What if...

What if...

the very last option for reducing the state's massive debt was to make cuts in an already struggling education system?

North Carolina was not ranked 31st in average public school teacher salaries?

more parents gave a flying rip how the continued budgetary shortfalls are affecting their children's education by forcing the most qualified educators to find employment elsewhere?

all the members of the North Carolina General Assembly took a 20-30% paycut?

each parent in this state was required to spend 2 full weeks per school year in the classroom with the teachers?

each member of the North Carolina General Assembly was required to spend 2 full weeks per school year in the classroom?

the average joe knew how much dedicated educators give of themselves, time, and money in the slightest hope that we can make a difference in at least one kid's life?

teachers were allowed to educate students in the classroom, instead of teaching students only the skills needed to pass an EOG (end of grade) test?

all students cared as much about their learning as teachers do?

all parents cared as much about their child's learning as teachers do?

North Carolina General Assembly members cared as much about the state's children as teachers do?

What if...?
What if...?
What if...?

As a wise old man once told me, "What if the Queen had balls?", you guessed it...she'd be King!

The Bus Stop pt. 3

Before reading part 3 I would suggest you go back and reread part 1 from August 26th and part 2 from September 8th. Enjoy part 3 and be sure to become a follower if you're not already. Part 4 will be here before you know it. :)

Since last week my world has flipped upside down…literally and figuratively. Since last week there is not much I wouldn’t give to return to my once boring, but beautifully predictable life. As I’m rotated upside down in an attempt to use traction to heal my broken back (I was serious about my world literally turning upside down) I cannot help but think how one day I’m a nobody going through life’s daily highs and lows; one day later I’ve become an urban legend. You have undoubtedly read or listened to several different versions of what happened last week at the bus stop. Though I’m sure the people who were there believe in their heart of hearts that what they saw actually happened, I must respectfully ask you to ignore all you’ve read or heard as I’m about to relay what really happened.


Before I begin I must admit that throughout so much of my life I have never been particularly religious, but if there is a higher power I mustn’t go any further without thanking him or her for blessing me with a nurse caring, or perhaps curious enough, to listen and record my story as it truly happened. Another in my long list of injuries obtained from last week’s ‘incident’ is the fact that I’m told I fractured both eye sockets. The terrible swelling has rendered me temporarily blind, but luckily I am still able to speak and hear relatively well during the fleeting moments of consciousness I have had since I arrived.

I never know how long I will be conscious, but once I’m aware enough to do so I call for the nurse. Ideally, the nurse whom I’ve begun to tell the true story of what occurred last week is on duty and has time to transcribe my version of what occurred for however long I’m awake. Unfortunately, the nurse only comes about half the time I call. Other nurses I do not care to speak with float in and out, but I remain quiet. At any rate…enough about how you are able to read this, and onto The Bus Stop as I like to call the incident.

Though the city of Savannah is quite car friendly, despite it’s size and population, I have been taking the bus to and from work for the past several years for really no other reason than the fact that it’s cheaper, and other than work I do not really have anywhere to go or anyone to see. Roughly two weeks before the ‘incident’ I arrived at the bus stop as usual on my way to work the early shift as a produce manager at Kroger supermarket. Not a prestigious occupation by any stretch of the imagination but it is an honest living, and one I rather enjoy because it does not allow for a lot of pointless chit-chat with co- workers or customers. The normal cast of characters was at the bus stop that morning two weeks ago…an older one legged housekeeper named Penelope, a middle aged Asian man who works at a family owned shoe repair store in the downtown area, and a variety of day laborers traveling to destinations unknown.

Originally from the Dominican Republic, Penelope has been a staple at this bus stop six out of seven mornings since I began traveling by bus. Throughout the years we have spoken once in awhile, mostly morning pleasantries about the weather, but I learned from her talks with others at the stop that she lost her right leg just below the knee as a child in her home country. Apparently her father accidentally ran over her with a tractor as she was playing tag with her older brother in the sugarcane fields. Thom, the Asian shoe shop man, talks incessantly to anyone that will listen, but I could not begin to tell you anything about him other than what I already have. He became a regular at the stop about a year ago, and I do everything in my power to avoid him. Thom is a man with constant problems, and a constant need to tell people about them. I suppose in his own way he may be a nice man. However, my life, until recently, has been carefully designed to be as problem free as humanly possible, so I have no desire to listen to other’s issues.

