Traded Megatrons

Just finished my first round of conferences tonight and when I'm booked like I was tonight, it stirs that passion that makes education all the worthwhile. I enjoy meeting parents for the first time, the look of recognition when mentioning the countless newsletters and Friday Folders, the agreements to hound their kids to work harder and with more vigor than ever before. I vaguely remember any of my conferences,but I do remember my fourth grade year.

Magrill Elementary was one of the few schools were I stayed for more than one year. We moved just about every summer (I called us the "nomads" in a poem), from one apartment complex to the next. By the time I was in junior high, we had been promoted to renting houses, but still moved quite a bit. I moved around so much that when i entered my third high school in as many years, I actually had plenty of friends when I lived in the same neighborhood as a seventh grader. But at Magrill, i entered as a fourth grader and even graduated into Teague Middle (before leaving in 6th grade).

Magrill's classrooms were all open-spaced cubicles that branched off a center foyer/assembly area (we watched movies like "Raiders of the Lost Ark" there and a kid knocked the movie projector off the stand which fell on a kid, and I was called in the office for my account on what happened--my first snitch job). Two of the corner rooms were closed in, one being a resource room, and of course we called it the "special" room, which for us meant you could be strange, spazzy and available for ridicule 24/7.

With my attention span as thin as a eyelash, I sometimes zoned off to spot friends in other rooms, threw crayons when I thought no one was looking and searched for Ross Pekar (Heath Scardino and I were obsessed with her). In my free time, I paper constructed desk footballs, chinese stars, wrote silly stories about a G.I. Joe inspired combat force called L.A.W. (Land, Air, Water, how original) that were R rated. I once took the lyrics of "Thriller" and re-mixed it into some lewd rap. The teacher found out, I was sent to the office, where I had to call my mom on the phone and sing it to her verbatim (in tune and on beat, no less), got swats wearing my stupid, mexican-tight parachute pants. Can you tell I had plenty of time on my hands? I frequently forged interim reports and traded my Megatron Transformer toy for an Optimus Prime and was always the last one picked for kickball (I spent that entire summer playing kick against the brick wall of our home, vowing to get picked first in fifth grade. The first kick-homer of my career was one of several fond memories).

I began to realize I could get by with alot of humor and by batting some brown eyes. My best friends in the world were Jeff and Omari. the last time we were all together, it was after Jeff had moved away. It was his birthday party and we hung out with his new friends, cursed, watched Freddy Krueger on tv. Jeff's mom was one of the only other moms who ever drank in front of us, and I ended up home late, too late for my mom's sake. But wherever he is, I wonder if God was just as patient with him as he was with me. I wonder if my teachers went home and laughed at some of the things I said, or were just frustrated because I was wasting my education on fart jokes, video games and girls' smiles. In essence, I sometimes haven't evolved much past that silly, little boy.