I REMAIN UNCONQUERED! Invictus Maneo!

Invictus Maneo:

I REMAIN UNCONQUERED

Friday this week was St. Baldrick’s at where I work.  Our fundraising goal was set at $3000 for the event.  We’ve done more in the past, but this year I figured we’d start low and if we went over, even the better.  One of my ‘deals’ that I made with the students was that the top three students would get to shave my head, trim my goatee or dye my hair.  I also promised not to trim or cut my hair from Thanksgiving on. 

My female relations and friends protested this agreement, but as I explained to them.  Children who have cancer endure so much; we can all endure this obstacle.  So my hair grew.  It grew long and out of control.  It got to the point that I would comb my hair before I left for work only to have a completely disorganized mess by the time I got there.  My goatee made me look like a distant cousin of ZZ TOP or the Roberts Family.  But I endured these obstacles and would remind my friends, family and coworkers – Kids who have cancer suffer so much more….

One fateful day I was having a conversation with my good friend and fellow administrator Barbara Z.  I mentioned to her that I desperately wanted to wear a kilt for St. Baldrick’s.  We’ve bandied about the idea for some time, me talking about it wistfully, her and others with that hint of a knowing smile of – oh yeah, that WOULD be crazy!  Looking on-line one day I found a website that would make my size and it would look awesome!  However, the cost was easily in the $300 range – immediately it was out of range for me.  And then Barbara made her mistake.  She offered to make one for me.  She was hooked!  There was no going back now. 

I mentioned my plans to those who know me and immediately they cringed with fear.  “No, please tell me you’re not.”  But we were committed. 

A trip to Wally World with Barbara and her daughter Amanda and we had selected the fabric and the assorted odds and ends for the sash and kilt.  We were on our way.  Barbara said it took her seven hours to do it – I’m willing to believe that it was longer than that – closer to 10 at least.  So Thursday before the event rolled around and I brought the finished kilt home.  Before I went to bed I put everything on, the socks, shoes, kilt, shirt, sporran and pins.  I saw what I looked like.  Yep, that was a kilt! 

The fabric for the kilt wasn’t some traditional tartan.  Yes, my family can trace a legacy back to the homeland; but no – This was not my family tartan.  The fabric was a pattern based on IRON MAN!  It had a pair of Iron Man suits flying in a blue field of comic.  It wrapped around my waist and fit perfectly.  The Velcro held it tight against me, the belt loops painstakingly stitched on and the pleats fitted to the right spots on the kilt all worked to make me look like – well an IRON MAN Highlander! 

The next morning I was determined to go to school like this.  I put everything on, got dressed and there I was.  And suddenly I had cold feet. 

Me wearing my Iron Man
Kilt and hair teased out!

People would laugh at me.  I was sure of that.  I hadn’t even bothered to comb my hair, Kim G. who was going to tease my hair out said it would be better if I didn’t wash it – so it was a disorganized bed head mess  (I did wet it a bit because it didn’t feel right not to.)  I would look like an idiot and the laughing would make me feel embarrassed.  I thought of all the silly things I had done – this was right up there.  I usually don’t care about my self-image.  I’m overweight and not Mr. Handsome – but I am me and usually I just don’t care as long as I’m suited nicely – well this was different than having a nice suit on. 

I tried to remind myself that refrain from before – Children who have cancer go through so much more.  It wasn’t enough to dispel all the butterflies, but it was enough to get me out the door or at least headed towards it. 

I was driving to school that morning, and the butterflies returned in full force.  Sitting in the truck as we drove down my dirt road and then out onto the connecting roads I wanted to turn around.  Every morning I stop to get my breakfast.  I order the same thing every day from the same place and yes I am a creature of habit – but so was Einstein and my rocket scientist father – so it’s a sign of genius – thank you!  

But today I WAS NERVOUS.  They would laugh at me; people there would laugh at me.  I would be a laughingstock. 

