my computer to finish my article. 

“My whole life I been curled up worried about fitting it.” 

At the bottom of my Life’s Puzzle article, I look at the quote from the song Ghost by Ryan Caveo that I planned to use for my Teacher’s Playlist. “Riding through the city I’m just buzzing alone,” the song sings, “Close my eyes while I drive ‘cause I love driving alone. Heart beating so hard, feel it thud in my bones.” 

Suggesting I drive with my eyes closed isn’t smart, but I love the beat in that part of the song. A song doesn’t need to make much sense for me to like I’ve found; or inspire good behavior either. Next week in class I’m doing a lesson about music. On this computer is another document I have saved for that. 

“Music helps me dream but is also a distraction,” it reads. “Sometimes music acts like armor to me: making me feel safe or relevant. Sometimes it acts like a set of wings: making me feel motivated or inspired.”

Reflecting on Marsh’s comment from earlier, I find myself wanting to use a different song for this article. 

I need to shake things up, I think, I need something that will throw them off my scent…

*

Article Title: Life’s Puzzle 

Dated: Friday, September 25^th, 2020

 “Those magnificent Americans, so much power and so little understanding of what to do with it.” 

— from the 1986 film The Golden Child

Hello WORLD, today I am speaking to directly to you… Y-O-U.

Under such magnificent pressure I’m left to wonder where I should even begin. I’ve been told that starting with a quote is always compelling. Let’s try it, shall we…

“All men are created equal.”

Thomas Jefferson inspired an entire nation by saying this in the United States’ Declaration of Independence in 1776. Could you imagine a person appearing on our televisions and confidently making this statement today? Could you then imagine the avalanche of criticism and shitstorm of opinions that would attack such a choice of words today? 

“Whatever you say can and will be used against you in the court of public opinion.”

That is the truth of our world today. It was the truth of our world back in 1776. With this magical internet invention of ours, opinions have increased in number and volume exponentially. 

I’m destined to get myself in trouble no matter what I say here. Knowing that, I would like to begin by respectfully disagreeing with my fellow American: All men—and all people—are NOT created equal. 

Take from that what you will. 

As of 2020, the Unites States population makes up 4.5 % of the world population. This means that for every one-hundred people on the planet, around five of them are American. As you now know, I am one of those five. 

Am I proud of this fact? Damn right I am! Despite our lack of numbers, does the world need us Americans? Damn right they do! … But why?

If you are an American like me and don’t think we need the rest of the world then you are being unrealistic. Do they need us? Yes. Are we special? Damn right we are! But consider the fact THEY are thinking the same thing. 

We all call this planet home and why they need us and why we need them will be the two greatest questions humanity must answer if any of US are to survive on this planet much longer.

Does that fall below Twitter’s character limits? I’m not a twitterer. If it doesn’t, I’ll have to keep working on it. 

It’s okay to disagree with what I’ve just said. Or to ask questions. We are human beings after all. It’s what we do. With this magical internet invention of ours, you could even say we’re becoming experts at it. 

What is real—What is fake? … Who is real—Who is pretending? … When will it get better—How will it get better? And perhaps the most troubling question of all: What if it never gets better? 

For someone trying to live in recovery, partaking in this socially acceptable behavior of questioning everyone and everything can be toxic. I am not here to tell you to stop asking questions though. Questioning things is important. I will however warn that expecting answers without a sense of patience is a recipe for disaster. Sometimes we need to have faith that the answers to our questions will come in time.

It would be helpful to find some common ground between you and I before moving forward. Are you an addict in recovery? Do you suffer from what others consider mental instability? If so, then great, we know each other already. Don’t we? If we do not have these characteristics in common, then how can we relate to one another? 

When this pandemic began I bought two puzzles of the world map hoping to better understand this place we all call home. I have since accepted that remembering where all these places are on a map is an impossibility for me. Doing them has reminded me of how very small I am though. My entire life, and everyone in it, exists on one tiny piece of this puzzle. I now know how that spec feels in the movie Horton Hears a Who. 

There is one thing all us humans have in common. One thing that no matter where you are on that puzzle makes us the same in some small way. You can probably guess what it is, but to discover the answer let us look at the human experience together: Let us call it LIFE.

Life presents each and every person a puzzle to put together. The pieces of that puzzle are unique and when we begin putting it together there is no way of knowing how all the pieces will fit together. 

For some, happiness and prosperity will fit together first. Building your puzzle will come easy and you will not know how to look for the pieces that represent struggle and hardship because you do not know what those pieces look like yet, or where they might fit in your Life’s Puzzle. 

For others, struggle and hardship may make up the entire boarder of your puzzle. So naturally you begin working there. To you, happiness and prosperity may or may not exist in your puzzle. Why waste your time trying to find pieces that may never fit?

All people are in a struggle to put their Life’s Puzzle together. In that, we all have something in common. There is also no right or wrong way to work on one’s puzzle. Some may choose to focus on the easy parts first and struggle with the difficult parts later. Others may choose to do the opposite. 

In LIFE, unlike this puzzle analogy, we don’t often get to choose: “You get the hand you’re dealt.”

There are millions of tragedies I have not had to endure in this life. Because of this, there is no way I could understand what you might have been through in the process of putting your Life’s Puzzle together. 

Similarly, I cannot know what it is like to be a child today; dealing with the hardships you might be going through and managing the rapidly changing world the way you are now. 

While I do not know you. Or how many years you have walked this Earth. Or your gender. Or your race. Or who and what you love…If you love. I am comfortable telling you this one truth about myself here: I have been both blessed and cursed in this life. Can you maybe relate?

In this experiment called LIFE we all suffer. In suffering we can all relate. It’s the realest thing in the world people say. But remember—it’s not the only thing. 

I do not pretend to have all the answers but have learned three skills to putting my Life’s Puzzle together that I’d like to share with you now. 

One. Ask Questions. Two. Be Patient. And Three. Have faith. 

After practicing these three things, if the desire to change the world still stirs inside of you, I would then suggest adding this one final piece to your puzzle: Take Action.

I believe the future for us is bright. I believe we will soon discover that our fates are connected. I believe unity will overcome division and that we will someday—collectively—choose peace over war and embrace the idea that we can do more together than we can apart. 

Each of us is a piece to a bigger puzzle. With more resources at our disposal than ever before we can use them to write a new story. One that will create a new future and serve as a monument to all that we wish to become. 

If we are to accomplish this however, there is one thing that we must first accept: This world needs Y-O-U to make it happen. 

WEEKLY QUESTION FOR REFLECTION:

In your journals, please write what the word faith means to you. Does the word perhaps bother you in some ways? Why or why not.

The Teacher’s Playlist:

Highway to Hell by AC/DC 

“I’m on my way to the promised land.”

*

(End of Chapter 6)

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The Real GOOD Loser, A Story That Could…

Chapter 5: REMARKable

“You ever think about that? … Like your whole life has been building towards something.”

—from the film Truman Show

*

“You didn’t really think you were a descendent of a pirate Mr. J did you?” 

My students and I made it through our first week of Remote Learning. It is now Monday, the start of our second week, and we are discussing the 1% Pirate article I asked them to read and reflect on over the weekend. 

“Does it matter?” I ask Nel’s face on the computer screen in front of me.

“F*** yeah it does.” 

Lauryn is with us as well. She introduces herself in pure Lauryn fashion. Appearing in a box to the left of Nel, her eyes look at me for a real answer. “There’s no way that really happened,” she adds unbelievingly.  

The first lesson of this class has just been placed on a t for me, and I find myself feeling a bit like Barry Bonds preparing to knock one out of the park. “All stories are sprinkled with truth Lauryn,” I say simply, “this one included.”

“Did you really think someone could have pirate genealogy though?”

Not letting it go, Pras jumps into the conversation from his cube on screen. Seeing his uncertain face makes me think of what Principal Sam must have thought of my article— How strange I must appear to people that don’t’ know me. 

“Why not?” I ask Pras. “If someone had great-great-great-grandparents that were pirates, couldn’t that person say they were a descendant of a pirate?” 

“They shouldn’t,” Pras replies flatly. “Being a pirate tells you nothing about a person’s ethnicity.”  

Pras is very intelligent. There are all types of intelligence, but I’d call him book smart. 

I watched the students call him “Urkel” after Steve Urkel from that show Family Matters back in January; when I first started at the school. I thought they were being mean, but after just one week with him I question if I was wrong about what they meant by using that name on him. 

That show, Family Matters, played on TGIF when I was kid; Thank God It’s Friday. That was in the 90’s when things seemed a little less complicated than they are now. Before society became super critical of the shows it found entertaining, and before many of these shows felt it necessary to throw every narrative and or demographic at us for one reason or another. 

Watching an episode of that show recently I forgot Steve Urkel had an alter ego; Stefan Urquelle. There was more to that than I realized as a kid. Since the day I heard Pras called “Urkel” I’ve been unable to shake the image of that character when he talks to me. 

Yes, Pras is black. And yes, I see color— Does thinking of him as “Urkel” make me a bad person?

I use the word black if the word helps someone understand. I understand there are all shades of black, like there are all shades of white. I’m careful with the words I use on people but that has become another exhausting element of living in this reality; where we have become super sensitive to words. 

This was a topic of discussion in class last week. Over the summer my boys had gone to the skatepark without me. When they got home they were trying to tell me about this boy who was doing some cool tricks. 

“He said he knows you dad. He said you talked to him.” My boys were sidestepping around their description of this boy and so I eventually had to ask the question. “Are you talking about the skinny black boy with wild hair?”

I knew why they didn’t describe this boy that way to me. When I said that, all three of them looked at me like I just said something that might get me in trouble. Sharing that story with Pras last week he didn’t get offended. “These are confusing times Mr. J,” is what he said. In that moment I knew he and I would get along.

I started that discussion by telling these students about the fight my boys witnessed at that skatepark; when one boy called another a “worm”. I asked these students what that word meant exactly. They gave me their interpretations and we discussed how sensitive we’ve become to the words used against us today. 

“It’s not an attack any of you personally,” I said, “us adults are no better.” 

Pras has a curious mind. He’s interested in how the world works. Which explains some of why he’s having a hard time believing that a teacher could really believe he was 1 % Pirate. 

I labeled Pras an “active participator” in my mind when for an icebreaker our first day I asked these students to think of an idea that might change the world someday. That exercise was like pulling teeth mostly, but Pras willfully volunteered his idea of a computer touchscreen replacing all school-desks someday: “Someone will make themself a lot of money with this invention,” he said sharing his idea. 

To that comment from Pras, Lauryn said, “If its gonna make money someone in the Triangle of Power is already working on it.” She then went on a rant, telling us that these triangle people were “Pure Evil”.

That icebreaker didn’t have these students talking about ideas that could change the world, but about this Triangle of Power stuff instead. Sharing with them my opinion that there are few purely evil people in the world, Nel told me: “Oh, I could teach you some shit Mr. J.” 

“Pras…do you think I’m stupid?”

Pras looks at me a bit uncomfortably from his cube on screen. “No,” he answers, “not at all.” 

“If you asked my family they’d tell you I’m not stupid Pras, but they might also tell you I’m extremely gullible. And being gullible has made me look pretty stupid to them over the years—” 

I can’t explain to these students on screen how true this statement is. Not in any reasonable amount of time that is. Just saying the words has a highlight reel of stupid things I’ve done in the past playing in my head. 

For some reason my mind remembers that time with the remote control…

My grandparents would have the entire family over for Sunday dinners when I was kid. This was my mother’s side of the family; The Prices. We called them our Sunday Roasts because would often have roast beef for dinner. 

At one of those dinners, at the age of eleven maybe, I showed off my ability to change the channel on the television…with my butt. 

As I remember it the audience in the living room watched as I placed the remote vertically between my cheeks. The comfy pair of MC-Hammer pants I was wearing allowed me to get a nice secure grip on it. With that remote in position, I flexed, and incredibly my butt brought us to a channel of its choosing. 

Enjoying the attention in the room, I discovered how to move the channel up or down depending on a careful positioning of the remote. 

“Up!” I said and flexed simultaneously. The channel moved up one. “Up! … Up!” I grunted. Flexing twice the channel moved up two times. Speaking louder, I started showing off. “Up… down… up— up…down—down…up-up….UP!!!” 

On that last one I grunted extra hard and kept my cheeks flexed so we could all watch the television scroll through a bunch of channels. Eventually my cheeks ached, and everyone had to catch their breath as laughing so hard became exhausting…as I remember it. 

When my dad shares that story he says I asked for numbers to press on that remote. I’m certain he added that part—Obviously my butt couldn’t hit individual digits, dad. Later I found out he was in the back of the room with a different remote; a remote he had rushed off to grab when I first started my little show in the living room. 

Thinking I was in control of changing those channels as a kid was rather foretelling. As believing I was in control of events in this world would continue to have me looking rather stupid well into adulthood. 

