2014-08-13-BFP1274-noticed


1274 Noticed.

30 Comments

Pretty much the moment you start talking to Thomas you are potentially a way for him to alleviate his own monotony. Whatever help you get should be seen as payment for his antics.

Tomorrow, or today if you’re reading this on the official posting day, is the first day of school for the Teen. She is very nervous. I can empathize since I hated the first day of school even more than I hated every day that followed. I’m still crossing my fingers that the first day doesn’t devolve into hysterics. She’s been campaigning hard to let her skip the first two days. All that would do is set her back from everyone else and make the first day she actually went even worse. My ability to be sympathetic does have limits. There’s no getting out of school. I did my best to make her last week of summer as good as I could.

The volleyball girls are, apparently, trying very hard to get her to try out. She is something of a bruiser, so I can see why they’d want her to participate. She’s taller than most girls and solidly built. I know it would be good for her, but I can hardly argue against her reasons not to do it. School competition isn’t fun. It’s a means to an end and the athletes are little moneymakers for the school. As such, the coaches remove what little enjoyment there might be, for someone whose goal in life is something other than putting a ball someplace, more times than someone else. Of course I’m biased. I’ve never been one for school spirit, athletics, or any of that. If that’s your thing I don’t begrudge your love for it, but I don’t like sport.

I’ve always had bad experiences with coaches and their teams. I too was tall and powerfully built (also a fatty). So my little school wanted me to play their games. I chose not to do so and was punished. Not openly, but punished every single day until we moved away. My friends, who were already few, were alienated from me, and the sporting teachers were hostile. There were 3 other boys who chose not to take part in football the year I chose not to. Eventually they gave in. I did not. No, all of that further fueled the rage that carried me well into my twenties. It destroyed what little trust I had in school authority, and made me slow to trust everyone else. School, particularly jocks and coaches, hardened me, fostered my hate, made me despise people I perceived as weak minded. Made me cruel. Even though I could have fought back physically I internalized everything and learned to wound people with words. Eventually they learned to fear me. Because I could read their weaknesses in seconds, and point them out just as quickly. I might have become something much more horrible than I am if I hadn’t made some friends once we moved. Also the anonymity of a large school kept me from being singled out so constantly.

So yeah… I don’t like sports.

All of that probably also contributed to me never having that one teacher that “made such a difference in my life”. There were teachers that I liked, but for the most part I saw them just like any other ape trying to make it in the jungle.

This is kind of a fitting thing to talk about in light of Robin William’s suicide. That stuff is all part of the pain that taught me to be funny. Anger and humor got me by. They were my sword and shield. They still are, although I favor the shield more than the sword now. Funny people shield others from their darkness with comedy, but that leaves them on the other side with it.

Anyway, the Teen want to play zombies some more. I’m sure she’s not feeling very happy so I’m going to indulge her again. I’ll see you guys later.