Positively Glorious!

In the beginning of my 6th grade year, I had the worst experience ever.

I was having one of those long-term, knock-down, drag-out battles with another kid, Rocky Hill. It was the stereotypical school-yard battle, where each of us were evenly matched and it was a daily standoff between mutually respectable adversaries. And by “daily standoff between mutually respectable adversaries,” I mean, “Rocky Hill decided he could beat me up every day without ever getting so much as a girlish slap in return.”

I mean, come on. I didn’t stand a chance. Rocky. The kid’s name was Rocky. It was 1981, and every public staircase in existence was still swarming with little boys running to the top and jumping around– some even wore actual boxing gloves!

And not only that, his name was a pun! I mean, who the hell do you think is going to win “King of the Hill” when there’s a kid standing on top of it yelling “Try to climb this hill boys, but be careful! It’s a rocky hill! This is my hill!”

Jesus, he sucked.

Rocky Hill, was popular. He was so popular that he stole my skateboard in front of a crowd of witnesses and then convinced them all that I’d wronged him by asking for it back. He was popular, and he was smart.

Me? I was geeky, and unpopular, and– worst of all– I was completely clueless.

The only thing we had in common was our mutual hatred. We spent the early part of that school year trying to publicly humiliate each other in increasingly ingenious ways. During this battle of words, we pulled out our most fiendish verbal assault weapons and focused them squarely on our hated enemy.

For me, this amounted mostly to trying to convince the class that he smelled like poo, a tactic, I now realize, that is probably the sole reason that the rest of the class enjoyed watching him beat me up on a daily basis.
He did no such stupid things. Rocky was smart. Rocky was popular. Rocky had this mysterious thing called “wit” that I wouldn’t learn existed until I was roughly 30.

Rocky could embarrass me just by smirking. He could win a verbal battle just by deciding not to say anything and let me talk about poo.

In fact, Rocky could embarrass me by offering me praise. And he did once.

It happenened on a particularly nice day in late September, 1981. One gorgeous, early fall day, when Rocky Hill convinced our teacher, Mrs. Border, that I deserved chalk duty.

South of The Border

I had an enormous crush on Mrs. Border. She was nice, and brunette, and young, and beautiful, and funny. On “dress down Fridays” she wore a T-shirt that said “South of The Border.” It had a fried chicken wearing a sombrero and the chicken was pointing down with it’s wing. I spent many late nights lying in bed wondering what a magical place that T-shirt must be pointing to.

It must be in the basement, I thought, because our classroom is on the first floor.

I loved Mrs. Border. In fact, that school year was the only year in my entire school career that I achieved scores that were anything more than “by the skin of my teeth.” I got straight A grades in 6th grade because  I’d decided that the way to a teacher’s heart was through good test scores, and I was getting to Mrs. Border’s heart.

I was going to marry Mrs. Border.

Everyone knew about my crush, of course, especially Rocky Hill. It was his chief source of weaponry in my public humiliation, and much more powerful and funny than trying to convince the world that I actually smelled like poo– which he didn’t need to tell anyone about, given my adept ability for flatulence, which was quite well known already by that point.

As I said, at that point in my life, I hadn’t yet discovered “wit,” nor had I discovered that the funniest things about people– the things about people that make the best weapons in the war of words– are not things you could make up about them, but thing that are true. A geeky kid in broken glasses who farts a lot and is in love with the teacher?

“I mean, come on, why would I even bother!” That was really all the weaponry he needed in battle.

Let’s Call It “The Evil Scheme”

He knew that I wanted to marry Mrs. Border, that’s why he suggested, on that gorgeous, early fall day, in his very angelic voice– the one that meant you were about to suffer unendurable pain– that I deserved chalk-board duty.

Now, understand that chalk duty at Public School #81, in 1981, was not “duty” at all. In fact, it was the definition of “grade-school joy.” You took all the erasers and went outside– not out of the room, out of the building. You went outside and you beat all the chalk out of the erasers and you took as long as you wanted. The longer you took, the more chalk you beat out, so longer was better.

And we beat out a lot of chalk on gorgeous, early fall days.

When you came back, you were to go to the washroom and wash up. You needed to wash up well, because you didn’t want to be dusty in class, so you took a long time there, too. Kids were often chastised for hurrying back dusty, so we learned to clean ourselves very well.

Chalk duty could take a very long time, in fact you could miss an entire lesson. It was like a grade-school child’s wildest dream. Imagine: A complete math lesson could be skipped, without any consequences. After all, it was hard work, sitting on the grass in the warm sun and struggling to do a really good job, to get every last particle of chalk dust out of the eraser– a struggle which only made cleaning yourself afterward that much more difficult. It seemed like hours had passed before you returned to the room where you were the envy of every other kid who’d recently been tortuously forced to learn about some particularly boring property of the number seven.

Chalk duty was our 6th grade equivalent of “heaven.”

I’d had chalk duty for two days in a row.

Rocky Hill suggested that today should be number three.

Rocky’s Pax Romana

“Mrs. Border, John did, after all, make the honor roll last term. I mean, he almost failed 5th grade, and now he’s on the honor roll! That’s, like, the biggest improvement ever, right everyone?”

The rest of the class murmured angrily in agreement.

Looking back on it now, I see that it was ingenious. Rocky Hill had planned this for weeks.

You see, during the last few weeks, Rocky had slowly convinced the rest of the class that he should be “chalk minister” or some damn thing. We couldn’t keep fighting over who got chalk duty, it didn’t make sense. He had an idea.

It would take a lot of work– it would be really hard– but he was willing to work hard for what needed to be done. He’d already spent his own money and bought a special notebook to hold everyone’s name, and everyone’s chalk duty times. He would organize it. It’d be a really big hassle, but if anyone had any questions about chalk duty, they could ask him and he would research it.