Those family gatherings don’t happen much anymore. Even before this pandemic they had become fewer and fewer. I blame it on a world where the safe and fun things we have to talk about have become fewer and fewer. Getting together for birthdays, and weddings, and baby-stuff is good and all, but I don’t think this trend changes until there’s something exciting for us to get together and talk about. Right now, that seems unlikely. 

Trying to further convince these students in front of me of my stupidity seems unwise at the moment, and so I choose to edit some of what I tell them. Gathering my thoughts I continue to feed them pieces of truth. 

“When I heard my father say that pirate thing I did believe it Pras…because why shouldn’t I have? But the whole Facebook thing was made up. I needed to entertain you with a story to get your attention.”

These students and I talk about my pirate article a bit longer and eventually it turns into a discussion about the value of humor in education. Nel finds himself excited. “Mr. J!” he says, “You gotta watch Dave Chappelle. He gets it. He’s a genius…No joke!”

I laugh at Nel’s enthusiasm because the person he is referring to will always sort of be a funny pothead from the movie Half-Baked I liked when I was in college. This man’s stand-up act has been suggested to me before though, and so I tell Nel I’ll watch it. Having done so, I then ask the question that will help us transition into this week’s topic.

“Does anyone here watch the news every day?” 

When I was planning my curriculum over the summer I knew I’d have to address this news stuff and wanted to get it out of the way early on. These students on screen take turns telling me they “get” the news every day, but no one can say they “watch” the news every day. 

After a short discussion about where they get their news, I ask why they don’t actually watch the news on television in the morning or at night like some of us adults do. According to them, watching the news is “Boring”. Also: Depressing—Upsetting—Sad—Scary—Stupid—Divisive—Manipulative. 

A list describing the news becomes a separate document appearing on our computer screens. 

Minimizing their list, I click a button on my computer that brings up the outline for the week ahead. I then read aloud what is written across its top: “This week we will discuss how fortunate we are to have so much news at our fingertips today.” 

Hearing me say this I see Lauryn make a face from her cube on screen. “And yes Lauryn,” I say knowingly, “we will talk about the negative impacts of so much news as well.” 

Lauryn smiles, staying respectfully silent, and lets me continue to share my prepared outline with them. 

• Tuesday: THE HISTORY OF THE NEWS: An investigation into how societies got their news over time…The Untold History.

• Wednesday: WORLD NEWS: An honest attempt to find reputable information about what is really going on over there. With a look into Sensationalism and “The Dynamics of Distortion”. 

• Thursday: NEWS AND ENTERTAINMENT: How to recognize the difference and tips on how to “Filter-Out The Truth”. 

• Friday: NEWS TODAY: A conversation about the pros and cons of so much information. Are we really blessed with a wealth of knowledge today?

• Today, Monday: Students are required to submit a one-page reflection on the following writing prompt…

Many argue the greatest weapon is not a gun or a bomb today, but the ability to manipulate information…that to control the world’s information is to manipulate the minds that consume it. 

Do you agree with this statement? Why or why not?

Overall, the second week of this Covid disrupted school year went much better than I expected. Getting students to participate in anything is difficult, but they surprised me. Posting my article titled REMARKable for them to read and reflect on over the weekend, I turn from my desk to see my three boys sitting on the couch across the room. 

I told them I needed a few minutes of quiet time to finish up my work and so they’re watching the show Ridiculousness together. Knowing I have a loud weekend ahead of me with them, I take a minute to appreciate the quiet and watch this show from a distance. 

At my grandparents’ Sunday dinners, we would watch America’s Funniest Home Videos as a family. This show might be that shows natural evolution. Another show where we get to watch and laugh at stupid and funny behavior caught on camera. 

This show protects itself from lawsuits with what I think is a laughable disclaimer they display before it begins.

WARNING:

The activities in this show are dangerous and could lead to serious injury. Do not attempt any stunt or activity in this show. MTV and the Producers insist that no one submit any video of themselves or others performing any dangerous activities. We will not open or view them.

The creator of this show, Rob Dyrdek, reads this warning that appears above a white silhouette of a person falling off their skateboard onto their head I think. I’ve watched this show so many times I know it by heart. 

I find this warning genius and awful at the same time. It pushes the blame of our crumbling society down the line to someone like Facebook creator Mark Zuckerberg; who doesn’t have a warning like that on his social media platform—I bet someday he might want to. 

I imagine a future where billionaire Mark sues super multi-millionaire Rob for punitive damages. For our entertainment, talking heads on television ask us: Who is to blame for the harm social media has done to our kids? 

The internet and our phones let us participate in one giant Jerry Springer episode. From the comfort of our couches, we get to play the role of Judge Judy and spit our verdicts into the black hole of opinions. 

A loud giggle coming from the television interrupts my thoughts. I take my eyes off the television and look at my boys to see if they’re giggling along. Looking at them I again realize that this blame game we love to play will have no winners…this world we are living in now is proof. 

Somehow we must stop playing the game altogether. And build something instead of wasting our energy tearing each other apart. Thinking this; and knowing my students might be reading my article right now, the debate happening in my head wages on— Can I really pull this off?

*

Article Title: REMARKable 

Dated: Friday, September 18^th, 2020

 “How can you differentiate yourself as a ‘Class Act’ in a world where most people are unconscious and unspecial?” 

—from the book The Success Principles by Jack Canfield

Getting funding for this class wasn’t easy. It required patience. A lot of it. And being patient isn’t easy. 

Trying my best to be patient, I researched. I read. I listened. I watched. I thought. I dreamt. With so many people vying for your attention, and so many worthy voices wanting to be heard, I had to accept that timing would be critical. 

Realizing this, I wondered: How could I present something REMARKable?

At some point I made a list of what I thought got peoples’ attention most these days. Money, Power, and Sex were the top three things I wrote down on that little blue sticky note I wrote my list on. 

Unfortunately, I had little money, no power, and understood that no one would want to see me naked. Last week’s article relied on the fifth best thing I wrote down on that blue sticky note: Humor. What was fourth on my list you might ask? Drama/conspiracy/mystery.

To make a real difference in this world would require people talking about this class on social media, and so I asked myself what might get “remarks” on those platforms. That’s what I meant when I asked how I could present something REMARKable. 

But could I present something REMARKable without embarrassing myself? 

In a world where people are doing more and more embarrassing things for attention, I was highly skeptical and wondered what desperate and dangerously stupid thing I might have to do to get people to notice me. Luckily, I was able to use writing to get people’s attention and so I never had to do any of those things I imagined…but I thought about it a lot. 

If my attempt at humor to get your attention last week has failed, I need to do something here that might rope you back in. I’ve decided to tell you a secret about myself. A secret that will have each of you saying: “HOLY CRAP! ——Can you believe he just told us that?” 

The secret I am about to share with you has made me feel alienated and uncomfortable with who I am. Someone literally called me an alien because of it once. 

Friends that know this secret have teased me about it for as long as I can remember. It’s made me their punching bag in a way. Life has made me a punching bag for many other reasons however and I’ve learned to take those punches with a smile—it’s my gift I think. 

With that said, I am now ready. I will now tell you my secret. Are you ready? … I guess we’ll find out. Okay. Here it is: “I am (blank).”

Sorry kiddos. I just can’t tell you that secret right now. It’s too dangerous. If you make it to the end of this class with me I promise I’ll fill in the blank at the end…maybe. 

Drama/conspiracy/mystery— CHECK!

“What happens when the world abandons you?” 

I was watching a movie with my kids that used this line to get their attention. I find myself annoyed with the words I hear being fed to them. My kids don’t get it. To them it’s just entertainment. Just like it was to me when I was a kid and just like it is to you now probably. 

But it’s more than that. In a world of injustice, anger, and hate, words like those, knowingly or not, stoke fires that are dividing us. 

“We have to go back to the past to understand,” that show then said to my boys, “to understand that the past is what changes the most.” 

What is that line trying to say? 

I’m really asking as I have no clue. Just because I’m your teacher here doesn’t mean I know everything. We are all lifelong learners as far as I’m concerned. You need to know that before continuing with me here.  

I think maybe that line means our memories of the past change over time. Then again, it might just be some silly wannabee writer like me playing with words; trying to sound smart or interesting to get someone’s attention…I guess we’ll never know. 

“We all suffer from desire.” 

In many of those books I read while waiting to get that funding for this class, I would see something like this written in one form or another. I decided that this thing we humans call desire has many of us struggling with what I call: The Nostalgia For What Once Was. 

Wanting things to be how they once were can become an obsession. And wishing for our past can become our life. Us addicts might know this better than most. How much money have we spent to feel like we once did? 

Nostalgia is why a dad like me, confused by his kid’s video games, wants his old three button Nintendo back. Nostalgia is why I miss the old Il Fornos. That’s a restaurant my family goes to. It’s not closed, it only moved locations. Now me and my family miss the old place and its brick stove and open kitchen. 

Nostalgia is why we watch old movies and why we keep seeing remakes and spinoffs of movies and shows once loved. Nostalgia is the invisible hand that fuels economies and perhaps the number one job producer on this planet today. 

That’s a bloated statement. But I know what I’m talking about when it comes to this stuff…I think. 

The Nostalgia For What Once Was fuels a lot of frustrated calls into the local sports radio station I listen to: The Sports Hub. 

As New Englanders, Tom Brady made life seem magical for us for a long time, so hosts and callers like to squeak and squeal and shout about what quarterback might bring that magic back to us. But are we being realistic in our discussions, or are we being a tad bit delusional? 

That word delusional is harsh, but tough love is necessary sometimes—Or so I’ve been told. 

Identifying an anomaly in one’s life for what it is difficult. For different reasons to different people. Tom Brady was an anomaly the football world will forever remember put in a situation that made him an even greater outlier because of the coaches and players he played with. What his teams accomplished in the early 2000’s will forever have sports fans questioning what is possible.

But we can’t go back. The universe won’t allow it. Rather we must try and use those memories to keep us connected as we wait for the next anomaly being prepared for us.

For anyone that cares, I’m a Josh Allen and Buffalo Bills fan currently. I’m not loyal when it comes to sports teams. I’m a cheerleader of people who likes sharing. Saying that would have many Patriot fans booing me aggressively. Maybe I’m just strange in how I think, and how I feel… I’m rather certain I am. 

I admire Josh Allen for what he does on the field but more for how he talks and treats people. Being that way must weigh on him. We fans are brutal these days. And I know it can’t be fun dealing with the media all the time. If Josh Allen doesn’t win, will the way we treat him turn him into another Bill Belichick? 

My father looks like our Patriots coach Bill Belichick, but my father is way nicer. My brother works for NBCSports and says Bill is a lot nicer in person. Would more people be fans of Bill Belichick if he was nicer publicly, or is winning all that matters to us? (That will be part of your question for reflection in just a moment.)

We can look forward to the future in addition to looking back. Economies depend on us consumers doing that too. It’s just not as profitable these days. 

When I was designing the curriculum for this class I wondered: Are we going to be a dumber civilization in the future or are we going to be a more intelligent civilization in the future? 

I don’t think there is much debate about where humanity is headed if something doesn’t change soon. In his book Ready Player One, the author, Ernest Cline, writes from the perspective of the year 2045 and refers to humanity today as “rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic”. 

What that author was creatively suggesting is the ship we are on now is sinking. I thought that was a nice way to describe our current reality. 

To prevent this ship from sinking, I believe we must first learn how to laugh at ourselves and our behavior. I wrote that in our class objectives. In a world that takes itself so seriously, I knew that was a big ask, and so I sort of volunteered to be your captain here by writing that story for you last week: Your own personal 1% Pirate——ARGHHH!!!!

Now that you all know the truth…allow me to invite you onto my ship: “All aboard!” 

WEEKLY QUESTION FOR REFLECTION:

In the 2013 movie Ender’s Game there is a line that says, “The way we win matters.” In your journals, please write what you think this statement means and answer the question: Is winning all that matters to you currently? Remember this is for you. Answer honestly.

The Teacher’s Playlist:

River of Dreams by Billy Joel

“I must be looking for something. Something I lost.”

*

(End of Chapter 5)

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The Real GOOD Loser, A Story That Could…

Chapter Four: 1% Pirate

 “The world is changing. Truth is vanishing…. War is coming.” 

— from the film Mission Impossible, Dead Reckoning Part 1

This Covid Pandemic had teachers and students sent home in March of 2020. We stayed home the entire last three months of the school year. I never thought it would happen, but it did: Remote Learning became the new normal. 

Committees across the country have argued both publicly and amongst themselves whether it’s safe for students to go back to school for In-Person Learning. One of the many debates is this: Are kids more at risk of this disease or suffering long-term emotional trauma by staying isolated in their homes? 

