Mile Nerd

Take Me Out To The Ball Game

I wake up bright and early.

Another night spent dreaming of untold riches.

I sleep the same way I live – driven, focused…a man and his mission.

Sitting up, I exhale any of the doubt that rests in my belly. Inhale the collective wisdom of business titans who came before me.

Will this finally be the day my ship comes in?

If I see it, I can be it.

Time for some morning crunches. Fitness in the body leads to strength of the mind. And a cash windfall to come.

The foundation for success? Confidence. I say a few affirmations aloud. Taking a quick look under my boxer briefs and nodding with pride.

Not bad.

Not bad at all.

Bounding to my feet as if launched by a rocket ship, I make my way to the bathroom. Time is money. Did I wake up with some aches and pains like all the other humans? Maybe. But I’m too focused on making my first million to feel any of that. Mind over matter. Gotta show this day who’s in charge.   

My mama didn’t raise no fool.

I splash cold water on my face. Catch a peek of my reflection in the mirror. Look myself right in the eyes. Much like the way Hugh Grant stared at Julia Roberts in the classic rom-com Notting Hill.

I fall in love with myself all over again.

This is how I begin each morning.

Time to get to work. Sun isn’t even up yet. An entire world sleeps peacefully while I’m on the hunt for financial freedom. Like a lion prowling across the jungle for food. Hungry for my pot of gold. Do I know exactly when lightning will strike? Of course not. So I stay laser-focused. Both eyes wide open.

This lion is always ready to pounce on the right opportunity.

I walk right past my coffee machine. Laughing at it as I boot up my laptop. People really need mugs of liquid energy?

Not this guy.

Already high on the natural caffeine known as life.

Any of my mornings could become the day. That’s why I keep all my bases covered. I’d rather die than let my Entrepreneur magazine subscription lapse. Go ahead, try to find an online deal forum I’m not subscribed to. Good luck with that. Better buy a scientific calculator if you want to add up the hours I spend chasing my home run. Do I listen to moneymaking podcasts? That’s like asking if a Kardashian likes selfies. This is what I do. I’m a hustler. By keeping every iron in the fire, I will eventually find my jackpot. Look, I even cut coupons and trim my own hair just to be able to throw a few bucks at memecoins that might explode. I’ve started dozens of businesses. Sit through countless seminars. Literally dig through piles of dusty junk at estate sales every weekend. Always striving for a big win. Treasure hunting. With as much passion as Leo DiCaprio in a roomful of 25-year-old models. If there’s a monetary bonanza to be had, you’ll find me nearby. My eBay feedback number? About as high as Warren Buffet’s net worth. All my waking hours are spent pursuing money. Looking for opportunities.

Mama didn’t raise no fool.

I woke up even earlier than usual today. A very rare schedule change. Had to get the daily hustling in before gametime. See, my parents are loyal sports fans. And, apparently, there’s some kind of huge home run record about to be broken today. Not sure of the details. And I’ll never understand why people enjoy sitting around watching other adults play with a ball. I think sports fandom might actually be a mental condition. Essentially paying money to waste time that could be spent making money. But it’s my mom’s birthday and she wants her son at the game…

Fine.

I’ll make this one exception.  

Yada yada yada, so I’m here at the baseball game and my parents are having a blast. Cheering along with the other fans. Me, I’m just trying to get some work done on my phone. Not an ideal office setup, but opportunities are always knocking. And I’m willing to turn over every rock to find them. On the other hand, these people around me are staring at a bunch of grown men wearing pajamas. Random strangers swinging a wooden stick. Then, out of nowhere, everyone starts cheering loudly. It distracts me from my treasure hunting – but only for a split-second. My focus is like that of a surgeon. Better believe I have the ability to refocus myself.

Wait, why is the entire stadium standing up in unison?

Everyone in my section is reaching for the ball coming right at us…

My own parents look like a pair of enthusiastic toddlers with their hands waving at the air.

