rustypants speaks

if i hear another admonition from my school’s administrators to “be flexible” while they continue to give last-minute warnings, announcements, “this must go home today,” schedule changes, and generally seemingly unplanned-for activities and/or meetings…

i’m afraid i’m going to have to transmogrify into stretch armstrong. it may be the only way i survive the needed flexibility.

seriously, with three administrators?

warning: beware the sound of foot being shot.

at a recent county-wide fifth grade field trip, my class ran into a former student of ours. a bully like none other, this student brought out the worst in fellow students and staff and it came to blows several times. no description could adequately explain the dynamic this kid brought to the class.

on the field trip, i talked with the student for a minute. the new teacher saw me talking and came up to me away from the kids. the exchange began:

him: hey, man. so you know __________?
me: yep. i was _________’s homeroom teacher the first half of this year.
him: ohh, ok! wow.
me: yeah, wow.
him: rough, huh?
me: yup.
him: want to take __________ back?
*me thinking about a professional response*
me: sorry, sir. you don’t have that kind of money.

we grinned slightly at each other, shook hands, clapped each other on the back, and went our separate ways.

…there’d be days like this.

after this school day ended with one of my students getting a 5 day suspension (apparently harper and i are f*cking fatasses and this needed to be shouted at top volume repeatedly while storming down the hallway), my whole class getting silent lunch (a very effective consequence – lunch is a huge part of the social life of my kids), my having tossed four students out of my room in the course of the day, my having to put my hands in my pockets to keep from doing this literally to one of them, my classes’ schedule getting changed daily, harper and i clinging to what little sanity remains, and my blood pressure reaching epic levels there was only one thing i could do to regain my head.

arriving at the beach, stripping in the car, changing, grabbing the bag and chair, i sat on the gulf and stewed. i lost count of the number of times i had to relax my jaw. and then i jumped in.

and it made all the difference. this is what i wrote when i got out 30 minutes later, thoroughly soaked, chilled, and relaxed:

about the only energy i have left in me is to get down to the beach, sit in the sun, swim in the waves, and repeatedly remind myself to unclench my jaw / stop grinding my teeth and try to remember why i got into teaching in the first place. honest to god, moving here was the right thing to do despite the financial ramifications and i’d do it again.

really. it feels that profound sometimes. i honestly can’t remember what i used to do to relax or come down from a bad day in the last couple years. it really seems to come down to needing the water / sand / waves to regain perspective that, for the longest time, was getting lost without a viable outlet.

it was one of my first nights as a youth leader on my own. i had taken over the ministry from a couple of older folks (read: 40′s / 50′s) and was excited to finally infuse the youth with some youthfulness. being all of 24 years old with a dash of arrogance and a pinch of obnoxious, i’m talking with the group while we’re standing around eating pizza. there might have been 15 of us as my head swelled at the thought of Being In Charge while Being Young And Cool. i wanted to show off a bit and the conversation came to this:

me: well, i’m just excited about working with you guys.
student: why? what’s going to be different now?
me: well, we’re going to have a lot more fun now. i know the folks before me were kinda old and stuff and now it’ll be cool! i mean, i’m 24 years old!
student: um… i’m twelve.

my head popped. my ego deflated. my high-mindedness crashed. i had been served. by someone who was half my age and had no concept of being 24. yea, verily, this conversation HAD to happen (and thank goodness it came early).

and now i teach 5th graders who think 39 is the epitome of ancient. serves me right.

i always smile smugly to myself when i hear a kid talking who thinks he “discovered” a band that’s been around a long time. my favorite examples are:

• green day – a band that has been around since the late 80′s – these guys get hate and love from all angles but i’ve got to say: i love ‘em. dookie remains one of my favorite CD’s of all time (and you’ll pry it out of my cold, dead hands). when american idiot came out several years ago, guys in my youth group were talking about them as though they were the Next Big Thing. i had to gently inform them that they were the Next Big Thing already (waay back in ’94, a year after i started in youth ministry). by the way, when the simpsons movie included a green day performance the irony was not lost on me – they were labeled “sellouts” years ago by the punk community! one of the funniest scenes in the movie!
• the red hot chili peppers – now these dudes even have green day beat. i remember back in high school when their first album came out. how old does this make them? (hint: anthony kiedis was born in 1962) when stadium arcadium hit the shelves 2 years ago, i was blown away! and the kids came out of the woodwork again talking like maybe i’d never heard of them before. hee hee! silly teenagers – rustypants knows music!

i can’t be too scornful of the kids, though – when i discovered pink floyd‘s dark side of the moon, i was pretty certain that i had made the discovery of the century. little did i know…

this past weekend was rather unexciting as weekends go. the flu and a nasty ear infection kept me down and lise had to work much of the day saturday. sunday was not a particularly nice day, what with my ear throbbing and sounding like a balloon of snot, but it was beautiful outside and we didn’t want to waste that.

off we went for a couple hours to at least get out and enjoy the sun and the warmth. we intended on grabbing a bite at subway and scooting over to the beach for a quick picnic under the umbrella. a right powerful long line of cars heading to the bridge deterred us from a beachside lunch, however, and we were scurrying to find an alternative.