Despite society’s need for strenuous debate, fear most always wins in situations like this, and fear is at an all-time high…again. While I do hope memories of this time will unite us in the future, I find myself more and more impatient for better days. 

Summer vacation came and went, and this new school year is only a few days away. Two weeks ago, our district announced its decision to start the year remotely. All educators were told to expect an in-person meeting with their supervisors. I am about to have mine. To discuss “Expectations and Requirements” according to the email I received from Principal Sam. 

Driving in for this meeting I stopped at my regular spot to grab my 5-hour energy drinks. Like many, I work more than one job to survive financially. My side gig is construction. I grew up building houses with my dad and over the summer he and my brothers did a garage addition for a friend. That’s when I picked up this stupid 5-hour habit again. I hate drinking them as I’m pretty sure they make me more tired, but I continue to be an addict and find myself doing a lot of stupid things out of habit. 

I’m gonna stop—tomorrow…always tomorrow. 

The boy at the gas station where I can buy two of these 5-Hours for five dollars and fifty cense is from India. I drink two a day, so we sort of know each other at this point. He was watching a Mission Impossible movie on his phone this morning and told me they love Mission Impossible movies over there.

The grant I got to teach this class funds it for one year. That one year ends in January. Like Tom Cruise in one of those movies, my mission—should I choose to accept it—is to convince the district to extend funding for this program through the end of the school year…and then beyond hopefully. 

Prior to this meeting, I submitted my curriculum outline by email to Principal Sam. There are no national standards to consult for my course, so sitting here now I can only hope that what I provided appeared structured and logical— Fake it till you make it, right?

“I don’t get it,” Principal Sam begins our conversation.  

Before I can respond the cellphone lying on the desk between us lights up with an incoming message. As its recipient’s eyes look down at it, I immediately feel like an unwanted distraction in the room. 

Principal Sam and I are both wearing masks and sitting in a stripped-down office that smells of some cleaning supply. Bleach maybe. I expected some small talk before discussing business, but the fact we are only allotted fifteen minutes to meet in person must mean there is no time for such subtleties. 

Everyone is quick to say “I don’t get it” to me. I don’t like it, but I’m used to it. 

A sprinkle of rain taps on the window behind Principal Sam. With those eyes no longer focusing on that phone, I ask, “What don’t you get exactly?”

Three pieces of paper are thrown on the desk in front of me and I can now see what Principal Sam doesn’t get. I can’t reach down to grab the papers because “person-to-person contact is not permitted” but see my article titled 1% Pirate staring up at me. 

I spent the summer assuming we wouldn’t be back in the building to start the new school year. Trying to think of ways to do my class remotely, I set up a blog page: RecoveryHighSchool(dot)com. Where I plan to post an article each week for students to read and reflect on. 

In the curriculum outline I submitted to Principal Sam I wrote:

Each week I will write an article and ask students to answer a Question for Reflection in a journal provided to them. Besides chronically their personal development, one of the purposes of this will be to increase a student’s cognitive ability to interpret stories. Rather than simply “watch and believe”, this class hopes to teach students how to “watch and decipher”. In class we will refer to this ability as an individual’s C.S.I. Score: Common Sense Intellect: one’s ability to separate truth from fiction when presented a piece of entertainment in the real world. 

“How does this fit into the objectives you set for your class Jose?” Principal Sam asks. 

“We’ll be talking about social media our first week. This will tie into that,” I reply. 

“Well,” Principal Sam says after a moment, “it seems to me like you might just be testing out your creativity on my students Jose.” 

Principal Sam was not a welcoming figure last year and I quickly realize things are not about to change. What was said to me in our first meeting plays like a recording in my head: “This school is designed to fill in the many gaps these students have from years of neglect, mismanagement, and laziness. And I take my job of getting them to graduate seriously Jose…you need to know that.”

After another painful pause the dementor across from me continues. 

“Your friend, Mr. Bernard, pulled a lot of strings getting you into my school Jose. I appreciate your intentions, but question how well this program will work here. It’s only earning students one credit as an elective and filling your class roster wasn’t easy obviously.” 

Principal Sam slides out the third piece of paper buried beneath my article on the desk in front of me. I see that tattoo on my principal’s wrist and think of the story told to students about it last year. My eyes zoom in on my class roster—a roster with only four names on it. 

“But anyhow,” Principal Sam continues, “we still need to discuss what I expect from you on a weekly basis…” 

I was hoping the roster I was given last week was a work in progress. But this confirms it—I will have only four students in my class this year. 

Not listening to what will be expected of me, I begin to hyper focus on the problem of getting additional funding with only four students enrolled in my class. I was in that halfway house only three years ago and so I know I’ve come unbelievably far, but I still feel like this world is conniving against me somehow—Was all that work I did to get here a waste?

The doubters sitting on their comfy recliners in my head are always feeding me questions like this. They’ve made their home up there and I fear I might never get rid of them. 

When I was in that halfway house I began filling one page of a journal every night. That’s where I got this idea of having my students keep one themselves. I started to keep a journal a year or so before that fire; when all that other stuff happened, but didn’t write in it regularly until I found myself in that house. It really helped. That’s why I’m trying to pass it on to these kids—they’ll probably think it’s stupid though. 

A year before that fire is when I started keeping my entertainment journal as well. That’s where I write quotes from shows and movies that speak to me in some way. Like the one of Flik in the Disney movie A Bug’s Life I’m remembering now: “Nothing I ever do works,” that dreamy big-eyed ant says dispiritingly; conceding another failed invention, “I’m never gonna make a difference.”

Sitting here listening to Principal Sam, it’s clear to me this is not to be a meeting but a lecture. Whatever I want to say won’t change anything. I’ve been in this position a lot lately and could compare myself to little Matilda in her movie if I wanted…

“Listen you little wise acre,” her father growls and pokes at her in the scene my mind imagines, “I’m smart—you’re dumb. I’m big—you’re little. I’m right—you’re wrong. And there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

I’m only half-listening to Principal Sam when the alarm on the phone sitting on the desk between us chimes marking the end of our fifteen-minute meeting. 

“I know you have experience teaching Jose,” Principal Sam says looking up after touching that phone, “just have something I can document by the end of day on Fridays. The new district guidelines for lesson plans and progress reports are online. Miss Lily can help. I’ll mention it to her when we meet next.”

“That would be awesome,” I say, “Thank you.” 

I’ve found that surviving this world often requires making people believe we are more confident than we are. I don’t like playing this game but know how to when I must. Pretending to be grateful for the extra help with the busy work teaching requires wakes up the frustrated me. 

Getting kids to pay attention for an hour at time is difficult enough. Spending hours explaining what we will be doing, how, and why is just an extra kick—No wonder people aren’t dying to be teachers these days. 

I know every job has busy work; a result of others justifying their existence and their jobs, and that I shouldn’t complain. But it’s just too easy. I might be good at acting like nothing bothers me to people like Principal Sam, but I do truly hate all this acting life requires.

If this program doesn’t work maybe it won’t be such a bad thing?

It’s just like those doubters to have me rationalizing quitting on myself at the first sign of trouble. 

“They’ll be watching us closely this year Jose,” Principal Sam says standing up in front of me. “Let’s make sure we’ve got each other’s back okay?” 

Principal Sam gives me a look I semi-understand. “No problem,” I answer standing to meet my principal’s eyes. 

Saying goodbye, I leave Principal Sam’s office; relieved to be done this obligation and looking forward to my escape back to isolation. That’s been one of the few benefits of this pandemic for me. 

Feeling overwhelmed, a caving sense of doom begins filling my chest— What should I worry about first, I wonder.

Lost in my own personal world of worry, I see Miss Lily speed-walking towards me. 

She’s the guidance counselor here. We talked virtually almost every day last year to help students cope with the difficulties around Remote Learning. Principal Sam made it our job basically. With all that is going on in my head, seeing her is a pleasant surprise. 

Getting closer her appearance has smiling to myself. She has a mask on—which is normal now—but her eyes are covered by sunglasses; making her entire face a mystery. “You’re running late I’m guessing?” I say coming together.  

“As usual,” she replies stopping next to me. “How’d your meeting go?” 

“It was fine,” I answer with a half-truth. Turning my head slightly I ask, “Are you smiling under there? … I can’t tell.”

“Sorry,” she replies. Freeing a hand, she pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head. “I just bought ‘em. Do they look okay?”

Presented with this question I can’t help but wonder why pretty girls are always wearing sunglasses. I like to look a person in the eye is all. I might also be struggling with some trust issues at the moment. 

“They look fabulous!” I answer her question hiding my scarred ego behind a satirical voice. Knowing she needs to get going and is just being polite by stopping, I push her on. “Go to your meeting,” I say, “We’ll catch up later.” 

“Alright,” she says, “I want to hear about your summer though. Make sure you come see me.”  

Miss Lily presses one finger into my chest and turns to leave. Watching her go I can’t help but toss a teaser in her direction. “Hey,” I say down the empty hall, “Did you get that ring yet or what?” 

Stopping to look back at me, Miss Lily raises her left hand into the air. “Don’t get me started,” she says wiggling naked fingers at me before turning to continue on. 

That quick hello gives my worrying self a break by waking up my critical and judgmental self. I try not to say my critical and judgmental thoughts out loud, but the editing that goes on in the short distance between my brain and my mouth has increased exponentially over the past few years…I know I can’t be alone. 

In the movie A Star Is Born, Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga sing that song Shallow. “Are you happy in this modern world?” they ask— No, Mr. Cooper and Ms. Gaga, I am most definitely not.

I’m reminded of something Lauryn said to me last year. “FAF is everywhere Mr. J.” FAF was a word she needed to explain to me. It stands for Fake As…that word she uses too much. 

I’ve been using that word myself more than I should admit lately. Watching all these already attractive people on television doing all these things to their faces it’s hard not to. I taught my twins what it means and now they’re using it too. While I might be justified in some of what I think and say, that doesn’t make it right. And it definitely isn’t healthy for me. 

When it comes to appearances I know things are harder on women today. If a guy has a thin upper lip like me he can cover it up with some facial hair. I’m not sure what annoys me more, FAF eyelashes and FAF lips, or a college kid trying to look like Goose from Top Gun with one of those silly mustaches on his face. 

This FAF world might be harder on women, but it affects us men too. 

Does size matter? As a boy that question has you worrying about the size of your equipment. As a man you realize its more about the size of your bank account. I was recently told I have nice calves—Who the hell cares about their calves, I thought hearing that. 

That compliment reminded me of an episode of the show Entourage where Johnny Drama debates getting calf implants. That show was supposedly based on Mark Wahlberg’s real life. Focusing only on the females featured in the background however, it’s clear it could not have been based on his real-REAL life. 

When you take the time to study entertainment, it’s not difficult to piece together why “FAF is everywhere”. 

I believe people today are mistaking how we behave—OR ACT—for who we are, and these people we see on screen are fighting the same battle as the rest of us. They deal with a lot more opinions so things might be harder on them actually— I wonder if them having to worry less about money makes us even?

If everyone is in recovery, so are all these people we see on tv. “Wealth, fame, and success manipulate the ways in which a person interprets reality.” I read that somewhere so it must be true… Maybe that’s what some of them are recovering from?

Entering my car, the reality of my situation again hits me: How am I supposed to get additional funding for my program with only four students enrolled? 

It won’t be easy, but it’s doable: To solve this problem, I must reverse engineer an outcome—I am the Master Strategist…you can do this J.

In situations as dire as this, confidently deluding myself seems rational. If my class is to be a success however, it’s crucial the few students I do have understand what I’m trying to do with these articles I’ll be sharing with them each week. 

The first one—that will be shared with them on Friday, September 11^th—plays in my head as I start my drive home. 

*

Article Titled: 1% Pirate 

Dated: Friday, September 11^th, 2020

“Great men aren’t made great by politics. They aren’t made great by prudence or propriety. They are, every last one of them, made great by one thing and one thing only: the relentless pursuit of a better world.”

—from the show Black Sails: Season 2, Episode 1

I think of entertainment as a universal language that connects all people and consider talented screenwriters some of the great communicators of our age. 

We have a challenging year ahead of us with this pandemic, and in this class we have some serious issues that must be addressed, but before we get into all that I would like to start here by telling you a silly story about me…your teacher. 

This story starts with a text message I overheard my dad reading to my mom: “I went on Ancestry.com and found out we are 1% Pirate today.”

That’s what I heard my dad say to my mom. I then watched my dad hold out his phone and show her the text message he had just read to her from my Memere. 

Memere is what we call my grandmother from Canada by the way. My dad’s mom. Am I the only one that gets confused with all these names we have for grandparents today? I have a hard time with names already. 

I’m getting distracted. Sorry. Back to my story. 

I saw my mom laugh at that message on my dad’s phone but didn’t give it too much thought as I was just walking through their living room. That same day I was watching the show Black Sails; the drama series about pirates in the early 1700’s I quoted to begin this article. 

