Enlightenment and Nachos

Weights and measurements, the dark algebra, and becoming a man at nine.

The best part about fourth grade was getting a whole part of the school to ourselves. Having a younger brother in the same school was always bad enough because every time the teachers found their wits end they somehow managed to find me.

Now he was on the opposite side of the school and when the last bell rang I only had a stair case to descend to be at the bus line. The worst part about fourth grade was the amount of books we had to carry. Nearly thirty pounds (13kg) of textbooks, plus my binder, notebooks, and pencil case. I will admit now -as I did then- I was the first person to throw my bag. Ever. The massive spiral staircase curled around the elevator and was sealed off in glass on every side but the one at its landing. forcing you to either turn right and go out the door toward the car pick up line or left through the cafeteria to where the buses picked up. To be fair, the first time I did I simply dropped my bad over the side at the top of the stairs, having to run back under the stair to dig my bag out, avoiding the bags of other students getting brave enough to try it themselves. The draw backs were many, and I was not the only student using a duffel bag as well.

I was tossing my bag toward the base of the stairs the short landing halfway down, sometimes holding the whole bag over the side by one hand. The children trying to copy me didn’t have the same strength in their arms as I did. Some of the young girls impressed them. I was raised by a strong woman. I told them I was impressed and asked for pointers which impressed the bigger kids. All of this saved me a lot of bullying to my face. Of course, I have no idea what kids said about me behind my back. I think I was trying to blend in. Nobody knew about what I had done before this. I was okay starting as a nobody.
Soon enough we would just toss from the top of the stairs and end up in a pile. I would throw my bag and they would try and knock it out of the air. It was good laughs. Thing is from no matter where we threw it from it could not of done what was done on that wall that day. That would of required a bag bounce two feet into the air backwards. I can bounce a basketball like that, but not my book bag. I’ve tried.

That day which shall remain mostly a mystery for several reasons… it happened…

I do not want to waste the time explaining why I know what the sound of broken drywall is, but I do. I picked up my bag, noticed the hole, and reported it to the first teacher I found. There logic was I figured I knew I would not get away with it. I stood there holding the bag between my hands covered in drywall dust all over the top of my bag. I got dragged to the office and had my father called at work, which meant I was grounded and I made sure to pick up a pen out of the secretaries pen holder. I knew I was going to have to write a bunch of lines at work until they got home and I got my belt.

They wanted to suspend me. My father offered to patch the whole himself, or make me do it. Perfect chance to practice. By the time the were done I was skipping recess to clean the carpets by hand in the all the fourth grade classrooms, and then the chalkboards -and erasers after that. It felt like forever, but I never flipped. Each classroom I would have their teacher, trying to enjoy their lunch while I scrubbed their classroom clean including carpets by hand. I impressed them.

As I would clean they would ask me questions, make sure I was learning a lesson about all of this. I will be honest and gave it plenty of thought -why was finding the one who actually did it so important- there was no where left to clean, unless the wanted someone to work on the cafeteria floor (they did a terrible job mopping.) It was one the bags that were on top of mine, I was there. No one came forward to clear me either. The idea of having someone to blame made them feel as is the system worked. I could have given them anyone and they would of been delighted.

Would they have just been suspended? Collecting a mini vacation after I scrubbed the place like new again? Over my dead body.

I told each one of them a story about what happened. Told them each just enough to know that not only did I know but I refused to tell them. That it was improbable but also irrelevant, someone is getting punished, the kids are scared to throw a bag, and everyone is waiting to hear who I rat out. That in the end encouraging stupid behaviors has predictable outcomes. A rule for everyone and no one else get punished seems like a win. Problems already fixed, lets just set the understanding moving forward and move on. After the last conversation the teachers in the fourth grade got together and agreed no one should be allowed to throw the bags down the stairs. I didn’t mind starting over from nothing it’s easy if you never got started. The wall was fixed, the rooms immaculate, The new social group, interesting.

The first delusion you lose is that the truth holds any power on its own. What power speaks is its own truth. Reality is whatever you are willing to believe. The real difference between a truth and a lie is whether or not anyone else wants to believe it; that’s what facts are for to make the difference clearer.