Working diligently on my phone, I feel something bounce into my lap. A slight distraction from the workday. So, I grab the object – an annoying little baseball – and shove it into my jacket pocket. Then return quickly to my mobile treasure hunt. In the midst of all these overgrown children wrestling around me. Can’t anyone see I’m working here? Now the usher from my section wants to be involved. He asks me to join him in a private room. Apparently, none of these people have any respect for the pursuit of riches. A team executive hands me an autographed jersey in exchange for the ridiculous ball. Ok, fine, whatever. I really do need to get back to my seat. Gotta turn over the next rock.

After all, my pot of gold could be right around the corner.

I hurry back to my section. Should’ve pointed out the excruciatingly slow wifi in this stadium. Oh well. Too many lost minutes already. Really need to get back to work. But now my parents keep distracting me with questions about where the ball is. Why so much yelling and screaming? Sports fans. Always some kind of panic at these games. I refocus on my work…asking my mother to stop bugging me about the ridiculous baseball. Not like I even have it anymore. I point to the jersey I exchanged it for. Wait, why does she look so pale? Almost as if she’s seen a ghost.

What’s she saying? There’s no sound coming out of her mouth.

I lean in.

Try to read her lips…

And, in a breathless whisper, she cries out:

“I raised a fool.”

—

Editor’s Note:
Here’s my creative process with something like this…

1 – Reading an article about yet another working Joe who caught a baseball worth six or seven figures.
2 – Trying to comprehend why so many of these guys hand over a life-changing gift in exchange for some merchandise. Basically giving it away for a pat on the back – from a team worth billions.  
3 – My brain gets fried trying to figure it out.
4 – Pictures grow in my imagination. Becoming a daydream, maybe even a night dream. Eventually those pictures turn into a story that I share with you.

Anyway, that’s where this comes from. Have a great October!
(Oh, and if you happen to catch a baseball that could buy you a house…maybe hang on to it)

Her Autumn Journey

This summer with my husband? Dreamy months of endless bliss.

Romantic dinners, perfect sunsets

Always with a gentle kiss.

But seasons change – and so does he. Now it’s time to say goodbye.

To my sweet and charming gentleman

Who becomes an Autumn Guy.

Wrinkled jersey on his back, no longer fitted Ralph Lauren.

Both eyes on me just weeks ago

All free time now spent with men.

Those screams you hear? Pure agony. And then his shouts of glee.

Dictated by those linemen,

Whose bellies dance across TV.

That’s right, my friend, the games are back – yes, football has returned.

My summer man? A memory.

Our fall weekends all upturned.

These next 6 months? It’s pigskin time. Why do they call it that?

At least it’s minus one Tom Brady

Go Giselle, you’re no doormat!

This kicker looks so tiny. Oh, I hope he won’t get hurt.

My husband? Not as worried…

He’s eating pork rinds off his shirt.

Coffee table needing mercy. Under pounds of greasy food.  

An avalanche of wrappers,

I’ve never been less in the mood.

If I see another chicken wing, no doubt I’ll lose my mind.

Weird, this ref keeps missing calls

So, is he dumb or is he blind?

Oh no, I’ve hit this time of year. Can’t help but watch some plays.

Better grab my car keys quickly

Or else I’ll set this couch ablaze.

He doesn’t even notice as I race through our front door.

Tires squealing, engine roaring

While I make haste to the store.

You might scoff at decorations. Somehow on display so soon.

Who needs the spirit of the holidays?

It’s only 2 months after June.

I’ll tell you why I need them. All because of this damn game.

Without a festive, sweet diversion?

Oh, best believe I’d go insane.

The Dolphins and the Ravens. Then the Panthers and the Chiefs.

These games, they just keep coming…

Violence isn’t in my core beliefs.

I’m here as meditation. Staring at cute store displays.

Next a pit stop for some pumpkin spice,

Hot donuts with fresh glaze.

I wind my way back home to find my husband fast asleep.

Buried under empty wrappers

Stacked at least a dozen deep.

Remote in hand, last game still on, I start to turn it off.

Peace and quiet in my grasp now

Then I choke on my own cough.

Wait, crowd’s going wild, a minute left? The score is really tied? 

I can’t help but grab a pork rind…

And smile a little bit inside.

Different Flavors

The first time I worked with a famous person?