I saw him as the bus approached the stop that morning two weeks ago. Several things went through my mind as I watched him sitting at the rear of the bus…is someone playing a joke on me, is it simply a coincidence that someone is dressed in all white wearing a white hat, or am I just seeing things. As quickly as these thoughts went through my mind, I realized that I had never told anyone of the man in white that haunts my dreams. No one could have played this incredibly cruel joke on me, because no one knew about the man in white. My next hope that someone was simply dressed in all white was quickly dashed as I realized that just like in my dreams I could not see the man’s face. That left the final option, and the one I was so reluctant to face, that I was seeing things. I have no family history of dementia, schizophrenia, or hallucinations, so the possibility I was experiencing any of these left me paralyzed with fear.

At the moment as the bus came to a complete stop, I was only vaguely aware of the customers exiting and entering the bus. My entire being was absorbed by the man in white sitting on the back of the bus. So frozen in time was I that not even Penelope could roust me from my trance…”Eliot, the bus is here. Eliot!” In the end her need to be to work on time outweighed her need to make sure the man she barely knew, though he was at the bus stop every morning, got on the bus. That morning I never did get on the bus. I also never took my eyes off the man in white. As the bus slowly pulled away from the stop, the man in white’s head methodically turned to face me and he nodded. Still unable to see his face I watched as the brim of his oversized hat went up and down as he nodded. To this day I can not tell you how long I stood frozen at the bus stop after the bus rolled away. It could have been thirty seconds or three hours. My next conscious moment of awareness occurred as the cab I decided to take to work turned into the Kroger parking lot. All day long I could not get the man in white off my mind. How was it possible that the man in white…the goddamned man in white who had been part of my dreams for as long as I could remember suddenly manifest himself into my waking reality?

Testicles & Poop

Now that I've grabbed your attention from the very intriguing title I will do what I can to keep it. For any new readers I would like to caution you that I live by the philosophy that it is better to laugh than cry. For all my loyal followers I would like to remind you of my philosophy, and beg of you to keep it in mind as you read the following.

Yet another of the most uncomfortable times of my life occurred recently at the local learning center where I work part time.

As I prepared to work with my first student of the day, I also prepared myself mentally for what I knew was coming, as I had worked with the student several times before. The child has Down's Syndrome, and based on my time spent coaching Special Olympics for the past five years, I would describe him as low to medium functioning. The time arrives and in he walks/runs/hobbles over to my table. I know immediately that something is different about the student, because never before has he showed any trouble walking.

I did not have to wait long to find out what was different about the young man of 7 years old. In the past the student has had a very difficult time pronouncing even one syllable words, yet as he arrived at my table he happily announced to me, "I went to the doctor." Though slightly taken aback that an entire sentence had been spoken by him I replied, "Oh yeah...are you okay?" Why I set myself up like this I still wonder, but he instantly and loudly replied while pointing to his crotch in a room full of other students and instructors, "MY TESTICLES!"

Needless to say I nearly choked to death on my morning coffee that I happened to be sipping at the time. With every eye in the entire room on me now all I could think to say was, "OOOOkay." He would go on to point to his crotch and loudly say "TESTICLES!" a few more times before settling down. The only real positive to come of the situation is that I now knew why he was walking oddly.

For the next 15-20 minutes the young man worked very hard, and I mistakenly thought the worst was over. It was shortly after this wonderful thought crossed my mind that the young man's head snapped up and he announced, "I gotta poop." He was up and hobbling to the restroom before I had even processed what he had just said. As he was gone I sat there grateful for the peace and quiet. I checked the clock while he was gone to find that I unbelievably still had another 20 minutes to go before the end of the instructional hour. It would turn out to be the longest 20 minutes of my life. He returned from the restroom, and within about 10 seconds I realized that something had gone horribly wrong. I'm not sure what the young man's restroom experience was, but what I can state with certainty is that for the next 20 minutes of my life I felt as if I were living and breathing from inside a dirty diaper.

As the hour ended, I quickly got up and went to tell the center's director that I thought the young man had used the bathroom on himself. Her reply, "You can't be serious." to which I said "Sadly, I am." She looked at the student who was strolling bowlegged towards the exit door, looks back at me, and says, "Well you know he had surgery on his testicles 2 days ago." With that comment I clocked out and left the building. I do love teaching!