And I thought about kilts in general.   They have a strong tradition.  They were used by those of the Scottish Highlands to represent their families and clans.  To wear them was to honor them.  In many circumstances the kilts were worn to battle to defend their families and traditions.   At one point in the history of the kilt, they were banned from use because the British government tried to suppress the highland culture.  The kilt was associated with fighting to protect the clan and the culture of their people.

Strangely, it filled me with purpose.  That’s what I was doing now.  Fighting cancer in the way that I could, revving up my students and co-workers to help fight cancer.  And YES WE DID!  Early counting shows that we nearly doubled our original effort.    My trepidation from the morning was gone.  I did not give in to my fear and got my breakfast wearing my kilt – and YES I was asked and then I told them why I was wearing it.  I showed up at the school and every student stopped and stared as I passed their classroom throughout the morning.  But I wasn’t worried anymore – I was energized

Later, while I was walking around the gym, my hair half shaved off- the rest teased up and painted pink, yellow and green.  I was a walking advertisement to enlist others.  Three students volunteered and got permission from their parents.  The school cheered on everyone who did it.  I had to convince my principal to not shave her head because one of us had to appear to be sane – and from my hairdo before and after I was clearly the crazy one!   

I REMAIN UNCONQUERED

!  Invictus Maneo!

The FALL - The Final Part

The FALL

Final Part

And then that last image replayed itself again.  Clarice hadn’t moved to catch me nor had she acted surprised as I crashed into the water.  And then I remembered.  Randall’s other hand had been cupping my wife’s fanny.  My best friend, the man who I entrusted with so many pieces of my life, was holding firmly and decidedly onto my wife’s rear end.

Clarice, my loving wife, held something in her hand.  What was that in my wife’s hand?  The image within my head focused on something white which her hand wrapped around, like a ball, its whiteness marred by a fresh mark of redness which marked its round image. It was the cue ball from the pool table on one of the lower decks of my yacht.  We had spent hours playing pool as my yacht wandered the world, Randall would often play pool till late at night with Clarice while I slept.  Or if I was getting ready for a webcast from my office on the yacht I would often here the two of them banging away at the balls on the deck below mine. But looking at the image now I knew instantly what the red substance was, it was my blood. 

The whiteness of the ball intensified, hiding the blood.  The whiteness turned into a bright light, I could feel myself fading.  My arms and legs moved automatically, trying to get to that light, my instincts the only thing giving power to my limbs.  I knew what that light represented; the freedom from the betrayal that I felt in my heart.  It would be a warm embrace, welcoming and refreshing for the betrayal that I felt in my heart. 

She had hit me on the head.  How could she have done that?   She had tried to kill me, and now she would succeed. My wife and best friend had betrayed me and now I was doomed and free.   Doomed because I was a dead man, but free of her and Randall’s treacherous behavior.  Free to live in Heaven, away from the evil that had penetrated my house.  My poor mother, she was right.  It was true, mothers were always right.

My hand reached out for the light.  With my last bit of strength I reached out towards the light, embracing the freedom and doom.  I felt the Angel of Death grab my hand and pull me towards the light.  I was finally going to be released from this prison.

My head crested above the surface of the water. I took in a breath of fresh air, and began to cough.

“I got him, Detective,” a voice said as I felt strong male hands grab me from under my arms. “He’ll live.”  With a sudden pull I was yanked from the water, coughing and hacking up my insides.  I was on my knees and palms, water cascading down from my body as I began to feel the hot summer sun shine down on me.  And life. 

But what life would it be without Clarice, and knowing that the two people I trusted the most had betrayed me and almost gotten away for it.  Looking around I could see the nearby piers stretching back towards the land.  My yacht had docked the night before, snugged in behind some of the large cruisers along Miami Harbor.    The Passport Office sat higher than the rest of the piers, surround by the palm trees decorating the dock areas.   Behind me West Island Park blocked the horizon, giving me a view of the park.  My yacht sat on the edge of the pier, the perfect spot for me to be dumped into the water.  The bulk of the yacht hid their plotted murder scene from the shore and the lack of traffic during this early in the day prevented any possible witnesses.

