I figured that blogging today could help cure me of this mood that I am currently in. One which does not benefit these little darling children of mine. Not sure if any of you have seen the old "american dream" portrayal of a show, Leave it to Beaver, but these children are nothing but a bunch of 2012, cell phone carrying, Facebook account having Eddie Haskell clones. "Good morning, Mr. Beloved. Good morning, Mrs. Ynan. Good morning, Mr. Rock. Good morning, Jack. How are you all on this blessed day?" To which I reply, "Kick rocks, doofus."
A lot has changed since my last installment. I'm practically a different person, which either means it's been a long time or things are always changing. I have had this growth, sprouting from my face, since probably late September or early October. Me, being the Beloved trendsetter that I am, paved the way for what came to be known as "no shave November". Well my face had become downright hair. In fact, I've been likened to a Muslim, a werewolf, Rick Ross, and Osama Bin Laden's tall, dark, and handsome cousin.
Eat your heart out, Uncle Bin. So, it's come to my attention that a very small handful of individuals are not fond of this look. By a small handful, I mean my mom, older sister, aunt, aunt, other aunt, grandma, older cousin, colleagues, church members, and my barber. I was kidding about the barber, I think. Out of all of the comparisons drawn, which do you think would drive me to cut it? You guessed it Rick Ross, the boss *insert annoying, uncool ad-lib here*.
So now that it's been down into the 30s with a windchill of -17, my face is cold. One day, I will get you back, one day.
The previous tenants at the place I reside moved out. Now what? So I am the only resident, occupying this house that would be fit for a family of 5 or 6 people. They say there used to be a family of 4 there. I wonder what happened to them.
Anyways, I don't often get to enjoy my digs because I'm spending all of my time with the kids at the halfway school. I must be losing my mind. Lost my mind I have. I'm not a big Star Wars fan, but I do love a good Yoda monologue. It's not so bad working with the kids, so long as they realize how much of an honor it is to have such a Beloved person whose tutelage they can study under. I mean, they are awful, but what do you expect from kids? More specifically, what do you expect from kids whose parents are older, yet equally as awful? You don't know? Allow me to tell you. Stick with me, as I weave this tangled web.
So, I'm "coaching" this basketball team. These boys are 6 and under, which means that mentally they are 4 and under. One is mentally 4, physically 4, emotionally 4, psychologically 4, spiritually 4...he's just 4. Recall waaaayy back when, when I said that he was physically 4. He has the strength of a styrofoam cup. He shoots the basketball, and it looks like a bounce pass. If you know anything about basketball, you know that a bounce pass is when you pass the ball to a teammate, or maybe not, and it bounces. I guess even a non-basketball person could have figured that. We are at practice, doing drills, and every time he gets tangled up with somebody, he cries. So finally I just kinda put him over to the side, so that he can watch because practice time is really dwindling down. Mama comes up to me after practice to give me an earful because he didn't get enough "ball time". If I were a Lil Wayne person I would insert a "no homo" after that statement. I politely tell her that he just isn't strong enough, nor does he possess the mental makeup to do the drill that we were doing. No offense intended, but I have a slight aversion to kids crying while I'm having practice.
My decision, I will go to practice, scale it back ever so slightly, tailor my drills to things where everyone is participating simultaneously, and everything will be back to some semblance of normalcy. The aforementioned boy, Louis, is the offspring of the offspring of one of my esteemed colleagues. In case some of my box of rox students are reading, that means that he is the grandson. That means the lady "giving me the business" was the daughter. Ok, she wasn't really giving me the business, but I hit her with a "duly noted", so as to maintain my Beloved aura. Well, I guess mama wanted to get in on the action too because she rubbed me the wrong way yesterday. Figuratively, of course. I don't know what was going on, but it just was not a good day to be me because I would have take offense to so much as "you look nice today". She's ranting and raving about me not helping with this oratorical contest, of which I acknowledge that I am on the committee. It's at this point that I ask why she didn't just mention it because I would have been happy to pitch in somewhere. "I shouldn't have to tell you anything, you know you're on the committee." There's absolutely no way for me to replicate how utterly ridiculous her tone was when she said this, so I won't even try. I'm just thinking to myself, hell, you must not want help then. I guess you just want to play the victim. Carry on. I'm also thinking, shoot, this is not my only responsibility on this campus, or in life for that matter. I tutor and do Saturday school, I try, unsuccessfully, to run a program of kids in desperate need of mentoring. There's a program being arranged for that as well. Oh, and I coach the basketball team. Monday and Wednesday, I am doing work at this place from 7:30 to 7:30, no exaggeration. If you think I'm doing a poor job, keep it to yourself, or address it with me in a non-threatening forum. I'm not down for abrasive conversations, so I'm gonna join the KMA club with another colleague, Mrs. Candle. (psa: KMA may or may not stand for what you perceive it to stand for.)
Anybody that knows me, knows that I am probably the least malicious person you will meet, so if something is bothering you about what I'm doing, or in this case not doing, find solace in the fact that I mean no ill will towards anyone else. Sure, I could have actively sought some role in the oratorical, but I still believe that a simple communication would not have been an issue. Naturally, now that I have been ostracized, I aint helping' with chit. I'm supposed to count votes Friday, they're gonna see how bad at Math I can be. Crazy arse halfway school, makin my arse itch.
These two events, coupled with things that I will not be mentioning on this blog, drove me to a breaking point. It was at this point that I decided I would take a lesser role in practice, letting Coach "AngryMan" fulfill most of the duties. Everyone could tell there was something amiss with me. I was very reserved and to myself. All I did was blew a whistle, with very few words coming out of my mouth. Wouldn't you know it, a DIFFERENT parent had a problem with my lack of interaction. I guess that witch don't understand that there are 2 coaches on a team for a reason. She pissed me off so bad, she forced me to negate my subject-verb agreement. "Hey, witch, there are 2 coaches on a team for a reason!!" In a haste, she storms out, taking her child, as if she was hurting my feelings. Then she has the audacity to suggest that her son can't learn, sitting on the bench. I would contend that her can't learn because his mama is slow. His sister, Milton, is a student of mine...fits right on in that rock category. I don't really know the brother because he is in the 3rd grade, but you know what they say about apples and trees. I would also contend that he won't learn because he's allowed to not come to basketball games when he says that he doesn't feel like it. Yes, that happened.
These people are starting to get a little too comfortable with my Beloved mentality and my equally as endearing Beloved personality. I have learned from my brother, Jack, the art of stoicism. I will be putting that to good use along these hallowed halls.
{Side-note: I'll be blogging about my estranged siblings, Luby and Jack in the coming days. They've been making my arse itch too.}
So, next time you decide to make my Beloved arse itch, consider the fact that you aren't quite perfect. In fact, you are quite a ways from "not quite perfect". Quite a ways from "not quite perfect" you are. Now I know how Socrates felt. I thought this was going to put a smile on my face, but it only mustered at temporary semi-smile. How's that for redundant? Oh well, until next time.......
"Getting on someone's nerves because you have a problem doesn't make them care any more, it only makes them join the KMA club."
-Beloved