Over 20 years ago now…

See, network sitcoms are well-oiled machines. And I was still a fresh-faced kid from West Virginia. So that rehearsal week felt like being in a bustling laboratory full of scientists. A bit more laughter on a soundstage? Probably. But zoom out and you’ll see what they have in common. A team of experts constantly tweaking and experimenting. In this case, with the writing of jokes. And micro adjustments to the inflection of every word in a punchline. Precise attention paid to tiny details in costumes. A department whose sole focus is building and procuring the ideal props.

Day after day, each moment was worked – until the timing felt just right. Those tweaks often turned silence into belly laughs. It’s a very specific magic trick to get involuntary responses out of people. To pull laughter out of thin air. It required adjustment after adjustment. Hundreds of people trying to hit the right notes. Which is basically what it is.

A group attempt to get the “music” right.

After rehearsal week? Time for tape night. A live studio audience taking their seats, eager to watch the show. An energetic warmup guy hyping them up. But, down in the lab, the work continues on. A joke doesn’t land as expected? Teams of people huddle to re-craft that moment. Maybe even experiment with a new one. But the clock is ticking now. Just one night to figure it out before the opportunity is lost.

The star of this show? He was fresh off a decade of massive success. Part of arguably the most popular sitcom in television history. No shortage of pressure on his shoulders. The face of this new venture and also one of its producers. I noticed how everyone needed something from him. Person after person with questions and concerns. It seemed like an endless line of requests. Not to mention all the visitors to the set who wanted pictures or autographs – often just a moment of attention. It was exhausting to watch.

The thing is, he never seemed exhausted.

In fact, the opposite was true.

When I had a question about a camera someone was using…he popped in from out of nowhere with the answer. If I was silently working on my dialogue, he’d finish a conversation and then offer to run through the scene. And when my collar looked a little sloppy? He fixed it himself – reminding this very young version of me that my mom would be watching the episode. All of it was done with an encouraging smile. Was there an entire costume department to help me with my shirt? Of course. But I think he noticed an eager noob still so unfamiliar with those surroundings. He went out of his way to make me comfortable. Seemed to be his nature. The guy bounced around that set making sure everyone was taken care of. I guess he knew how fortunate he was and felt like it was the least he could do.

That’s just how some people are built.

You probably know the type.

I only saw him once after that. No live audience. No eyeballs. No need to impress anyone. Just a random run-in at a sandwich shop. And the guy was still every bit as kind. Same dude. Maybe even friendlier than before. I tried to thank him for making my early experience such a pleasant one. But he beat me to the punch. Before I got any words out, he was busy thanking me. For being part of the cast, adding to the fun, and so on. Then some teenagers started gathering around him for pictures. Never did get the chance to express my appreciation.

My first experience with Oscar winners?

It came soon after the sitcom taping…

Shiny gold statues. Just a small portion of the trophy case for both guys sitting across from me. A director in his prime and the legendary New York actor. The latter was a bit on the strange side. But, hey, people come in all flavors. His particular flavor? I’d describe it as introverted with a side dish of awkwardness.

To be fair, he was struggling with the material. A very old school guy who had to deliver a long monologue about technology. Literally a senior citizen. And, honestly, the majority of those words had probably never come out of his mouth before. Tons of jargon. So, he stayed very quiet. Mostly to himself. Just an old guy trying to do his job.

He kept trying.

And trying…

For the next 14 hours until we finally called it a day.

This continued for most of the week. A lot of revving up with nowhere to go. I started to wonder what the hell was happening. Never seen anyone struggle like that with dialogue. Especially a living legend. Is this really him? Was it smoke and mirrors for all these years and all of his brilliant performances? Or maybe this is just what happens at the age of 70. Maybe the old magic gets lost for good after a certain point.

But then came the moment…

We’d been at it for days. A challenging scene, no doubt. With precise timing needed on his part for the complicated camera moves. I begin by alerting him to a security breach in the system. He barks at me to get things handled before starting his massive dramatic speech. It just wasn’t working. And, suddenly, out of nowhere…days into this complete shitshow…his eyes light up. As if he knows something. Like a person about to strike oil. He stands up straight, looking like the younger, in-his-prime version of himself. This tired old man now suddenly full of electricity. And he barks his orders at me. Adding an improvised command:

“Do it.”

“Do it.”