Then, whenever Mrs. Border asked who wanted chalk duty, we wouldn’t be forced to go through the trouble of raising our hands and shouting and begging her. Rocky could handle it. He would pull out his book and suggest the next person on the list. No more fighting. All fair, all organized. He would do that work for everyone, if they really thought it was really necessary.

Damn, he was good. I think I even thought it was necessary!

The first suggestion that things might go wrong, was when he skipped Betsy Thurlson’s turn and let Jimmy Francis have chalk duty instead. Betsy had just told Rocky that she wouldn’t be his girlfriend, and the thought that he’d use his power as Chalk Minister to punish her was pretty scary. But, as I said, he was good. After all, Jimmy did in fact take Rocky’s suggestion and help Mrs. Border carry the book boxes to her car. He also agreed with Rocky that it would be nice to help clean up the supply room after school. Jimmy deserved thanks for working so hard. We all agreed with that, right?

Poor Rocky, he didn’t want to skip Betsy, but he had to. It was the right thing to do. It truly hurt him to do so, but he was forced by the trust that everyone had in him to do what was right. And we’ll get back to Betsy next time. She’ll get her fair turn. After a while, I saw that he had a point. It was a good plan.

As I said, I was pretty damn clueless.

You might see it coming, but it took me weeks before I realized that Rocky could set the entire school up to feel good about wanting to “thank” a kid with chalk duty. I realized it just about the time he “thanked” me.

I’d realized it, in fact, about two days before.

By this time, Rocky The Chalk Minister was a forgone fact. No-one questioned his control of chalk duty just as no-one questioned his ability to decide fairly who was to skip whom. Not a single one of us paid enough attention to our history lessons to realize how he’d slowly worked into a position of supreme power.

So when, for the third gorgeous, early fall day in a row, when he suggested once more that I have chalk duty, no one questioned. They just looked at me with that angry look I’d seen yesterday, and mumbled in agreement.

At least I think they did. I didn’t actually see the angry looks on all the other kids faces, just as I didn’t see the angelic look of honesty on Rocky Hill’s face or the soft, pleased look of Mrs. Border as she smiled down at me. I didn’t see them because I was looking straight down at my faded, hand-me-down jeans and wondering if going home early because I accidentally peed in them might be somehow less painful than living through the retribution of my “good fortune” in the playground after school.

The Price of Being Undeserving

I lived through the day, barely, but quickly learned the price of being undeserving. And the power of praise.

I didn’t deserve chalk duty, and everyone knew it. Those 4 days were horrible–

Oh, yeah. I was lucky enough to enjoy chalk duty the next day too, despite my protests. I tried to sound honest and firm when I said “Really, I don’t deserve it!” Instead, I sounded more like an actress, high voice and all, as she carried her Oscar to the podium to thank her mother, God, and all the little people she stepped on to get where she is today.

I think Rocky actually applauded.

Those four days of chalk duty were proof to the entire class that I would do anything to get what I wanted. They were proof to the entire class that I was not to be trusted (Even Mrs. Border started to become suspicious of my motives. She even stopped wearing her fried chicken T-shirt on Dress down Fridays.)

After all, I’d even tricked Rocky Hill! Rocky! Who’d worked so hard to maintain order, to deal with everyone fairly. Everyone could see now that, with people like me around, having a person try to organize chalk duty was bound to fail.

He couldn’t organize it any more. This whole experience showed him that he had to step down as Chalk Minister. It was too hard. It was taking too much time after school organizing and researching. I mean, we all saw how badly his grades have fallen since he had to give up study time!

And now, maybe, he could help his sick mom a little more around the house.

We all remember, of course, that his mom is really sick? He’d been wanting to help her more these past few weeks, maybe now he can.

Again, I did say he was good. Really good.

Within a few days, I’d become the universal scapegoat for every bad in the world. I was the reason Rocky’s grades had fallen needlessly, I was the reason there were fights at chalk duty time, I was the reason Rocky’s great plan was ruined, and I was the only kid ever to have four chalk-duty days in a row!

I was, in a word, fucked.

Those four days were enough to make the rest of my 6th grade experience, and most of my 7th and 8th grade experiences, the most lonely and treacherous school days of my life. It was, as I said, the worst experience ever.

The moral… lesson… whatever…

I learned a lot that year, and not just about the particularly boring properties of the number seven.  I learned that accepting praise for something you don’t deserve can be a weapon to others. There doesn’t even have to be some evil figure like Rocky Hill setting things up. It can just be silly or unexplained reasons why you get praised when you are undeserving.

The fact that it happens without an evil mastermind doesn’t make it any better.

You see, there’s a class full of 6th graders out there watching you. And they’re all pissed off that they didn’t get chalk duty, and they all want their moment in the sun, and they know, just as well as you know, that you don’t deserve it!

That class isn’t going to look at you and say “Damn, sucks to be you” or “Well, I hope you use this honor wisely.” No, that class is going to stand around you after school as you get the shit kicked out of you by Rocky Hill and they are going to think “Good- the bastard didn’t deserve that honor!”

They might even start to see Rocky Hill as someone to look up to. Why? Because the class– all of us– are stupid.

Oh, we have thoughtful moments, sure, but mostly we just do as Rocky Hill tells us to do and then we get mad at good people with good ideas, whether or not they were the cause of the stupid or unexplainable decisions of others.

We’re stupid, so we just get mad at the person, whether or not they asked for or even want the honor.

I learned a lot in 6th grade, but the biggest thing I learned about is the price of being undeserving.

(By the way, did I hear that Obama just won the Nobel Peace Prize? Seriously?  Obama? The Nobel-Fucking-Peace-Prize?! That bastard doesn’t deserve that!)