“They won’t believe until it happens,” that show said, “but when it does they’ll say it was inevitable.” 

That show had me hooked. The desire of these people to live a life where they were not governed by rules and expectations they disagreed with really spoke to me. 

Watching that show the captain was talking about the men of the island: “They’re not animals,” James Flint said, “they are men starved of hope. Give that back to them and who’s to say what could happen.” 

Inspired by what this captain said; and what I heard my dad say to my mother, I paused the show and found this YouTube video titled “James Flint X so far from who I was”. The title and image alone were just the right amount of interesting for what I needed it for. 

Jumping on Facebook I wrote: “Happy Sunday everyone! I’m excited to announce I just found out I’m 1% Pirate…ARGHHH!!!”

I posted my message with that video and resumed watching my show while at the same time checking Facebook for reactions of course. One LIKE. Then a few more. 

Why don’t people LOVE the stuff I post? I wondered.

I’m new to this whole Facebook thing. My wife didn’t want me using it before but even she uses social media to Snap and Instagram the story she wants people to see today. 

Did I use those terms correctly? 

Being a newbie, I’ve experienced a few learning curves. For example, I’ve learned that “Loving” everyone’s posts makes it look like I’m “creeping on people”. I’ve gotten better at choosing my reactions more carefully but still tend to love something when I don’t think it will get me in trouble.

A LMAO face. Another laughing face. Soon an OMG reaction was thrown into the mix—making me feel better about myself. 

Then my post received its first comment: “U serious bro?” it asked. 

Not recognizing who this person was, I constructed a simple response: “Yeah,” I wrote, “it’s amazing how Ancestry.com can tell you this stuff.”

My pirate post was losing steam and not many more reactions were being made. At that point I think I had about twenty likes: “But who cares…I wanted more.” That’s a line from the Disney movie The Little Mermaid by the way; Ariel is singing about forks.

“Are u an idiot or is this a joke?” 

Just when I had stopped checking my phone every three minutes another comment made my phone ding. The question was from the same person as earlier. 

Annoyed at being called an “idiot” by someone who wrote the word you with just the letter u, I again clicked REPLY: “Just thought it was cool. No need for name-calling.” 

I know——What a dad thing to say. 

Then it began. This Facebook friend shared my original post; allowing all his followers to see it. With it this Facebook friend wrote: “He thinks he’s a pirate. LITERALLY!!!” 

Immediately comments started blowing up my feed. A full out assault was underway, and I was at the center of the attack. The hits came fast and furious:

“How stupid,” someone wrote, “A Pirate. Some people should not be allowed to bread.” 

This person meant to write “breed” with an e, but instead wrote it with an a, making it bread; the stuff you eat. 

“Time to jump ship you moron!!!” wrote someone else. 

“I’m 1% Alien,” wrote another. “You don’t see me posting that on Facebook…Maybe I should?”

There were so many comments I couldn’t believe it. As the day went on, I couldn’t help but read each person’s creative way on how to spew hate. My post was like a pinata on a string at a party. Put up for people to hit with their words. 

Inside that pinata was my heart: Who was going to hit it hard enough to smash it open?

Taking a closer look at the original antagonist’s profile, I realized that this Facebook friend had over ten-thousand followers. I couldn’t recall when or how I had become this person’s friend but that no longer mattered as this social media “troll”; I’m told they’re called, had me in their grasp and there was nothing I could do about it. 

Eventually I turned off my phone and went about the rest of my day; still not understanding why everyone made such an issue of me saying I was 1% Percent Pirate. 

Was it like saying I was 1% Native-American or something? … Was it because proving you’re 1% anything is impossible?

Even if I knew why these people were making fun of me, who would let themself become upset over something so stupid? ——Unfortunately…I did.

Feeling down; frustrated with people and their ability to be so hurtful, I joined my parents later that night for dinner. In their kitchen my dad was pealing some potatoes, and my mother was browning some meat on the stove; she’s the cook, he’s just hired help.

How did I let that post from earlier turn my day into such a miserable one?  

I watched as my parents laughed at something. Hoping that whatever it was might snap me out of my funk, I asked what they were laughing at. Unaware of what was going on in my head, my mother smiled and answered my question. “Just that picture from your Memere’s surgery,” she said.

“What picture?” I asked. 

My mother then stopped what she was doing, wiped her hands on a cloth, and grabbed my dad’s phone off the counter. Punching a few buttons, she handed the phone to me. 

On my dad’s phone I saw a picture of my Memere. She was smiling and beautiful as ever. But there was something about her in this picture I had not expected. In it she was wearing a black eye-patch over her left eye—the one she had surgery on the day before: “1 % Pirate.” 

Dammit…I’m an idiot.

WEEKLY QUESTION FOR REFLECTION:

Is virtual socialization (aka: social media) bringing people together or tearing them apart? In your journals, list examples of both the good and bad it’s doing and state why you believe one is doing more than the other.

The Teacher’s Playlist:

7 Years by Lukas Graham

“I know the smallest voices they can make it major.”

(End of chapter 4)

Click here to continue to next chapter…

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 Three: Setting the Stage

 “The contest has got to be about connecting with someone…Connecting with the world.”

—from the film Ready Player One

When the time is right life will teach you more than any classroom ever could. The date was Thursday, March 19^th, 2020, and a lesson was waiting for us whether we wanted it or not….

Standing at my school’s back entrance, I find myself looking out the glass doors waiting for the students’ bus to arrive. Behind me cafeteria staff are preparing the morning meal—smells like those French Toast sticks again. 

The day ahead promises to be anything but normal. All teachers have been told to pack up their classes and prepare to educate students remotely for a bit. No one really understands what that means yet. 

All the real teachers are in line at the copy machine preparing packets to send home with students. Principal Sam just finished telling me that since I have no “real curriculum” to cover it will be my job to “babysit” for the day; so that all the real teachers can scramble to send sufficient work home. Principal Sam says we may be home for a while. I don’t believe it. 

Before the school day begins I like to keep my troublesome mind occupied by reading a book. Looking out these glass doors I’m having a hard time concentrating as I try to imagine a world different than this one; to paint a picture of a future different than the one I think is in front of us. 

At the very same time my distracted and overwhelmed and bored mind is trying to think of something to say to Lauryn.

There has to be something I can say to you Lauryn. Something to wake you up. A way to give you some hope. See—secretly Lauryn—I kind of think this world sucks too. But I shouldn’t tell you that. I’d need a time machine to go back and fix everything…When would I go back and start changing things anyway? 

When I was in middle school I had a teacher who found this picture of a boy from the depression a hundred years ago. Crouched down in some ditch holding both knees, the photo was in black and white but the boy in it really did look just like me. He even had one big ear—his left one—just like me. 

An older boy on the school bus once told me he had an ear like mine. He told me he taped it when he slept and that fixed it. I taped mine for a month after he told me that. It still sticks out. 

That photo of the boy from the depression had us middle-school kids talking about reincarnation that day: the belief we live multiple lives. As a boy that photo had me wondering what life I might be on now. 

My mind connects this thought to the book in my hand about a video game—not a video game, but a virtual reality world…The Oasis.  

“This book is proof geeks will one day inherit the Earth.” That’s what the review for this book Ready Player One said. 

As a wannabe geek myself, and someone who wants to believe that thinkers still rule the world, I just had to read it. I’d also seen the movie based it and like to see how these things come together; something J.K. Rowling started for me with those Harry Potter books of hers. 

I’m only on the fifth chapter but the idea of this Oasis has awoken my imagination. 

“Creating an entirely new reality that provided an escape for most of humanity.” … How awesome would that be in real life? 

In this book, James Halliday—the creator of The Oasis, a virtual reality world—left an “Easter Egg Hunt” when he died. The winner of this hunt would receive his almost 250-Billion-Dollar fortune. 

At home I listen to the audio version of a book and read it at the same time. I’ve found it helps with this focusing issue I have. Since I’m at school I can’t do that and so my mind is a bit all over the place as I wait for this bus to arrive. 

If my life were a video game I might have forced a reset a long time ago—But what if I could pick a moment in my life and start over instead? 

Maybe I’d choose that day in January 2008: the day I saw those lights in the sky. That was the day aliens infiltrated this planet and set things in motion we humans could not set in motion ourselves—Maybe “THEY” planned all this. 

I’m totally joking. Just playing with those voices in my head again. If I don’t play with them I’ve found they start playing with me instead.

I didn’t see lights in the sky in January of 2008, but according to this documentary I watched— suggested to me by both my sister and a teacher at this school—unidentified lights did appear in the sky then. Trying to think of a date I’d go back and start life over that would be a good one for me…as it was right around then my life starting falling apart on me. 

Outdated economic indicators will say we are not living in a depression now, but those barely reflect the cost of existing in this world today and are mostly a joke. While there are no indicators to back my opinions, I believe we are living in a depression of our collective minds currently: The Era of The Distracted Mind, I call it. 

At a friend’s house the other day me, him, his wife, and their two kids couldn’t remember what we were talking about a minute earlier. It was funny but not really. The shirt I was wearing that day read: “Don’t Stop Believing!” I don’t want to stop believing that things will get better but worry getting our distracted minds to pay attention to change is becoming more and more unlikely by the day. 

Outside the bus pulls in. I watch the students exit and head towards me. Kids don’t often look happy coming to school, but this group appears a little extra miserable to me today. 

Opening the door, I welcome Lauryn into the building first. “Good morning, Lauryn,” I say in the most cheerful voice I can muster so early in the day. 

Passing through the door Lauryn barks a soft f at me. “F*** you,” she says; not editing herself.

I don’t normally get an f bomb like this thrown at me so quickly, but this is obviously a special day. Nel, Lauryn’s boyfriend, holds her bag and gives me a small smile as he walks through the door behind her. 

I have a special place in my heart for the f-word. It’s a word that can offend everyone and no one at the same time—a difficult task in today’s world. The way Lauryn just used the f word on me might be an example of a way I don’t like it. As would the way it’s used on flags and bumper stickers today. 

When I’m with my boys and see this word used in ways I don’t approve, I think of telling them that there are worst things angry and hate-filled people could be doing. But then there’s another voice in my head that tells me to “Shut The F Up” for wanting to say something so stupid. 

Lauryn uses the f-word often and knows how I feel about it. A few weeks ago, I told her about a Limp Bizkit song that was popular when I was in high school: “The song was called Hot Dog,” I told her, “But everyone knew it as the f-word song.” 

I showed Lauryn a YouTube video of that band performing at Woodstock 99 that day. Watching the riot that event turned into, I told her those were the people she calls adults today: “And this was only twenty years ago Lauryn,” I said, “before social media. This is why you’ll never experience a Woodstock Festival yourself.” 

“Never say never Mr. J,” Lauryn said to my assertion that day. 

Lauryn is a lot nicer than how she just appeared. The day she told me to “Never Say Never” was the Lauryn we like: “The person I wish I was all the time,” she confided in me once. 

Limp Bizkit has another song titled My Generation. “Do you think we can fly?” Fred Durst asks before answering himself in that song. “Well, I do,” he says. There was positivity sprinkled into that angry music we listened to back then; maybe the anger in that music made us feel alive for a time. Sadly, many of My Generation just seem angry now. 

I couldn’t say what generation I’m a part of though; generation this, generation that, my mind doesn’t do well with remembering names and labels. 

Privately I’m an angry and hate-filled person too. I think we all are to some degree given the state of the world. For me it’s all these names and labels we’re using on each other that’s getting me angrier, and more hate-filled I think.

I’d like to say I love and hate people equally, but that needle on my mental love-hate meter sways constantly and I’m finding it pushing harder and harder towards the hate side more and more frequently. I feel the same way about myself and so don’t think people should take offense to it. 

Schools are closing Friday—that’s tomorrow—this virus is spreading and for safety reasons schools are closing to prevent a spike in cases. An attempt to “Flatten the Curve” they are calling it. I watched the news while getting dressed this morning but didn’t understand much. 

Things got real when I showed up here and watched a teacher complaining of allergies immediately sent home. Principal Sam is also wearing a physician’s surgical mask today; which I find strange and overdramatic. You’d think we’re preparing for the end of the world or something…some people probably think we are. 

The students ask me a few questions when they first walk in but soon stare into their phones appearing to have more information than I do. 

Sitting alone, I look at Lauryn a few tables away from me surrounded by her regular collection of students; they call her “Mama” sometimes. She’s only a junior here but even the seniors consider her the boss at this school. 

Lakay Recovery High School is really just a “Program”. It shares a building with this city’s Behavioral Program. Worcester, Massachusetts (pronounced Wister) is a forty-minute drive from Boston and has a population of over two-hundred thousand. Placing kids with behavior issues in the same building as kids with substance issues doesn’t sound too smart. But anyone in public service knows it’s all about funding…and that if you’re getting paid you shouldn’t complain. 