“DO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The entire stage shakes. My head jerks back and the hair on my arm stands at attention. This old geezer storms through his speech like a man possessed. Strutting around like a lion hunting for a meal. It’s absolutely incredible. And, just like that, all doubts and questions about his talent are forgotten.

Took him a while to get cranked up, but the man still had something inside of himself to give.

And so it went.

Year after year.

Over time, my adventures with recognizable people started feeling very normal. Honestly, the only thing that felt unusual was how the world viewed them. As if they were something more. Or occasionally something less. The truth is, they were just like the rest of the people I interact with. Some were great, others strange, with an occasional shithead. But the concept of fame started to confuse me. The way people tripped over themselves to worship or castigate these individuals. When they were just like any other group of coworkers. A full range of types. With nothing different but the made-up concept of “fame.”

No longer a noob, I’d sometimes even feel like the old veteran on a set. Like when the most successful comedienne in the world produced a show. She wanted to find work for her talented Groundlings improv friends. They didn’t have the same opportunities. Things had fallen in place just so for lightning to strike her life. But her buddies were comedic geniuses too. And they sat at home or worked in restaurants. Their world-renowned peer didn’t like it. Felt they deserved so much more. It was an inspiring display of friendship to observe. She went through the complicated process of getting that show made…taking time away from her soaring career…basically just to get them a gig. When I showed up on that set, they asked me questions for over an hour. Curious to learn more about other sets and shows. Trying to soak up information. Hoping to make their friend proud.

Other times, I grew dismayed. Like with the lead of a Fox primetime drama. A woman who barely looked up from her phone. She had the world in the palm of her hands but couldn’t be troubled to do her job. Instead, it was a nonstop stream of complaints. Which wore down the people around her. You could see it on their faces. Could feel it in the air. Her lunch wasn’t good enough, the days were too long, the budget too low…and whatever else could possibly bother a person. She focused on everything but the work itself.

Much like annoying coworkers we’ve had at other jobs.

You probably know the type.

Then there was the Oscar winner headlining a show she produced. Always the richest person in the room. One of 3 women from the last few decades who could be described as “America’s sweetheart.” She had every reason to half-ass it. But never once did. Like so many other busy people with a bunch of things in life to juggle. Trying to do her best to handle it all. In fact, what I remember most was her concern about her daughter who’d just started dating.

Much like every other mom at work whose mind is on her kids.  

You probably know the type.

Years went by. Some of these people stayed acquaintances, a few become friends, and most were just coworkers for a few days or weeks. A small handful were unpleasant.

Most were not.

Basically the same ratio as when we look back at any of our other jobs.

Are there some differences? Only with the icing. Never with the cake itself. For example, the most famous movie star in the history of motion pictures. Maybe the friendliest person I’ve ever met. To the point that I actually had to make up an excuse to leave our conversation and beat traffic. So, yeah, it’s wild to think that he’s also essentially a cult member. In a “religion” that takes advantage of people under the guise of helping.

But, really, how different is that?

How many people have we known who get stuck in something deeply dysfunctional? Haven’t you seen it over and over again in your life? Not exactly unusual to see a person get lost in something unhealthy.

Icing isn’t cake. These people are human beings. But, along the way, the world decided it was ok to see them as something else. This is a very strange dance we do. But it isn’t reality. And that’s why I’ve never written about this stuff. You’ll certainly never hear me use the word, “celebrity.” None of that noise makes sense to me. A person is a person.

These stories happened to be about some of the individuals from my work and in my community.

Not really any different from when I liked or disliked someone in West Virginia.

We get to know all kinds of types.

In your town, friends share their experiences with you, right? Colleagues they work with. Various interactions. No difference in these stories. It’s just that some of these people are names we know. For example, a friend of mine was a victim of Bill Cosby’s. A very nice older lady. She was lucky enough to get away from his attempted rape that day. But obviously it happened. My friend isn’t the type to make up a story. That’s not who she is. And what happens with fame is that sometimes people don’t want to believe facts. Something inside of them fights against it. They overthink…or underthink…because they get blinded by the bright lights. That’s probably the main difference. It just doesn’t happen in most towns when friends share information about their interactions.