“How?” I struggled to get out as I continued to cough and hack at the water still within me.  “How did you know?”  More coughing caused me to spit.

“Seems your mama must have heard them talking about it,”  The one officer said as he put the handcuffs onto Clarice.  “Seems this one has some type of liking to talking dirty on the phone and left a rather detailed message on your mama’s answering machine when she butt called her yesterday.” 

“Yeah,” said a third officer as he handcuffed Randall.  “They were doing A LOT of talking,”  the officer winked.  “If you know what I mean?” 

“Can it rockie.” The first officer said. “Seems it was a turn on to off ya,” the first officer said as he patted me on my back. “Sorry buddy, but at least your mama reached out to us and somebody down at the station finally believed her.”

“More like they got tired of her screaming and threatening them over the phone,”  the officer who had handcuffed Clarice said. 

“Nothing worse than an irate mom,” The first officer said as he helped me to sit along the lounge chair on the forward deck.  “She said she would do things to the Desk Sargent that I haven’t heard a longshoreman say to his worst enemy.”  

Sunday Scribble: What if life is real?

Sunday Scribble

What if life is real?

It’s a question I posed myself earlier this week as I was pondering another story.  I wanted to write a story that was on the level of some deep and far reaching concepts.  So I decided to ask myself that question.  Of course I wasn’t sure I would get an answer, but I thought it was worth exploring. 

It turns out it was a good question at the right time.  There are a number of people in my life who look at life as one big plan, and I admit, I am one of those believers.  I would also add that I wish someone would tell me what the goal of the plan was – cause I would like to make some adjustments to it in the vein of making it happier for me.  But I digress. 

So I said: “Self,”  paused momentarily as I fruitlessly waited for an answer.  “What if life is real?” 

After a few seconds I gave up waiting for an answer and just sat there, thinking.  This is the part of any one of those documentaries where the narrator would launch into a whole description of what life is – cause you have to understand that aspect of the question in order to answer the question.  Of course we know what life is…… Don’t we?

 Now before you get all fuzzy and watery, this is not a discussion on conception vs abortion, etc.  I was actually headed down a different path.  In a non-philosophical debate that doesn’t touch on conception or abortion we can move beyond that to something more pertinent to this discussion.  Looking at a cross section of friends, associates, acquaintances, occasional visitors, etc. etc. etc.; we can readily find those who we think have NO life, meaning they spend all their days doing work or something not fun or what we might perceive as uninteresting.   Or are we a placeholder.

A placeholder is what it sounds.  Just going through the motions, getting no where fast or slow, just going along – alone usually, towards no goal of possible accomplishment.  They are the people we call paycheck ------- (fill in the job title you wish- player, teacher, musician, construction worker).  They check in at the time clock, do just enough work, avoid creativity or going the mile; they don’t see it as their priority or as part of their job description.  (If you want me to do more, pay me more.)

These place holders have fun, but are they really entitled to it.  ‘Sure’ I thought.  ‘But maybe just enough to say they had fun.’  But then I thought, ‘What if that is living for them?’  And things just kinda clicked.  What if they’re fun was spent doing something that I found completely uninteresting.  Which is, of course, something completely possible. 

And I leave it to you.  Is what you are doing:  Reading a book, hunting, fishing, mud-bogging, crocheting, making kilts (thanks Barbara) or doing something – Anything that is interesting to you.  Is this your life – or are you just holding a place for someone to fill.  Decide before someone decides for you.  

SUNDAY SCRIBBLE: LIFE IS NOT FAIR or DO YOU BELIEVE IN COINCIDENCES?

SUNDAY SCRIBBLE:  

LIFE IS NOT FAIR or DO YOU BELIEVE IN COINCIDENCES?  

Life is not fair.  We've been told that since we were kids.  Mom and Dad sitting at the dinner table telling us how we need to not accept that things will always break our way; scolding us on our demands of equality as we pound on the floor and ask one more time why we can’t go to the mall, or have that extra playset that we wanted. 