I only started working here two months ago at the start of term three in January.

“So, you’re this new E.I. teacher we’ve been given.” 

I had provided a description of my Emotional Intelligence Program to all teachers: “Emotional Intelligence has a broad spectrum of goals,” the letter I provided read, “but ultimately I’m here to build relationships between students and teach them tools that will help them become more stable humans in what we all know is a very unstable world.” In that letter I said I was a Recovery Coach but that they could refer to me as an E.I. teacher. 

“Your name is Jose, right?” 

I met this school’s math teacher my first morning. He was alone in his classroom cleaning his whiteboard. I watched him lick his thumb and attack an especially stubborn smudge. “I thought you’d be Spanish,” he said before giving me time to respond to his question about my name. 

“My friends call me J actually,” I said. 

This math teacher’s assumption of me being Spanish was not that out of the ordinary. I’m your standard Eminem variety white guy, but my name—Jose Julian—suggests differently. 

My mother gave me my name after seeing it on the back of a boy’s sweatshirt who crossed her path the year I was born. Taking it as some sort of “sign” it’s one of two decisions she made for me that made my life a bit more uncomfortable than it could have been.

“Like just the letter J?” This math teacher turned from his whiteboard to look at me that morning. 

“Yeah,” I replied, “People have called me J since I was a kid.” 

“Wow—Just a letter!” he said sarcastically. “I thought only celebrities could pull that off…You’re not a celebrity are you J?” 

I was wearing a black sweater I bought when I got this job that morning. It had a slight V-neck front. “Showing some skin I see,” this math teacher said to me a little later that morning. 

It’s not hard for people to scare me off nowadays. This math teacher accomplished it easily that first morning without even knowing it probably. Him being the only other male teacher at this school, I secretly hoped we’d become friends, that first morning it seemed unlikely. 

Over the past two months I’ve watched this math teacher wear a shirt and tie to school every day. Something I refuse to do myself ever since working in the corporate world. He’s an attractive guy and he smells expensive; he’s definitely not wearing Old Spice Body Spray he bought from Walmart like me. 

I overheard our guidance counselor say, “He sure as shit loves himself some him,” to Principal Sam not long ago. I tend to agree. I don’t know if I’m annoyed by his confidence or jealous of it.

I’m a good-looking guy myself…that’s what people would say. In another life I might have been voted Sexiest Man Alive—not Brad Pitt or Leonardo DiCaprio level, but Paul Rudd maybe. 

Thinking that about myself “sure as shit” makes it sound like “I love myself some me”. I tend to be a hypocrite. I told my students I’m a conscious hypocrite though: someone that struggles to practice what they preach…and knows it. 

How I look on the outside and how I feel on the inside differ greatly today. Regardless of what people think, I don’t feel attractive. Corny—but true. Since I’ve been here the other teachers have barely talked to me except to say, “Good morning!” and “Have a good night!”. Common courtesies but definitely not conversation starters. 

Being ignored has made me feel alone, but I’m used to it and might not want it any other way. I’ve noticed the other teachers don’t talk to each other that much either. Which strangely gives me some hope—Maybe it’s not just me? 

It’s thoughts like these that make me think everyone is a tad bit miserable currently, and that some of us are just better at pretending than others. While she sometimes tells me to go f myself, Lauryn is one of the few people here that makes me feel welcome at this school; which is why that post I read on her Facebook page last night is bothering me so much: “What’s the point of this thing called life?” she wrote. 

Lauryn’s post may have annoyed me if it was made by someone else. It was an attention seeking post: a post that makes you question something. But because it was Lauryn I couldn’t help but be concerned by it. 

She made that post around six o’clock. It was the middle of the night when I saw it. Worried, I looked for comments. 

One friend asked if everything was okay to which Lauryn replied “Always!” with an explanation mark. The different colored hearts Lauryn used after that one word confused me more as I have no clue what the different colored hearts stand for. 

Like everyone I have my issues with social media. The reduction in time being bored because of it for one. “Social media is limiting our creative potential,” I told these students. “Constructive creative potential,” I added. 

I wondered if Lauryn was in serious danger but knew I might be misinterpreting something. I tend to read into things too much—who knows what these kids are thinking when they post stuff. I hoped I was making something out of nothing. I’m sure she’s fine—I told myself—but what if she’s not? 

It’s not professional to snoop on students using social media, so how will I get Lauryn to tell me what that post meant? 

Sitting in this cafeteria—troubleshooting this dilemma—a lightbulb goes off as I think of a way to respond to her not so nice “good morning” from a few minutes earlier. Unzipping my school bag, I take out a white envelope filled with index cards I’ve been carrying around. 

On each of these cards is a quote. My plan was to hand them out to students and have them write reflections on the back as part of our class together. Not much has gone to plan so I haven’t used them yet. The thought of handing them out makes me feel silly as I fear I might be too old, or too young, or just too…well…just too me to get the respect I imagined having at this school. 

Flipping through the cards I find the one I’m looking for. Turning it over I write my message on the back. Getting Nel’s attention I watch him walk over to me with that walk of his. Handing him the card I ask him to bring it to Lauryn once he’s done reading it. 

“Yo,” he replies with a laugh, “do you have a death wish?”

“Just bring it to her,” I tell him, “She’ll like it.”

“Okay,” he says, “Your funeral dude.” 

Nel turns and walks to Lauryn. I watch him say a few words to her. She takes a quick look at me and then looks down at the card in her hand.

Language is a weapon, swearing is its sword, truth is its shotgun.

(Over)

You should write a book Lauryn: The Art of the F-Word. When you’re famous, I expect some recognition for the idea. :0).

Lowering the card Lauryn looks up at me. Her cheeks lift and I watch her slowly and silently mouth two words in my direction across the few round tables that separate us: “F***—You,” she says.

Whether Lauryn edits herself I can’t know but whatever she was upset about earlier seems to be forgotten for a moment. I know it won’t last, but it’s nice to see. 

Surviving the gossip filled morning with this Covid situation, after lunch everyone is attempting to kill time waiting for the end of the day to arrive. In this math teacher’s classroom, the students are taking posters off the wall. 

Staff were told to leave nothing out so that the school could be “completely decontaminated”. Making it a mathematical exercise—also known as keeping the kids busy—this math teacher required students draw a scale model of his classroom so that when we come back everything can be placed exactly as it was before. 

This is a task I highly doubt these students will ever be asked to complete—hence the busy work. 

From across the room, I watch this math teacher place a picture of his family in a drawer of his desk for safekeeping. Sitting on the steps of their nice home, his wife and their twins are impressive looking in that photo that is all smiles and fancy clothes: happiness shouts at me through the silver frame that has “#1 Dad” etched at its base. 

I’ve seen that picture many times; and use it to validate my assumption that this math teacher has a pretty good life. The fact he and I are both a father to twins has been discussed, but I’m careful with what I say as those conversations open me up to discussions I prefer not to have. 

Principal Sam has me hanging out in here when I’m not teaching my class; figuring I can help given my background. I taught sixth grade math for a brief period to escape the corporate world of finance after the crash of 2008. Everyone here knows my story—the parts I share at least. 

All I’ve done in this class for the past two months is help students pass assessment on their computers. They scroll up and down watching complex math videos and use phones to try and answer questions that even I don’t know how to answer. 

My twins are in middle school now and struggle with basic math, helping in here has only made me worry about what high school will be like for them. 

“Mr. J…do you want this?”

Lauryn says this with a poster in her hand. It’s a poster she made our first week together. The fact Lauryn; a.k.a. Mama, made it is the only reason it’s hanging up. The poster reads: “Everyone should own a G.U.N.” 

I feel my face get warm and watch this math teacher smile big at me from behind his desk. Lauryn finds this poster genius and is super proud of it. I can never let her know how much it embarrasses me. 

“Sure,” I say taking the poster from her outstretched hand, “I’ll hang it up at home somewhere.”

G.U.N. stands for: Good—Underlying—Need. 

It was part of a lesson I created: Take a simple word and create an acronym out of it so that when used changes the meaning of the word completely. 

People are using acronyms for everything these days. They frustrate me because I often have no clue what people are talking about when they use them. When I was putting lessons together I thought it would be fun to have students create some of their own. 

The one Lauryn created became a conversation piece amongst staff when she demanded it be placed on the walls of the school.

“It has such a powerful message,” Lauryn argued. “Everyone should have a purpose to what they’re doing in life. Why are you doing something?  … Why do you want something? … What is the ‘Good-Underlying-Need’? … Get it?” 

Lauryn thought this was brilliant and I was in no place to discourage her excitement over creating something so original. I was then forced into being her advocate as she faced off against the other teachers. 

In the end Lauryn got her way, and this math teacher took the bullet by letting her hang it in his room. I’m sure he’s secretly thrilled to get rid it: It only took a global pandemic, I imagine him thinking, but I’ll take a win any way I can. 

“What do you know of Nelson Mandela, Lauryn?” 

Lauryn is taking another poster off the wall. The quote next to this man’s face reads: 

I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. I felt fear myself more times than I can remember, but I hid it behind a mask of boldness. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.

“I don’t know,” Lauryn replies to my question, “that he changed the world.” 

I’m not sure if Lauryn is asking a question or making a statement. I can see she knows little about this man and I’m in no position to educate her. Moving on, I ask another question sort of absent-mindedly, “When do you think someone will come along and change the world again Lauryn?” 

“They won’t Mr. J… Our world is f****d—No changing that.”  

Lauryn’s use of the f-word here seems appropriate to me, but I know better than to let her think I agree with her assessment of things. “It’s happened many times in history Lauryn,” I say. “It’s destined to happen again.”

“Someone will come along and destroy the world before changing it the way you’re thinking Mr. J.” —Lauryn stops what she’s doing to look at me— “The internet was the beginning of the end…You know it’s true.”

Lauryn is now using my own words against me: The world is addicted to chaos, it hungers for gossip, conspiracy, and scandal, and this magical internet of ours offers us an all-you-can-eat buffet of it. 

Lauryn heard me say some variation of that in my class; she’s regurgitating my words to try and make her point. She heard what she wanted that day and missed the lesson I was trying to teach. 

This happens all the time and is one of the many reasons I often hate talking. I was trying to address the problem with the students that day. Not rationalize their pessimistic views. 

Broken slightly by Lauryn’s confidence in this doomsday prophecy she throws at me, but understanding it far too well, I fight against her negativity. 

“Lauryn,” I say trying to sound confident, “someone will come along and use the internet to change the world for the better. In a way that was impossible without it. In a way we can’t imagine now.” 

Lauryn looks at me but doesn’t say anything. Not often is she lost for words but something I said hit home because I see her make a conscious decision not to fight me. Without another word she turns and continues taking posters off the wall. 

For a brief moment I feel like the adult and not the child— Maybe she wants to believe me? A hopeful voice in my head wonders. 

I never found out what Lauryn’s post from the night before meant. Whatever it was she was not in danger though. Which made me feel better when we all left school. 

While this virus has much of the world worried, most everyone seemed more excited by the unknown than scared when we said our goodbyes. Anything stimulating—even something not-so-good or scary even—can feel good to people desperate to feel something I think. 

Driving home I replay my conversation with Lauryn from earlier. 

So many people think like her. I know I do even if I don’t say it— What if they’re right? … What if this really is the beginning of the end?

The Teacher’s Playlist:

Here I Go Again by Whitesnake

“I don’t know where I’m going, but I sure know where I’ve been.”

*

(End of Chapter 3)

Click here to continue to next chapter…

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 Two: An Introduction

 “We all have special skills…We have to work together.” 

—from the film Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle

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Everyone has secrets that make them who they are, and everyone must lie from time to time to keep those secrets. Some have more secrets than others and tend to lie more than most for reasons we might be incapable of understanding—a person in your own life might come to mind. 

That person may lie because they are simply uncomfortable with being honest. Or because exposing their secrets makes existing in this world more difficult than it already is. Writing this story required I use fake names to protect identities: Is that lying or twisting and modifying the truth?

I asked myself this question when reading Jordan B. Peterson’s book 12 Rules for Life, where rule eight says this: “Tell the truth—or, at least, do not lie.” I purchased that book after reading a review that called its author “The wisest man in America today” but before reading an opinion online that ripped him for being “Preachy and overly idealistic”. 

We humans are tough to please—Maybe that’s why I lie? I would like to say I twist and modify the truth more than lie, but that would have me lying to you already, because the plane truth is, I do…. I often lie.

Whatever I say here will be misinterpreted by people that don’t know me. Maybe that’s why I lie? — Because it doesn’t matter. 

Wherever I look today I see people trying to be enhanced or altered versions of themselves, or not themselves entirely. Maybe that’s why I lie? — To fit in. 

Society celebrates celebrities and material goods today but not often friends or simple acts of kindness. Maybe that’s why I lie? — Because people sort of suck and don’t deserve my truth. 