i’d seen the signs for the Naval Live Oaks area of the Gulf Island National Seashore a couple of times but we’d never gone to this area, just a couple miles east of pensacola beach. the pictures speak for themselves, but allow me to ruin it just a bit by saying: this was a very pleasant spot to stop and eat.

and then we went home and i crashed. :-)

a diamante, written by mr. rust’s class:

flowers
small pretty
smelling blooming picking
they smell wonderful. they smell disgusting.
stinking tooting embarrassing
stanky nasty
farts

when you need to come up with two things that are opposites, what’s more opposite than flowers and farts? hey, you’ve got to do something to keep their interest!

the buyers backed out of their contract with us to buy the house. needless to say this news comes with many emotions and concerns. too fresh to talk about coherently at this moment. more later.

“don’t be silly,” she said. “when we have a little extra money, we’ll buy a new one.”

i knew she was mocking me, even if only lightly. the look on her face combined with the tone of her voice told me what i already knew: women just don’t understand.

when we moved to pensacola, we had three cars worth of stuff packed and that was it. in subsequent trips back to cincinnati, we’d load whichever car we had with whatever we could stuff in it and drive back with a few more of our precious possessions.

and on each of our return trips there was a small, slight, pleading voice calling me from the back yard.

i did what i could to ignore it. i’d hum. i’d crank the tunes louder and louder. i’d try and distract myself from the sound. eventually i began hearing the voice calling me down here in p-cola. sleepless nights spent trying to block out the voice, thrashing to and fro under the covers led to serious bouts of insomnia. a nervous twitch developed just under my right eye. the slightest whiff of a barbecue being lit sent my brain into a paroxysm of uncontrollable mental anguish. like a man whose arm has been amputated, the phantom limb cried out and i could feel the missing appendage tho’ it be seven hundred miles north, oh, sweet heavens, when will this torture end, when???

i knew before i broached the subject that i had to tread carefully. women, you understand, like the outcome but rarely understand the process and manly ego involved in grill cooking.

“so, i’m thinking that this next trip up to cincy… our list this time is really short. i ought to have a good amount of room leftover for my drive back.”

“that’s nice, dear. be nicer to drive without all that stuff in the back seat blocking the window.”

“yeah! but hey, i’m thinking that i’ll take a shot at bringing the grill down with me. if i can get it taken apart and i can clean it up good, lay a cloth down and bring it down in pieces and that way…”

and i could tell by the look on her face that everything after “bringing the grill down” was being translated as “blah blah blah blah…” and this is when she said it.

“don’t be silly,” she said. “when we have a little extra money, we’ll buy a new one.”

now, i knew she was going to say it. i had a script prepared in my mind and had rehearsed it in five different possible scenarios to convince her and show her that i’m not silly and that i was hurting, hurting in a deep, psychological, but almost physical way. but her gaze… oh, lord, her gaze shut me down. i went mute. drool pooled up at the front of my mouth and i barely shut it in time before it slopped over the front of my shirt.

“duh, uh, well… er, see… i mean…”

but by the time i regained my footing, it was too late. i could see by the smug look on her face that she chalked up another one to good old fashioned female reasoning. it took some doing but my fractured ego was taped back together and as i arrived in cincinnati a fortnight hence, the small, pleading voice had become a shrill scream.

the grill demanded satisfaction, it demanded a sacrifice. “take me to p-cola and cook on me or be cooked, sucker!“

as i took WD-40 to this 7 year old rusted, wobbly beast of a grill, i realized too late that i was to be the sacrifice!

jenny, our friend and neighbor, saw me fighting with the fused screws and gave me the same look that lise had given me. it was as though they had spoken via some internal woman-cam and a collaboration on the destruction of the fragile male condition was underway.

this, my friends, was like throwing propane on my fiery soul. i would not be mocked again!!

and two hours later, disheveled, bleeding, cold, filthy, unable to feel my right hand, and a second twitch doing a jig under my left eye, i emerged from the garage with the look of a crazed maniac. holding high the left leg assembly, i turned in triumph to jenny, playing with her children in their yard, and proclaimed in a loud voice, “A MAN IS NOTHING WITHOUT HIS GRILL!!!” and collapsed in a heap on the lawn.

*2 days later*

as i arrive back in pensacola, my wife rolls her eyes slightly at the grill-in-fifty-pieces and gives me that what-is-it-with-these-barbarians look and leaves me to cart the pieces to the patio of the apartment. my psyche lay in shards and i begin to doubt my own sanity until…

…until the first taste of scott’s famous garlic / worcestershire / dozens of unnamed spices / port wine cheese burgers touch her tongue and she utters in a flushed and breathless voice,“mmmm… these are delicious… oh! i’ve missed them!”

“i know,” i think to myself vaingloriously, “i know.”

the home inspection is completed. the addendum has been written and presented to us. we’re in negotiations but with a nervous buyer and a tapped-out seller… keep fingers crossed.