Or how your father would look at you squarely and tell you how there is no money tree and that everything we eat, drink, use or have was bought with his your mothers hard earned money.  How even the food on your plate wasn’t handed out as a giveaway, but earned from working long hours at difficult jobs. 

So Life Is Not Fair.  We know that.  We experience that in our daily life.  When a police officer doesn’t see the speedster who just whizzed passed going fifteen over the speed limit but just happens to be there the moment you go through a yellow a little late.  Like the whole cosmos is out to jerk you around, and let some more deserving jerk get free.

How about when the boss sees only your screw ups, complains about your mistakes while letting the other guy goof around at his job.  Forgetting the long years of service you have provided while the other individual gets away at doing nothing beyond sucking up to your boss.  After all, your hard work doesn't get rewarded, but gets ignored – no the occasional good job doesn't make up for it.  Again, the cosmos is jerking you around.

It’s okay though.  Our father never did find that money tree.  I haven’t either, nor have we found that goose with golden eggs, or the king that can turn things into gold – which must be a great party conversation starter, and if you get too close can end the conversation just as quickly. 

After all this, how do we deal with the reality that Life Is Not Fair?  We can’t accept such a patently unfair concept that Life Is Not Fair, or can we?  I answer these questions by referring to a movie I have watched several times, one of THOSE that make you really examine your place in the world and wonder at God’s presence.

In the movie SIGNS, Merrill Hess (Joaquin Phoenix) asks Graham Hess (Mel Gibson) for insight into the lights over Mexico City.  The former Reverend looks at his brother and says something to the effect is that the world basically divides into two types of people.  One type looks at the alien lights over Mexico City as a sign (thus one of the references to the movies title)  from God and that everything will be okay.  The other type looks at the lights over Mexico City and feels tremendous fear and uncertainty.  To some it up Graham puts it another way and says “Are there such things as coincidences?”  After a brief allegoric story from Merrill about a girl puking before he kissed her, he proclaims that he believes in God and that they are signs and there are no such thing as coincidences. 

I added this section about the conversation between Graham and Merrill because when we ask why Life isn’t Fair we can ask ourselves the same question:  Which group do we divide ourselves into?  Now this isn’t an attempt at religious conversion, but it is an attempt to ask YOU – If what is unfair hasn’t done you in, it has made you stronger.  Then could it not be part of a bigger plan for you.  Or maybe it’s just a coincidence.  You decide, but before you do make sure you think about the outcome.  It could make all the difference in the world.

A FELLOW OTHELLO!

A FELLOW OTHELLO!

“I cannot believe that they are dating,” Jenny said as she was crossing the quad.

“It’s disgusting isn’t it,” Gale said, her face crinkled up.  “It makes me sick.”

“I know,” Jenny said and then opened her mouth and stuck her finger into her mouth imitating someone puking. 

Both girls were shaking their head as they walked past the couple sitting at the park bench.  It was lunch at Roosevelt Middle School, and it was a sunny beautiful day.  The grass that the girls walked on was a rich green, the trees scattered around the grassy area providing shade with their leaves completely grown.  It was the height of the spring and a time when love was in the air. 

“What really burns me is that I thought Barbara was arranging a double date with her boyfriend and Tommy and me,” Jenny said.   “Next weekend we were supposed to see that new movie that was coming out, the romance story.”

“Yeah, well looks like that’s a big FAT FAIL,” Gale said.  “Those two look like -,” Gale paused as she was looking over her shoulder at the couple.  “Yep, there it is,”  Gale said with a squeal.  “They’re swapping some spit.”

Jenny looked over her shoulder and couldn’t help but be shocked and disappointed at what she saw. 

“I can’t believe it.” Jenny said.  “I would have thought that he would have better taste than that, that foreigner.”

“I know,” said Gale.  “I’m pretty sure that slut is the one who I think has been chasing Jimmy.” Gale’s voice was filled with anger and hatred.  “We were supposed to spend all night on the phone last night but when I called him he didn’t answer.”

“No way,” Jenny said.  “I don’t think that’s enough to think that he’s cheating with that hootsie tootsie Rachel.” Jenny paused.  “OMG, they’re kissing again.”