For example…

My best friend is like a brother to me. He worked on the crew of a reality show for years. We were living together at that time. And the star of this show was an absolute nightmare. That dude added so much stress to my friend’s life. Weekly rampages that made the entire crew deeply uncomfortable. Regular disturbing rants about black people, gays, and women. Multiple occurrences of sexual harassment against the latter. His patented business move was hiring contractors but refusing to pay them in full. A classless guy in every way. No different than other shitty individuals polluting other circles in other towns.  

Well, this guy is now running for President of the United States.

Poof. Like magic, there are people who were totally into this post…who are now suddenly blinded by the lights. As if this was all made up. As if it’s nothing but lies and conspiracy theories. Look, I’m not into politics. I have no affection for either person running. Certainly don’t care how anyone votes. And, really, I have no desire to write about him again because I don’t even like thinking about the guy. But this man is, in fact, a total piece of garbage.

You probably know the type.

Saturday

Dear Diary:

Haven’t written in a long time. But I’m back for a reason. And searching for the right words…

Because what does a person say when the GREATEST WEEK OF THEIR LIFE finally arrives?!

Here’s what I do know…

The air smells cleaner, the sky is a deeper shade of blue, and “Celebration” by Kool & The Gang is playing everywhere I go.

(At least that’s what it feels like)

Just take my simple breakfast today…

Easily the most delicious bowl of Lucky Charms ever. Pinch me now because I gotta be Irish if the rest of their food tastes this great!

My life right now? It’s even sweeter than these marshmallow stars, hearts, and rainbows…

On Friday, just a few short days away, my dream vehicle is finally being delivered!!!

What does that mean for me?

My days of anonymously walking through the world are about to be over.  

At long last, I will be a somebody.

—–

Sunday

Dear Diary:

Just couldn’t stay asleep last night. But you wanna hear the crazy thing? I’m not even a little tired.

On the contrary…

Feels like there’s rocket fuel coursing through my veins. As if I’m turbocharged. Like I could finish a marathon – and then run another one!  

Man, this dream last night was so vivid. A random guy sits behind the wheel of something so beautiful…that crowds begin to gather. A vehicle everyone’s dying to see. A brand-new prototype. Oh, and the person behind the wheel is me! They all want a closer look. People snap my picture as if I’m a celebrity or something. All hoping for a glimpse.

Well, this dream is actually coming true in a few days.

I’ll be the person holding the keys.

The only one of these on the road will be owned by me.

How on earth did I get so lucky?

We take a lot of punches in this life but, every so often, dreams do come true.

—–

Monday

Dear Diary:

Current excitement level?

Lemme put it this way…I make Tom Cruise look sleepy.   

No need for coffee. I’m human caffeine this week. Like a Frappuccino with feet. The newfound pep in my step that I’ve never known. Are dancing shoes still a thing? Gotta lace ‘em up because I’m practically skipping through the world.

This has been such a long time coming.

Was it easy? Hell no.

I worked like a dog, saving every dollar. For five straight years. Since the moment I learned this vehicle was in development. Realizing one lucky person would have the right to buy this prototype. And that it would be me. Haven’t wasted a single penny on designer clothes or fancy restaurants since that day. It was all saved for this. I’ve eaten more boxes of mac and cheese than I can count. Didn’t even buy a new pair of underwear over these years. Everything was for this. And, honestly, all of my sacrifices were worth it.

I finally know what true joy feels like.

—–

Tuesday

Dear Diary:

I heard from Heather today.

So kind of her to call…

Obviously, I’m the guy who broke her heart. And no denying she was probably the love of my life too. Pretty clear she was “the one.” But we all make choices – and I made mine. Yes, her biological clock was ticking. I understood that. But there’s no way I was ready to have children.

I mean, I wasn’t even buying a new pair of Fruit Of The Looms. How could I budget for a child?

These are the types of sacrifices I’m willing to make. A level of discipline not many can grasp. But, yes, I am willing to live a solitary life if I need to.

I had to get to this week.

To my happy ending.

No matter what it took.

I appreciate her call today. And her new husband sounds like a decent guy. Now, would most people feel a little conflicted about this? Absolutely. But I’m not most people. I mean, she took time out of her pregnancy to wish me congratulations. And I respect that.

