Who is this guy, who does he think he is? He’s supposed to be a professional and maybe he is, but to me, he’s a child. What teacher feels the need to compete with his pupil? Who gave him permission to judge any part of my life, who I am, where I come from? What false god gave him leave to impose upon my experience? What true philosopher preaches his own but damns another that he admits he’s never lived. I barely hear 5 year old Bobby propose to Mary May over the tumult wracking my mind as I wait to cross the street.
The light turns and I’m beckoned across by the white silhouette. Feet striking pavement pound the anger from my head as I pass beyond Fitz’ shadow into the warm sunlight. Each step at this point is taken of its own accord but there is subconscious intention to the pace and placement of each. Careful to avoid cracks grading down but taking the ones protruding up from the otherwise level slabs. The added strain in my calves as I crest these minute stairs does well to further stymie my anger. Suddenly I’m lost in this world of concrete, my anger broken apart with each stride to be burned away by the sun. Now Gabe tells me “a mess is still a moment I can seize until I know” and this enhances the sense of calm.
The anger’s all but gone as I look up from my feet. There’s a line of cars outside Holy Angels Elementary waiting to be filled by kids and their voices. The “Paper Prince is in a play-doh tower” as each mom’s head is buried in her phone. Supposedly, “everybody’s looking up,” but these moms beg to differ. I wonder if their heads will all snap to attention instinctually as the final bell rings and the school doors release the flood of kids. It’s the calm before the storm for these moms. They relish the last few moments of serenity fearing what new trouble the kids have gotten into today. What new stain will need scrubbed out of the uniform polo.
Maybe one of them can scrub the memory of these lessons from my mind; better yet, maybe somebody out there can replace these moments I’ve spent in them, give me a second shot at those wasted hours. The frustration wells up inside of me again but the train rolling down the tracks keeps me from going back. I look back at the moms staring blankly at their phones and wonder if that’s what life is like. Is this the extent of people’s experience? Then I think that as annoying as stains and calls from the principal must be they are far outweighed by the songs sung from backseats, the stories about the games played at recess, and the utter elation apparent when their kid hears mac-n-cheese is waiting on the stove at home. That thought of mac-n-cheese is interrupted by the opening of double doors and a stampede of school children. Now the moms are all putting their phones away, taking a last sip of coffee, and looking intently out the rear windows for their kids smiling faces.
One little boy, with a backpack as big as his 7-year-old body, clambers into the backseat of his mom’s minivan and is already blurting out what Jimmy did at recess. A little girl with pig tails garlanded by pink bows would have mistaken a friend’s car for her mom’s if her mom hadn’t called out to her through the open passenger window. I stop for a moment before wading through the mass of kids and think about how nice it must be to hop in the car after a day with your friends knowing there’s a hot pot of mac-n-cheese on the stove at home and an infinite number of play-doh towers waiting to built.
-Lyrics from: “Mary May & Bobby” by Joe Purdy, “All Will Be Well” by Gabe Dixon, “Paper Prince” by Foy Vance, and “Take me Down” by Gary Clark Jr.
The light turns and I’m beckoned across by the white silhouette. Feet striking pavement pound the anger from my head as I pass beyond Fitz’ shadow into the warm sunlight. Each step at this point is taken of its own accord but there is subconscious intention to the pace and placement of each. Careful to avoid cracks grading down but taking the ones protruding up from the otherwise level slabs. The added strain in my calves as I crest these minute stairs does well to further stymie my anger. Suddenly I’m lost in this world of concrete, my anger broken apart with each stride to be burned away by the sun. Now Gabe tells me “a mess is still a moment I can seize until I know” and this enhances the sense of calm.
The anger’s all but gone as I look up from my feet. There’s a line of cars outside Holy Angels Elementary waiting to be filled by kids and their voices. The “Paper Prince is in a play-doh tower” as each mom’s head is buried in her phone. Supposedly, “everybody’s looking up,” but these moms beg to differ. I wonder if their heads will all snap to attention instinctually as the final bell rings and the school doors release the flood of kids. It’s the calm before the storm for these moms. They relish the last few moments of serenity fearing what new trouble the kids have gotten into today. What new stain will need scrubbed out of the uniform polo.
Maybe one of them can scrub the memory of these lessons from my mind; better yet, maybe somebody out there can replace these moments I’ve spent in them, give me a second shot at those wasted hours. The frustration wells up inside of me again but the train rolling down the tracks keeps me from going back. I look back at the moms staring blankly at their phones and wonder if that’s what life is like. Is this the extent of people’s experience? Then I think that as annoying as stains and calls from the principal must be they are far outweighed by the songs sung from backseats, the stories about the games played at recess, and the utter elation apparent when their kid hears mac-n-cheese is waiting on the stove at home. That thought of mac-n-cheese is interrupted by the opening of double doors and a stampede of school children. Now the moms are all putting their phones away, taking a last sip of coffee, and looking intently out the rear windows for their kids smiling faces.
One little boy, with a backpack as big as his 7-year-old body, clambers into the backseat of his mom’s minivan and is already blurting out what Jimmy did at recess. A little girl with pig tails garlanded by pink bows would have mistaken a friend’s car for her mom’s if her mom hadn’t called out to her through the open passenger window. I stop for a moment before wading through the mass of kids and think about how nice it must be to hop in the car after a day with your friends knowing there’s a hot pot of mac-n-cheese on the stove at home and an infinite number of play-doh towers waiting to built.
-Lyrics from: “Mary May & Bobby” by Joe Purdy, “All Will Be Well” by Gabe Dixon, “Paper Prince” by Foy Vance, and “Take me Down” by Gary Clark Jr.