Gale looked over at the couple.

“Tommy could do so much better,” Gale said.  “So after I called Jimmy’s house I talked to his little brother who told me that Jimmy was on the phone with some girl whose name began with an R.”

“No way,” Jenny said her face shocked.

“And so I tried calling Rachel to check, and when I did it said her cell phone was busy,” Gale said.  “I can’t believe Rachel is trying to steal Jimmy.  I’m going to make sure she regrets that.”

“Cell phones don’t get busy,” Jenny said, trying to calm her friend down.

“Yes they do,” Gale paused.  “But only if they’re on a three way call.”

“You mean that hootsie tootsie was on the phone with Jimmy and somebody else,” Jenny asked.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Gale said.  “She probably had someone listening to the phone call as she seduced my boyfriend.”

“B**ch,” Jenny said in a dark voice. “We have got to do something about her.”

“Don’t get yourself all worked up Jenny,” Gale said as she patted Jenny on the back.  “I have a plan that will get us both what we want.  Her mind had been working all night and day on finding some way to get revenge.

***

The couple sitting at the bench were average looking in most respects.  Tommy, with his blond hair contrasted nicely with the young girl he was kissing.  Rachel’s jet black hair and Mediterranean skin color accented the young man’s fair features.  Her poke a dot dress reached down to just above her knees as she sat.  His khaki shorts with loose fitting polo shirt along with her comfortable outfit made the couple not only seem comfortable with each other, but comfortable in their own skin.  They were cute together.

As they pulled away from each other from their first kiss they both had a smile.  Both looked away shyly.  The boy’s braces could just be made out from the rest of his face.  For the most part they were difficult to see because of the model used by the orthodontists, see through. 

“I think you are awesome,” Rachel said. 

“Thanks,” Tommy said back.  “I think you’re pretty awesome too.  And I do mean Pretty.”  He smiled that way someone does who has braces and has forgotten that they’re wearing them. 

Rachel reached up and stroked the side of his cheek, not caring to notice the braces. 

“That was very nice of you last night,” Rachel said.  “Jimmy and I really needed the help with the math.”

“Thanks, but you were the one who had three way calling.” Tommy said.  “And I think you were the one who had the area formula memorized not me.”

The bell rang signaling the end of lunch.  At Roosevelt only the eight graders were aloud out on the quad after they ate their lunch.  It was one of the only perks they had as the eldest students on campus.  The group of eight graders on the small field on the side of the cafeteria headed into the building; Tommy and Rachel were holding hands.

***

“As you all know in two days we will be going to the Observatory and if you haven’t handed in your paperwork you will not be able to come,”  Mr. Braker said.  “Which means that you will have to stay here and do some other work that I warn you will be very unpleasant.”

The science room had the science islands with the drawers for storing supplies and high stools allowing the students to see the top of the black toped islands.  There was a faucet in the center of each island.  Along the walls were cabinets with glass fronts, allowing students to see the instruments and other items stored there.

Mr. Braker was a small man who had big thick glasses.  He had the look of a man who was continually angry at the world, no matter who you were he hated you.   He was handing out a set of worksheets and talked as he walked around the room, scanning and looking at students and what they were doing. 

“This sheet will prepare you for the field trip,” he looked down at Jimmy who was sitting towards the back.  “So, I expect everyone to hand this in, even you Jimmy.”

“Yes sir,” Jimmy said automatically.  Jimmy had already run afoul of Mr. Braker and didn’t want to upset the old man again.  He was already in trouble for something that was written on his chair that Mr. Braker blamed on him.

“Just because your friend’s father is a member of the Town Council doesn’t mean that you are exempt from facing consequences,” Mr. Braker, who had run for Town Council had lost to Tommy’s dad the year before in a very tight race for town council.  Knowing that Jimmy was friend with Tommy had made Jimmy a target in this science class like Tommy was in another one of the science classes that Mr. Braker taught. Still, it didn’t mean that Jimmy wouldn’t try and trip up the science teacher.