Heather knows I finally get the keys on Friday.

She understands what it means to me.

Her baby will have fingers and toes – mine will have 600 horsepower.  

Only a few more days.

—–

Wednesday

Dear Diary:

Got into a little debate with my mom today.

Ok, fine, it was an argument.

She just doesn’t understand what I’m doing with my life. And that’s her right. But my choices aren’t for her to decide.

I’m certainly not ashamed.

1 – Yes, I live in a mobile home. Clearly, I needed to cut expenses to afford what’s coming this Friday.

2 – Sure, I’ve lost touch with my oldest friends. Have worked multiple jobs over these last few years. Not like there was any free time.

And, yeah…

3 – I did get so excited about this week that I forgot to call my mom on her birthday.

That’s my bad.

But, really, what I should’ve told her is this…

Grow up, mom.

I’m about to own the FIRST PROTOTYPE of this vehicle. Do you understand what that means? Probably the most eagerly-awaited release in the history of automobiles. A truck that everyone on this planet wants to see. And I’m about to be the first owner. Me! Do you have any idea how exciting this is? How fortunate I was to be chosen? Of course not. Because all you can think about is a phone call. And also how I didn’t show up at the restaurant for your birthday dinner.

Whatever.

Spare me the guilt trip. Try to get over yourself for just a few days, mom. Because your son is about to be the luckiest man on this planet. Have you even noticed what kind of genius the CEO is? Do you understand that this vehicle is his Mona Lisa? Or that I, as president of his fan club, was chosen to purchase the first one ever made? Clearly, you don’t grasp the gravity of this. No, mom…I wasn’t able to take a “test drive.” And, yes, I bought it “sight unseen.” Come on, nobody in the world knows what it looks like yet. You still don’t get it…

This is the biggest moment of my life.

So cut me some slack for having more on my mind than blowing out candles.

I’m about to be somebody.

2 more days to go!

—–

Thursday

Dear Diary:

When I rise tomorrow, a beautiful piece of artwork on 4 wheels will arrive at my home.

Have I lost the love of my life? Absolutely.

Do I have any friends left? Nope.

Did my mother eat alone at the Cheesecake Factory on her birthday? Indeed.

And it all came in the name of passion. Obsession. Pure determination.

Striving for something bigger.

The delivery is bright and early tomorrow. My five-year mission will be complete. And I’m so excited that I feel like I could burst. What features will it have? How fast will it be? And, of course, what will it look like?

All questions will be answered in the morning.

Dreams really do come true.

—–

Friday

Dear Diary:

How exactly do I put this?

Um, yeah…

What the fuck have I done?

Growth Spurt

Why was the bus driver so unpleasant? Certainly wasn’t subtle. He just seemed to despise all of us kids.

Especially me.

Could see it in his glare through the giant rearview mirror. As if a pile of gouda cheese was right under his nose. The kind of face someone makes when their TV goes out during the Super Bowl. That was him looking at me.  

Every single day. 

Why the dirty looks and constant barking? What was his issue?

Ok, possibly something to do with me being the cockiest 7^th grader in the world. But enough was enough. For me and my crew…it was time to push back.

On the menu this afternoon? Vengeance.

A little Independence Day of our own.

See, nobody treats me and my idiot friends like shit for 30 straight weeks.

Nobody.

We play it cool as we climb off the bus. No smirks or whispers. No indication of what’s to come.

We ignore his ice-cold eyes.

Patiently wait for him to pull away. And then…

Game on.

Imagine Seal Team 6 on one of their missions. We burst into action like a well-oiled machine. Only a few minutes until showtime. His route through the neighborhood will be over quickly. Before we know it, he’ll circle back around. We must be ready for that moment.

Josh unlocks his front door to ensure his mom isn’t home. All three of us toss our backpacks inside, freeing ourselves from any obstructions. Gotta be able to move with agility. We stretch our legs and necks.  

Walking briskly to the middle of this quiet street.

The bus comes around the corner…

With sweaty palms, I throw both middle fingers high into the air.

Powerfully.

My pair of comrades do the same. It’s total exhilaration. A first blast of adulthood. We’re finally taking ownership of our power. This is our world now and nobody’s gonna treat us like—

–uh, oh.