I can’t speak to why everyone might lie but can tell you why I think I do: It’s a defense mechanism…I use it to this survive this painful, cruel, critical, and judgmental world. 

To tell this story however requires I share many of my secrets with you. And so, I’d like to start here with what I think are some big ones. I was teaching at this Recovery High School because I, myself, am an addict in recovery. An addict in recovery who, on May 27^th, 2016, accidentally burnt his house down. 

Yes, I’m a fire-starting-lying-addict-teacher who openly calls himself a loser. Are you sure you want to read this story? I know better than to try and tell you what to do, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. 

I played with the idea of making it sound like I started that fire on purpose here. Had I done that you definitely would have gotten the wrong perception of me however, and that would have been super counterproductive to what I’m trying to do here. See, I believe that’s a major reason why so few new friendships and relationships are starting up today: wrong perceptions. 

Had I made it sound like I started that fire on purpose here my mother might have also killed me. She still thinks MOY is to blame for that fire somehow. You’ll know what MOY stands for later. I can’t tell you all my secrets right away…

That fire I started—the one that would leave me and my family homeless for a time—was most definitely an accident. It was a result of a cigarette I was having on my back porch at two in the morning. But why was I smoking in the first place? Cigarettes? I mean…What type of person smokes cigarettes?

That’s something the younger me would think. It’s something the older me still does. Does knowing I smoked cigarettes have you questioning my character, or does it increase my bravado? 

What in the hell does bravado mean?

I’m a questionably curious character and I like to play with words. Even if I don’t know what they mean sometimes… Aren’t a lot of people like that though?

Today I can vividly recall being huddled under that fire-lit sky that cold morning. I lifted my chin up to look at the smoke swirly high into the darkness above me—you couldn’t smell the smoke, only the cold air that morning. 

Beneath my feet, buried deep underground, was my heart…right where it belonged. With my hair in a little ponytail and a scruffy beard on my face, my thirty-three-year-old self watched that house burn believing life would forever be defined by my struggles. My hair was the longest it’s ever been then because I was on a mission and wanted to look the part. 

As those flames danced their way through the roof—entertaining the audience that had gathered outside—the strange beauty of that scene mocked me. The endless failed attempts to put my life back together danced with those flames, and right then my dream of achieving some sense of redemption, just like my house, went up in smoke. Poof. 

That was a difficult moment no doubt, but how I felt then might be considered just another day for someone like me. 

The flames of shame and fear and guilt rose inside me like the sparkling fire reflecting in my eyes that cold morning; the same feelings and emotions one battles to get sober. Prior to that fire I had been uncomfortable in my own skin for what felt like forever. Looking at that house burn I knew my real-life bad dream would continue— Poor me. 

At the time of that fire, I was working on the story I quickly mentioned in my Disclaimers. I hadn’t finished the story but remember how it began…

I was sitting on a firm brown leather seat on a yellow school bus. With my head pressed against an open window my eyes were closed, and I was feeling the breeze on my face while listening to a friend tell the story of the four homeruns I hit in a baseball game the day before. “It would have been five,” my friend said, “but the jerk’s fifth went just left of the foul pole.” 

This friend telling the story, Timmy, had hit three homeruns in the game before and was having some fun teasing me for showing him up that day. With my head against that window—pretending not to hear all the good things being said about me—you might say I was practicing false humility on that bus: I’m pretty amazing…I smiled on the inside. 

Not until I got off that bus and entered school did I realize what I’d done. With a spotlight on me in the entranceway of the school, I held the straps of my backpack and looked down to see sneakers, socks, naked legs, and the bottom flap of my t-shirt. And there, right in the middle, a piece of personal skin just poking out…for everyone to laugh at. 

Realizing I had showed up to school forgetting to put on my pants; and my underwear for some odd reason, I covered myself and tiptoed to the bathroom. Hiding in a stall I placed my head against the stall door and tried to think of a way out of this predicament I was in. When the embarrassment turned to anger and tears started pooling up, I punched the stall door. That’s when I woke up. 

The clock I woke to read: 8:53 a.m. Turning on the television, I saw something unknown happening. Ten minutes later I watched a plane fly into the World Trade Center the morning of September 11^th, 2001.

That real event happened my first month at college when I was attending the University of Massachusetts, Amherst. Seeing it happen I ran to the hallway to yell for my roommate Jay who had just walked out of the room to use the bathroom. Prior to seeing that second plane hit, the people on tv didn’t know what had happened to the first building. 

Yelling for Jay would then wake me up again in present day…in a psyche ward. 

The beginning of that story was sort of your dream within a dream beginning. Like in that movie Inception; where you’ll find this gem of a quote: “An idea can transform the world and rewrite all the rules.” 

I had written an entire chapter about what I just covered here in only a few short paragraphs. It’s funny how time can make things not so important. Then again, sometimes funny things can become important in time—you should probably remember me saying that here. 

My attempt at writing that story didn’t go well. I hinted at that in my Disclaimers by comparing myself to Loki getting smashed by The Hulk. The fire you now know about barely scratches the surface. 

People in recovery will use the words “Rock Bottom” to describe the moment an addict must turn things around or die. Yes, they use the word die. And no, it’s not them being overly dramatic. 

What I’ve learned however is that this rock-bottom-thingy is not often a moment in time, but instead a duration of time and a collection of moments. I’ve also learned that this rock-bottom-thingy—for not only addicts like me but for anyone—can become your entire life. 

This story started with this Rock Bottom line at one point. Before scared and doubt-filled me went and changed it, again. How you start a story is important, I read, you need a hook to get peoples’ attention. 

Maybe I was trying too hard when I started this story that way. Maybe that’s why I was ignored, again. Let’s just say it hasn’t been easy getting your attention fishy fishy.

As far as that fire I started goes, no one was physically hurt. For that I am grateful. That fire is also what put me on the path that brought me to this Recovery High School. For that too I am grateful. But it isn’t easy staying grateful… Do you maybe know what I mean? 

Attending AA Meetings a year or so after that fire I listened to people who had been through difficult experiences like me. Sitting in a basement of a church; sipping on a black coffee, I remember a speaker saying: “Losing everything one thinks is important can be a freeing experience”. 

I HATED (all capital letters) hearing that then. You can understand why with some of what I’ve just shared with you. That person wasn’t wrong though. For once a person experiences such loss; and swallows that pain day after painful day, they can go about their life without the fears a privileged life can sometimes create. 

I do not advise someone go out and lose everything though. For failure at that level can make a person quit on life completely. Yes, everyone loves a redemption story. The problem is most people don’t get them. They just keep falling. Trust me…I know. 

There are moments in one’s life when positive words are infuriating. Since everything seems to be about money these days I’ll use that as example. 

The burden of money is real and becoming more and more troublesome for many of us as I write this. It would be nice to not let the anxiety associated with that reality consume me—like books you’ll see me reference in this story advise—but many of us don’t have much of a choice at the moment…Am I lying? 

Part of my big dream for this story is for it to be read by classes of high school students someday. I imagine them reading this and discussing when I’m “lying” verse when I’m “twisting and modifying the truth” or adding things for ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. 

Like the students in my story, I believe doing this as a group would help them better decipher reality from fiction when consumer entertainment in the real world. 

I felt punched, kicked, and walked over the past ten years or so. Some of that was just my head, but giving up completely has been a recurring state of mind more times than I care to remember. That feeling is real to me and I wish it on no one. Not even my worse enemy. As that worse enemy is usually me, I’d be wishing pain on myself anyway. 

This story isn’t supposed to be just about me though. And so, let me change gears here for a bit. 

As a kid I learned that fire was a tool that changed world. Not until recently did I learn how fire changed the world. 

Food. With fire came the ability to cook food, providing us humans a wider range of food options to choose from. Fire changed humanities perception of what was possible when it came to the food we could eat. That is what tools do: they change perceptions of what we humans think possible. 

Based on that definition, as the teacher in this story, feel free to call me a “Tool” if you’d like. That’s a joke by the way…. BAZINGA!

Doctor Sheldon Cooper uses that word “Bazinga” in the show The Big Bang Theory when he’s trying to make a joke. I use it here to introduce another tool that changes perceptions of what we humans think possible: Entertainment. 

In an episode of The Big Bang Theory, there’s a scene where Sheldon is watching an old film of his dad talking to his football team at halftime. “I know we’re down by a lot,” his dad says, “And if I’m being honest with you we probably aren’t gonna win this one. In fact, we definitely aren’t gonna win this one. If we do lose, that doesn’t make you losers. You learn as much about what you are and what you’re made of from failing as you do from success. Maybe more. You can spend the next half feeling sorry for yourself, or you can get out there and give them hell.”

That speech from Sheldon’s dad spoke to me on a personal level as I’m sure it did millions of others. Entertainment is most definitely a tool, but really it’s the stories and messages that change perceptions of what we humans think is possible. 

When do you think we humans first started telling each other stories? 

To answer this question let us imagine ourselves way back in time. Way, way, WAY back; when we humans were first learning how to use these sounds we could make with our mouths to create words. 

With fire, stories must have multiplied as they were told late into the night. Some of those stories might have shared information—the necessary and dry stuff—but entertaining stories is probably what we humans looked forward to. 

Manipulating information in an entertaining fashion was a skill needed to tell stories in a way that would keep our friends around that fire engaged. And it probably didn’t take some of us long to discover how good this human mind was at that. When someone discovered they were especially talented at this, a storyteller was born.

Sitting under many of the same stars we have above our heads today, we can imagine ourselves telling stories that would light this world of ours on fire someday. 

Stories might have helped us mentally escape the harsh reality that was our existence back then. We might have been scared of being attacked by lions, and tigers, and bears, and used those stories to feel safe. What are we humans scared of today? What are we using our stories to help escape from now?

Lions and tigers and bears…oh my. 

There must have been music too. Talented members of our tribes must have turned story into song. My mind likes to mash time periods together when I think about this. Right now, it’s imagining Ivan B singing his song Don’t Look Down to a bunch of cavepeople around a fire. 

“I’m scared I’m wasting my time.” —This singer uses his song to tell his friends around that fire how he’s feeling— “I’m scared I’m losing control of my life. I’m scared of commitment. Of calling anything mine. I would be lying if I told you I’m fine.” 

Did Ivan B just get serious on us? 

“It’s always the outsiders who end up outstanding…Pride is a poison that infested our planet…Our view of everything is such a mess…I feel like happiness is something everybody should have.” 

My goodness, I think he did. Ivan B must have needed to get a few things off his chest. Words—what other magic are you capable of? 

Teaching this class my story follows had me studying entertainment. Doing so ruined much of what I once very much enjoyed unfortunately. I see more and more of trying to tell me that people will laugh at my mistakes and failures. As someone that has literally asked for people to laugh at him, I find the suggestion annoying. 

Those that chase dreams on stage, or on screen, or on playing fields, will certainly be ridiculed by people acting like jerks—especially on social media—but dreamers like me working in secret won’t often find themselves being laughed at. I’ve also yet to come across someone “praying for my downfall” like a song I heard recently suggested. Most people simply have a hard time seeing past the mirror if you know what I mean. 

What I mean by that is people are selfish and can’t see past their own interests, but that’s me being overly harsh as I believe most of us are in survival mode for one reason or another today and have had the ability to believe in others vacuumed away from us. 

To any dreamers like me out there, if you’re intentions are good people won’t often laugh at you for chasing a dream…but they won’t often support you either. They may simply do you the favor of ignoring you and then maybe forgetting about you. And yes, sometimes that hurts more and so it’s not exactly a good thing, but that’s the Dreamer’s Burden.

Still——Dream On my potential friend!

As a lifelong dreamer, I should probably mention here that writing is like a new toy I’ve only recently discovered. A new toy I must apologize for playing with inappropriately at times in the story ahead. The students you’ll be meeting shortly will tell you I find myself funny, but I’ll let you be the judge.

A year or so ago I planned to release a version of this story as a podcast. I figured if people didn’t want to read my story maybe they’d listen to it. After going through the difficult process of recording the first five episodes, I released them only to receive a threatening email from Facebook saying I’d been reported for copywrite infringement. 

The message was a scam I think—everything is a scam I think—but I still used the opportunity to scrap that uncomfortable plan of mine.  

I don’t often let myself hear compliments. The doubters in my head block them from me. On my Facebook page for The Real GOOD Loser someone wrote “History in the making” in the short period I had those episodes available. Thank you to whoever that was. It meant more than you know. 

In that version, when I said writing was like this new toy I’ve only recently discovered, I referenced a scene from the movie Jumanji: Welcome to Jungle. I recorded the audio from that scene and let people listen to it. That’s why I believed that copywrite infringement email held some merit. 