Throughout the class Gale, who was sitting in the front row was passing notes to Jenny, the girl who was sitting behind her.  Notes with, “I’m bored” double underlined, or “Did you see the eyebrows on this guy,” or “Braker – it’s more like NERD”.   As middle schoolers go, the conversation was almost tame.  No foul language and of course, meaningless to anyone over the age of fourteen.   Gale was also passing similar style notes to Cassie who was sitting next to her.

Unbeknown by the girls passing notes, they were getting some helpful assistance from Jimmy as the whole time Mr. Braker was walking around the room he was so focused on Jimmy and everything he did wrong that Mr. Baker never noticed the note passing from the student who he thought was his best.

When the class broke up into pairs, Mr. Braker put Cassie and Gale together as partners.  Mr. Braker considered the two students to be his best students in this class and knew that they would be finished before everyone else.  During the experiments they talked about different things, but eventually the conversation turned towards the student council.

“I overheard that you’re the person who’s going to get to replace the kid that was class vice president but had to move,” Gale said to Cassie.

“Yeah, Mr. Fuddles told me that Rachel, as the class president and him decided that I was going to replace Delbert as the class vice president,”  Cassie said as she handed over the beaker of water to get heated.

“Congratulations,” Gale said.  “Do you think that Rachel will actually let you do anything?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t she,” Cassie asked, her face tilted in that unsure way.

“It’s really not my place to say,” Gale said, trying to act innocent and getting away with it because Cassie was more interested in Gale’s statement. 

“No, I want to know,” Cassie said.  “You can’t say that and not explain.”

“As long as you remember that you asked,” Gale said, her voice and posture filled with contrition.  “Otherwise I would never have said anything.”

“GO ahead already,” Cassie said, turning the heat up on the beaker.

“Well, I overheard Rachel and Mr. Fuddles talking about how they wanted you because they figured you wouldn’t fight them as much as your competition would.”  Gale had heard no such thing; she hadn’t even been in the same wing of the school, but it would make Cassie think that she was helping her out, and it could create so much potential entertainment to see Cassie squirm. 

She only knew about Cassie’s appointment because she heard a couple of teachers talking about it in the hallway on the way to class.  It struck her immediately that it would be a great way to get some attention if she just changed the story around a bit.

“Really,” Cassie said, in that voice that was both haughty and concerned.  “So who did they mean by my ‘competition’.”

“You don’t know,” Gale asked.  Gale looked both ways as if she was checking for anyone to overhear.  Cassie, unsure what was going on did the same in that halfhearted way.  Moving close to Cassie so that there was no air between them, she took her thumb and pointed to the table behind them.  “It was Jenny, she so wanted the job.  All she’s been talking about since she heard Dillie was leaving was that she wanted the job.”  This wasn’t a lie, Jenny had wanted the vice-president job last year when she had lost the election.  This was the best way to tell a lie.  Tell a partial truth so that whoever you’re talking to believes the whole lie.

Cassie turned her head and looked at the lab table behind her; it was a cold calculated look.

***

Jenny and Gale walked close whispering to each other, keeping their voices low enough so that only they could hear.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Jenny said.  “You are some type of genius, but aren’t you worried about Fuddles?” Gale hadn’t told Jenny about the conversation with Gale, keeping it simple, as a backup plan or just some good fun after everything was done.

Mr. Fuddles was the vice principal, an elderly man who been with the school since it was built nearly thirty years before.  If paper was made by Gucci, then his hair would be the equivalent.  It was a startlingly bright white that was so decorative that you thought he spent most of his day combing his hair.   

“That old idiot,” Gale said.  “My dad describes him as the guy whose about as sharp as a dull pencil.  This plan is fool proof, guaranteed to work.”

“Good, cause the day of the trip to the observatory is coming up and that would be the best place to make our plan work.”

“I agree, but let’s see if we can create a bit of stir tomorrow at lunch,” Gale explained.

“Cool,” Jenny said.  “I can’t wait.”

Wanna continue reading on to Part 2 of A FELLOW OTHELLO  Then Click HERE!