The bus slams to a complete stop with violent force. Brakes squeal. Metal rattles. The wild-eyed driver explodes out of his vehicle with rage in his eyes. Almost like one of those cartons where smoke comes out of someone’s head. But this is no Saturday morning cartoon…

Independence Day is now over.  

Suddenly, we’re living in there-might-be-a-murder day.

Josh sprints like a greyhound toward his house…jumps over the bush…and makes it safely inside.

David, the third member of our trio, does the same.

I’m right behind both of my friends…

Running full speed. Faster than a locomotive, no doubt…

With this furious bus driver on my tail, I leap over the bush–

–and get stuck in it.

Fuck.

Somehow, I misjudged the height.

This is a major problem.

I have no clue how long the next encounter lasted. Probably under 30 seconds. But the emotion? Absolute terror. Looking back, the bus driver probably did have a loose screw or two. Because he grabbed me out of that bush, pulled me by my t-shirt, and screamed vulgarities into my face at full volume.

This lasted for what felt like the next 37 hours.

Adulthood?

Postponed indefinitely.

I try gathering myself. Straighten out my shirt (which now has a very stretched neck hole). And slowly stumble my way back home. I try to calm my breathing. Not working. As soon as I walk through the front door, my mom asks about my day…

And I immediately burst into tears.

So much for owning my power.

Turns out I can’t even get a coherent sentence out of my mouth.

It seems there’s more to being a cowboy than putting on a hat. Maybe I’m nothing more than a poser. A dumb kid who wants to play cowboy but falls flat on his face. This isn’t my world yet. Maybe it never will be.

I recap the entire humiliating story for my mom.

She listens carefully.

I watch her eyes fill with anger…and brace for impact.

But no impact comes. In fact, for the most part, her emotion seems directed at the bus driver. The guy was an adult, after all. And while 12-year-old children should know better, he simply can’t behave like that. She calls the school. Speaks to the principal right away.

Not asking for anything, but telling him what needs to happen.

All of us have a sit-down. Including the bus driver. Genuine apologies from everyone. A healthy conversation. This situation that could have been handled so poorly is now resolved. No permanent damage to any of us.

A few weeks later, I’m sitting in science class.

Back row, of course.

Confidence restored.

Josh is now madly in love with a girl named Dori. I draw a comic of him chasing after her. Buck naked. With a hilariously small penis. He pleads, “Come to me, Dori!” as she laughs at his lack of size. Pointing at it while she runs away.  

This is a masterpiece.

My Sistine Chapel.  

I fold my note carefully and pass it forward. Total stealth mode. My usual Seal Team 6 precision. The sketch makes its way from my row all the way down to Josh in the front. As he reaches for the drawing…

Our teacher, Dr. Carmen, intercepts it.

Fuck.

She unfolds my comedic gold and her eyes get wide. Seemingly as mortified as I am. This is a deeply awkward situation for all parties involved. But then she makes it 30,000 times worse…

By calling my mom.

I sit sheepishly in the hallway after class. Waiting nervously. My nerdy teacher looks as if she’d rather be anywhere but here. And then we see my mom coming around the corner…

Both of us brace for impact.

Dr. Carmen walks us into the classroom. Slowly unfolds the most embarrassing piece of notebook paper on the planet. And says, “This is what your son worked on in class today.”

I feel sick to my stomach.

My mom looks at the drawing, puts it down, and says:

“If he likes drawing so much, maybe we should enroll him in art class.”

Dr. Carmen explodes with laughter. Cracking up with literal belly laughs for the next two minutes.

I exhale.

Another crisis averted.

—————————

After the credits:

I ran into Dr. Carmen every few years for a while…and she always brought up the story. Laughing as she told it. Every single time.

My youngest sister is 14 years younger than me. When she started junior high school, her science teacher was…you guessed it.

Better believe the story still had Dr. Carmen rolling a decade and a half later.

Isn’t it so easy for us humans to make each other sad, angry, and annoyed? Impossible to even remember all of the countless examples. But now think about the huge belly laughs you’ve had in your lifetime.

Not nearly as many, right?

And they’re much harder to forget.