The part of the movie I recorded was when Jack Black; playing the role of a high school girl turned boy for the game, first discovered he had a penis. You’ll have to trust me that it was funny and that it made sense, still doing that had me referencing the male genitlia twice in this introduction. 

Was I trying too hard? Was that experiment of pushing uncomfortable a bit too much? Is that why I was ignored…again? 

I got the idea for that when my three boys were playing the “penis game” while eating dinner at a Texas Roadhouse. This game consists of one person saying that silly word and daring the next to say it louder. Getting mad at them giggling at each other, I said I’d embarrass them with that word like they were me someday and hoped writing that part into my story would do the trick.

Did I just win their game?

When I was just a child myself—years before standing in front of that burning house and before that real-life-bad-dream 9/11 event—you might say I was “That Kid”. 

Freshman year of high school I was elected homecoming king and class treasurer by my peers. I was an honor roll student and an all-star athlete. I was a mixture of Zack Morris, A.C. Slater, and Screech from Saved by The Bell for those that might get the reference. 

Friends that knew me then might tell you I was a quarterback and could kick fifty-yard field goals wearing my construction boots. They might remember turning on their televisions and seeing my youthful face when I was selected HighFive Athlete of The Week by a local news channel for baseball my senior year. Those friends knew me before I became me—when I seemed capable of magical things.

Yes, it sure felt like I had some “magic in my bones” for time. Just like in that song Bones by Imagine Dragons. Not so much anymore. I only share the information here to illustrate that addiction and mental illness can affect anyone. I am living proof.

The only team sport I play these days is softball. I play for G.A.A.M.H.A. (Gardner Athol Area Mental Health Association). Friends on that team might remember me whacking a homerun or two over the green monster in center field where we play. I hope they remember me handing out candy during games though. That’s something my dad used to do. He always had candy for me and my friends at the little league field when I was kid. 

Addiction does not end or even begin with just substances. And you don’t need to have an addictive personality or emotional instability like me to suffer. Anyone with a phone in their hand knows that. 

I have lost more than I wish to try and explain in life. I have attempted to sleep days, and weeks, and months away battling sole-crushing depression and mind-swelling self-doubt. I have been a chronic failure and spent a lot of time hating myself; regretting bad decisions and punishing myself more than anyone could ever wish to punish me due to the P.A.I.N. I’ve endured. 

P.A.I.N. is an acronym I created for this class I was teaching. It stands for Personal Anguish Introduced (by life) Naturally. 

I’ve done some good things in life but remembering them hasn’t helped me much. If you’ve ever dealt with severe guilt and regret, I’m sure you can relate. Getting healthy for me meant reinventing myself. A nice idea but a tough thing to do when you carry so much baggage. And believe me, I carry baggage—a mother of new-born-triplets traveling on vacation amount of baggage.  

“Everything happens for a reason.” 

That’s another thing I heard people say at those AA Meetings. Hearing that annoyed me as well, but could it be true? 

Did I have to suffer and struggle to become a teacher at this school and then write this story? …  Did I have to fail attempting to get it discovered to finally piece it together in a way that might speak to as many people as possible? 

I’ve been told “this is nothing new” when discussing the problems of the world. 

Children are growing up in a world their parents can’t possibly understand, but those same parents grew up in a world their parents couldn’t possibly understand, and the same could be said about their parents before them. They all survived the experience, and so will these children…most of them at least. 

Does that sound as insensitive as I think it does? 

I believe we’re at a time in history like none before. A time when we must change or die. Is that too strong an opinion? 

I wrote this story believing feelings of peak frustration and maximum chaos would have many of us looking for change. I knew things wouldn’t get better on their own and that somehow we would have to come together and make it happen. Reality was my ultimate adversary when I wrote this story…and with it I hoped to beat it down—Muhamad Ali style. 

Clearly I have many hopes for this little story of mine, but allow me to share just three of them with you now: 

One.

I hope this story will help liberate people controlled by fear.

Two.

I hope this story will help unfreeze hearts that are currently frozen.

And Three.

I hope this story will help inspire dreamers chained to a reality unsuitable for magicians.

I wanted to encourage humanity to choose a different path forward. To do so would require I talk to snakes, tame lions and dragons, and whisper to giants. All of which might engulf every inch of crazy your mind can currently handle. But that it is the mountain we are climbing here, and you deserve to know.

Things haven’t gone great for a lot of us recently. I know I’m not alone. But maybe Sheldon’s dad was right: “If we do lose, that doesn’t make you losers. You learn as much about what you are and what you’re made of from failing as you do from success. Maybe more.” Perhaps we haven’t really lost but only gained some perspective.

Let this story be a reminder to those that have forgotten the power of words. Let it be a dare to anyone that has lost faith in tomorrow. Let it be a cry for help, and a scream for change. The challenge ahead is monumental—and downright daunting to be honest—but our class objective here is simple: To make us dream again…of a future brighter than this reality we are all stuck fighting in today.

Since trying to change the world sounds pretty dumb to many people, as we prepare to embark on this journey together allow me to now imagine you and I as Lloyd and Harry in their Dumb and Dumber movie. Unafraid, jump on this little moped with me and let’s go looking for that pretty lady in the snowy mountains of Aspen…just like in that movie—let you and I call that pretty lady Destiny. 

“Here, I have an extra pair of mittens—you should probably put them on before we get going…this reality is one cold b-word.”

Dear class, I’ve thrown a lot at you here. In the story ahead what is real and what is not will be explained at the end. For the time being, try to enjoy the ride. This world gives you enough to worry about…Am I lying? 

The Teacher’s Playlist: 

Not Afraid by Eminem

“Come take my hand.”

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(End of chapter 2)

Click here to continue to next chapter…

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…

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The Real GOOD Loser, A Story That Could…

Written by: Joe Henrie

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Start of Act One: The Pledge

“What unites people? Armies? Gold? Flags? … Stories. There’s nothing in the world more powerful than a good story.” 

— from the show Game of Thrones 

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Chapter 1: Disclaimers

“Is it better to be feared or respected? … Is it too much to ask for both?” 

— from the film Iron Man

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It is the summer of 2024 as I write these words; August 7^th here in the United States to be specific—my twins’ birthday oddly enough. And this world is not a happy place at the moment. Exactly how unhappy this world is currently could be argued, but if the collective happiness of all humans were to be tracked and graphed over time, we most certainly would not be living at an all-time high right now. 

If such a graph were to exist, we could zoom in and look closely at our time on this graph and find pockets of celebration—spikes of happiness here and there—but this is true of all times and does not diminish the fact that this reality of ours exists at a low point on this graphed line of our collective happiness. 

What is the forecast for our future? 

Dark mostly. Cloudy. And gloomy. And very, very, very, VERY loud. Internet-Enabled-Loud. And ugly. Did I mention ugly? Fantastically magnificently ugly in fact. Yup, a big steamy pile of turd is our future…Am I lying? 

Whether my entertainingly negative forecast makes you smile or frown, know I wrote this story with the intention of providing some level of hope during what I believed might be a difficult and potentially scary time ahead for many of us. As to me—a teacher—it appeared parts of our ugly history were repeating itself right before my eyes.

What parts? … Well, that’s for you to figure out. 

If we could fast forward and look at this graphed line of humanities collective happiness over time from some distant point in the future, five hundred years let’s say, when did our collective happiness bottom out? 

At that point, as problem solving humans from the distant future, we must have done something. What did we humans do to climb from that low point on this graphed line of our collective happiness to become the happier problem-solving humans that still roam this planet in five hundred years? 

We evolved. That’s what. I like to think we must have. 

But is that even possible today? Or have our distracted and scattered minds become incapable of such a thing? If it were possible, will we even have enough time to evolve before we destroy this planet for good?  

What if completely destroying a planet takes more time than I think? What if in five hundred years our world simply looks like the one depicted in the 2006 film Idiocracy? — Where the dumbing down of civilization continues on the uninterrupted devolutionary path it seems destined for today. 

For those unfamiliar with the film I just referenced, Idiocracy, the title alone should give you some clue as to what it’s all about. In it a human named Joe is put in hibernation in the year 2005 and wakes up five-hundred years later in the year 2505 to discover the average intelligence of humans has decreased so much that he—a man of average intelligence in the year 2005—is now the smartest man in the world five hundred years later.  

To those that might think such a future possible, I ask this: Does that have to be our future or are we somehow masters of our own fate? 

I wrote this story hoping we can be…It follows my time teaching at a Recovery High School; a school designed to help students struggling with substance abuse where I got to teach this class called Emotional Intelligence during the 2020 Covid Pandemic. 

After that roller-coaster of a year for not only us educators but for everyone, one of the first things I did in preparation to write this story for you was to create a list of disclaimers: things I wanted you to eventually know about me. Would you be interested in seeing that list now? It’s written on a yellow lined piece of paper hanging in my closet…I could just go and grab it. 

Before sitting down at this small desk tucked into the corner of my bedroom to finally write this story for you, I found myself constantly modifying that list of disclaimers; creating something of a Disclaimer Dilemma: a tendency I have to over explain myself in an attempt to justify myself. 

More simply, I talk too much sometimes. Especially when I’m nervous or uncomfortable. I’m doing it right now actually.

As a newbie to this whole writing thing, arm-bent into revising this story multiple times, I’ve since come to see this entire story as one long disclaimer and have learned that over-sharing too quickly ruins the experience of story and might only get myself in trouble. That said, I will do my best to pace myself and keep my disclaimers here brief. 

My mind is rather unique—I think that’s a nice way to describe it—and it can’t always be trusted I’ve found. I’m sure someone will know what I mean by that, but everyone will know soon enough. Everyone will also know all about this school I was teaching at and this class I was teaching there soon enough as well. But first I need to try and explain some of what pushed me to write this story for you.

On Facebook a post I was fed recently; because of some algorithm I don’t understand, someone I didn’t know had written this: “I’m in my DONE era. Not mad, not bothered, just done. I’m protecting my inner peace at all costs.” 

That person, whoever they are, is someone I might say has hit their “Max-F-It Level”. That’s a term you will see me reference in an article I wrote to my students in the story ahead. Perhaps this person said it more eloquently than me, but this Max-F-It Level is being hit by people of all kinds all over the world; those more eloquent than myself and those perhaps not so much. 

I hit my Max F-It Level in the year 2014. In the ten years since I’ve been bouncing back and forth like some hyper dog with ADHD, between caring, not caring, caring too much, and not caring at all. For much of that time my life has felt like a bad dream I can’t seem to wake up from. Lucky for me maybe, I don’t appear to be alone in this bad dream anymore as much of the world appears to be right here with me now. 

This is no dream we are in. This is our reality. Our frustrating, exhausting, and slightly stupid reality… Am I lying?  

Once again you might not see things as overly negative as I do. Nevertheless, can we agree that much of this world is a mess at the moment?

What script have we followed to get us here? … What script will we follow to get us out? … What happens to us next?

My firecracker of a mind had me writing this story believing entertainment could be used to transform this not-so-wonderful reality of ours into something better. To prove myself master of my own universe, readers and listeners of my story would be adversaries I needed to sley in pursuit of “True Victory”. 

That’s the title to a YouTube video released in April of 2017. If you ever do find it, don’t watch it, instead, just listen… “The end is about to begin.”

Entertainment has become a part of who we are. In my story you’ll see me reference songs and shows and movies that have spoken to me over the years. Doing so has had me believing some of that entertainment was created just for me. 

Does that make me crazy? … Or have I simply become a product of my world? — A person that feels more connected to the entertainment I consume than the people that surround me. 

In the movie 8-Mile, Eminem plays the character of B-Rabbit: a rapper trying to make it out of a poor Detroit city by artistically attacking other rappers with his words. I was born in 1982. That movie, released my second year of college in 2002, became a staple of who I am. 

As a forty-one-year-old father of three young boys now, that movie has become hard for me to watch for a number of reasons. One being the young sister of B-Rabbit’s in the movie who I see being traumatized by adults who fight one another in their attempt to survive an unjust and unfair and hate-filled world. That movie just feels too real to me today. 

That movie introduced the song Lose Yourself, where Eminem “flips the script” by singing this iconic line: “If you had one shot, one opportunity, to seize everything you ever wanted in one moment—Would you capture it or just let it slip?”

That song still motivates and speaks to millions and millions of people. Dreamers like me use it as fuel. But what if that one moment Eminem sings about comes after many other moments when a person has fallen flat on their face in the most embarrassing ways. Would that person still be capable of chasing after their dreams? Or would it slip away? Leaving them stuck in that rat race, or bad dream… or that factory B-rabbit works in.

On my wild and thorny journey through life thus far, I’ve met a wide range of individuals. Without exception I have found something good in each and every one of them. While I might not be what you call “normal”, here is what I’ve come to believe…

I believe people today are mistaking how we behave—OR ACT—for who we are.

I’ve watched many good people fall into this beartrap of believing others are as bad as their behavior suggests. It’s not hard to see why. One need only open their eyes. 

Awfulness is everywhere and anywhere. Believe me, I get it. People are super difficult, and they can do many super bad and super silly and super stupid things. Still, we all have some good inside of us. I truly believe that. The problem, as I see it, is this: How do we make good behavior normal? 

To make good behavior normal, and change our world and our future, and end this rat race and bad dream, I believe we must first learn how to laugh at ourselves and our behavior. 

I don’t know how this will happen on an individual basis, but wrote this story believing society must battle this monster of a task by utilizing two of its most dangerous and tactful weapons: Entertainment and Education. 

When I was teaching this class my story follows I was watching the show Game of Thrones. I was actually watching it for the second time as it gave me something to talk about with the councilor at my school; Miss Lily—you’ll be meeting her shortly. According to a Facebook post, Game of Thrones has become the most widely consumed show in the world today. 

I like this show myself but consider it poison to humanities collective consciousness. The gruesomeness and merciless nature it shows the majority of humanity capable of makes me extremely fearful for our future. The same could be said about the many historical documentaries I’ve watched, however. 

Watching what I thought was the most terrible ending of that show, my mind wandered—as it often does—and I found myself asking this question: How powerful can a story really be?

I considered that question when Tyrion Lannister; the character in that show with a big mind and big heart but small body, said this: “There’s nothing in the world more powerful than a good story.” Adding, “Nothing can stop it, no enemy can defeat it.” The other characters on screen then debated who had the greatest story to tell. 

Watching that scene, I remembered a teacher I had myself who said words were mankind’s greatest achievement during a lesson covering the history of the written word: “The reason some are so good at bending men towards their will,” that teacher said, “is they know the power of a story and how to harness it to its own ends.”

I also remembered that teacher saying something about humanity not yet fully grasping the power of a story. Or its potential. But in a world full of LOL’s and scrolling videos, was that teacher just feeding me a bunch of bs back then? 

Here’s a spoonful of truth for you…

It was not teacher I just quoted. Yes, I lied——sort of. 

It was not a teacher in a classroom I just quoted but another teacher on the television screen. The teacher I am referring to was another character from another show called Black Sails. You’ll see me reference this show in one of those articles I wrote for my students in the story ahead as well. 

So, why did I lie? … Here’s why.

Most children today—and adults if you can handle me saying that—are learning more from television and movies and social media and music and the internet, than they are from classroom teachers like me. Not much of this is discussed in schools though and any idea of doing so might be placed on top of that heaping pile of impossibilities this world is currently accumulating. 

But is that what’s best for our children?  

We need a revolution in education. In a divided and hostile world, we might all agree on that. What we might never agree on however is what education should become or what it should focus on. Which is why people calling for a “revolution in education” sound rather ridiculous to my inner cynic. 

Putting aside my own pessimism, allow me to expand on that question of how powerful a story can be by asking three more questions:

One. Why, historically, have books been considered dangerous? 

Two. Why, in some dystopian entertainment, are books often outlawed in future civilizations? 

And Three. Why, in heaven’s sake, would people ever fear a book or a story?

In this technologically fueled age of ours many would argue there are not enough people taking time to read books for them to truly impact our world today. This is a rationale statement, offering me the opportunity to congratulate you for being part of a dying breed. Knowing you are special—I wonder if you can think of a book that has ever changed your life personally? 

Your answer to that question should spark memories that are unique to you, but did you actually take the time to stop and think about the question? Or are you in a rush to discover where I’ll be taking this conversation next? 

That is the problem, is it not? We are all in a rush. A rush to get things done. A rush to have things understood. A rush to know what’s next. Life is a funnel of experiences, and we hold that funnel to our minds attempting to drown ourselves in its wonder. 

Maybe this is not how you approach life, but surely you can see a world that overwhelmingly approaches life in this manner.

Let my intentions here be crystal clear: I’m here to argue that a good book, or story, can be like Pandora’s Box. And now, I get to ask you this: Are you ready to see what’s inside that box?

I’m not a fool—not completely. I know saying that will rub some people the wrong way. Perhaps you’re like me and don’t like listening to someone that sounds so pompous? If you are, allow me to now lube you up some with a poem. I’ve heard it helps with what I’m ultimately trying to do with this little story of mine…

This poem is titled “The Never-Ending Story.”

It has been created to ease your worry.

For a new class is now in session.

A class created by obsession.

Click by click, bullets are fired into the future.

Questions you will have, that’s for sure.

Now, as you proceed,

Understand that what you read,

Simply creates a story we need.

Just one teacher’s attempt to diverge,

So that a new hope may emerge.

A leap of faith that we all can grow,

In a belief that we are more alike than you know.

Scroll to discover that anything is possible.

If only we become responsible.

Just remember that to read,

Patience you will need,

As this teacher plants a seed.

For what you are about to begin is a story that starts at the end, 

presenting a battle of the mind requiring a sense of humor and wonder to comprehend.

…

With that attempt at being cute out of the way, allow me to now share with you an excerpt from a book written by a real author: 

“We are now perched on a strange cusp of history. A time when the world feels like it’s been turned upside down and nothing is quite as we imagined. But uncertainty is always a precursor to sweeping change. Transformation is always preceded by upheaval and fear. I urge you to place your faith in the human capacity of creativity and love. Because these two forces, when combined, poses the power to illuminate any darkness.”

It would be wonderful if a leader appeared in our world, spoke these words, and magically saved us all from the misery that is difficult for many of us to see past today. Unfortunately, we do not live in the movies, and so there is no Tony Stark or Bruce Wayne, armed with billions of dollars, the intelligence and sexiness, to persuade people of this world to follow them into battle. 

Instead, the excerpt I just quoted was taken from a novel tiled Origin by Dan Brown. I chose to use it here as I want to believe it applies to our world and is not simply a set of random words strung together by some author to make a novel, and character in it, more compelling. 

To make my last statement unbiased to gender—a necessity during these turbulent times—I might also mention we don’t have a beautiful woman flying a dragon to come save us either. That’s a reference Daenerys in that show Game of Thrones for those that might not know. Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne were references to Iron Man and Batman for those that might be living under a rock. 

Okay. Just a few more disclaimers to go. 

I first dreamt of writing a story that might offer a new script for us to follow back in 2014 when I had hit that Max-F-It Level I mentioned earlier. The title I gave my story then was Journey to JoJo, A Trip to Insanity and Back. The words “Insanity and Back” were a reference to myself then, as this world has gone a bit insane since, I hope you find that as ironic as I do once all the pieces of my story are known. 

There’s a scene in The Avengers movie I’d compare my experience of writing that story to. It’s the one where The Hulk takes Loki by one foot and smashes him back and forth; side to side like a ragdoll. Like Loki in those movies however, after that smashing, I continued to feel “burdened with great purpose”. Our doctors might tell you we both suffer from “delusions of grandeur”. 

Teaching at this Recovery High School when Covid hit, I was encouraged to give my writing career another shot. The title I first gave this story was Social Recovery 101, A Book That Could Spark a Redistribution. That title ties into this class I was teaching.  

In 2021, that story began with me saying that our world has changed so drastically—over whatever timespan you choose to look at—that all of us are in recovery from something: “Yes every single one of us,” I went on, “and like a fingerprint what we are recovering from is unique for each and every person.”

With that story complete, I sat at this little desk of mine and went in search of a literary agent. I’d find agents looking for stories from “under-represented voices from authors who strived despite unique and significant obstacles”. Me and my story didn’t qualify I guess. Or maybe my story wasn’t that good then. Those query emails I sent got almost no feedback and so I can’t know for sure. 

Unsuccessful in that search, I thought those agents might have been scared off by the perceived seriousness of my story given its title. That’s when I changed the title of this story to the more entertaining one it has now: The Real GOOD Loser, A Story That Could…

As I’ve continued to work on this story the past few years I’ve tried to stay quiet mostly and just listen. Something I continue to hear people say to one another is this: “Friends and family shouldn’t talk about money, politics, or religion.” 

I’ve grown to dislike hearing that as it makes me wonder what we are supposed to talk about then…Dreams and ambitions maybe? 

Yeah right—I thought to myself—dreams don’t live in this reality, and ambitions only seem to feed resentments in people. 

That’s another overly negative perspective on things. What can I say, I haven’t been the most fun person to be around lately. I’m sure you’ll understand eventually. 

Like most everyone I have opinions on a lot of things. And like you maybe not all my opinions are peachy. While I do hope you find this story a mostly fun and entertaining read, serious issues will be addressed. Some a result of this class I was teaching, some because of personal experiences, and some only because I needed to get a few things off my chest. 

I invite you to be judge, jury, and executioner of my opinions, but would like to make a quick Public Service Announcement here before proceeding: 

I am just another a-hole down here—like you maybe—trying to find a place to fit in and questioning if I even belong on this planet anymore…a planet where competing ideas of liberty and freedom are pushing us all closer and closer to a Third World War. 

I pirated that Third World War line from a Star Trek show called Strange New Worlds. A show depicting us humans adventuring out in space in a more hopeful future. A future where our once divided world was forced to come together for some reason… Sounds kind of nice doesn’t it?

I read a lot of books to maybe sound like I know what I’m talking about here. In his book titled Altruism, Matthieu Ricard argues against the abyss of opinions claiming humanity too inherently selfish to ever act unselfishly.

That book mentions the 1999 Columbine School shooting early on. According to the book, the two boys who committed that horrendous act made a video prior where they are seen debating which film director, Steven Spielberg or Quentin Tarantino, might direct their movie someday. 

Yes, those two boys believed a movie would be made about them. I’m certain many will be as disturbed by this information as I was, but were those two boys completely wrong in their thinking? 

With entertainment becoming darker, and more demoralizing, and more disturbing—for profit reasons mostly in my opinion—is it too far-fetched to imagine a fictionalized version of what happened streaming on one of the many misguided streaming services we pay for at some point? … How many streaming services do you pay for today? … Do you even know? 

In the book Power and Progress, its authors discuss humanities technological advances over time; claiming technology all too often benefits elites. With the invention of the internet, is residual income from streaming services how this new technology is doing that today? Just something to think about and discuss later if you’d like. 

That book Altruism used that shooting to discuss egotism: the practice of talking and thinking about oneself excessively because of an undue sense of self-importance. How did those two boys become so hate-filled and angry? How could they then take their hate and anger out on real people in the real world? What role did entertainment have on their thinking? 

These are the types of questions I hope this story gets us talking about. But let’s be honest from the get-go…it’s not just kids that are feeling this hate and anger building up inside them. 

Here in the not-so-United States, they say we have become “desensitized to violence” and there are many ideas on how we might deal with this school shooting problem we have. Some believe teachers should be allowed to have guns. Others think stationing police in schools might prevent future attacks. 

After a more recent school shooting, a friend of mine on Facebook wrote this: 

“Invest more money in better lockdown procedures and get metal detectors… I’d rather little Johnny or little Lizzy be nervous about going thru a metal detector, or some sort of security for a week, then to have our society worry about sending their children to schools that are easy to terrorize.” 

Nothing ever changes though. No matter how much we talk and argue and finger point, we have no choice but to go numb and forget. We might as well accept it… Am I lying?

Things aren’t all bad of course. We live in a world of excess today. Not of everything—money, healthcare, and mental sanity come to mind. But most of us can still buy things that make us feel special. It’s easy. I just need to touch a button here on my phone. 

We can also do stuff for appearance purposes; smile and do our jumping jacks on social media: “Hey World!”—I can post— “Look at me…Look how happy I am!” 

But are we happy? … Really? — Are we content with our lives? … Are we at peace with a world that seems to be going to hell? 

Whether you think I’m being overly dramatic here, simply speaking truth, or just artfully assembling my words and weaponizing them in a way that might keep you reading, please know this: If you’re happy with the way things are—whoever, wherever, and whenever you are—then this story might not be for you. 

In a world where it’s become harder and harder to believe absolutely anything, I wrote this story hoping that together we might make things just a little bit better. That, my potential friend, is most definitely not a lie. 

You’ll understand how this lying thing ties into the story once I get my introduction out of the way next, but first one last quick disclaimer before I get this class started. 

At the end of each chapter, you’ll find a song I’ve added to my teacher’s playlist for this story. You’ll know how these songs tie into this class I was teaching in chapter four. Everything will make sense soon enough—I promise…pinky swear. 

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The Teacher’s Playlist:

For What It’s Worth by Buffalo Springfield

“Nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong.”

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(End of Chapter One)

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Click here to continue to next chapter…..

“When there is a monopoly on money, everything else is just a game.”

To My Boys,

If you are reading this then things did not go as planned. I wanted to do this without having to bring you into the spotlight or embarrassing you in any way. I just couldn’t take things the way they were anymore. A sacrifice was necessary to get people to listen. Please forgive me…

(Click here to go to Prologue)