The Legend Spreads

In 2005, in the basement lounge of the Center for Musical Arts at BGSU, a fellow composer and grad student, Michael Scheck, started referring to me as “The Legend.”

I asked him why, and he just insisted that I have a legendary air about me. It was a surreal form of flattery.

In 2009, in a high school classroom at Community R-VI, a junior declared in the middle of a trigonometry test that I was the “Chuck Norris” of substitutes.

I asked him why, and he just insisted that I was about to roundhouse kick a student in the head. From that moment on, the reputation stuck. It was another surreal form of flattery.

Yesterday was the third to last day of school, so I assumed it would be my last day working there. As such, I was pretty much free to do or say anything I wanted without fear of reprisal. At this school, it has come to my attention that a staggeringly high percentage of the student body are highly entertained by the fireworks of scathing wit I employ against one or two students (one of whom is apparently in rehab now, so I am talking about the younger one, the one I’ve mentioned on two previous posts). They are entertained because they all feel the same way about this particular attention whore.

And it’s to the point where, when the “good kids” have me in a class, they like to goad me into speaking my mind about this kid, which I try to sidestep because it’s unprofessional and a bit petty to badmouth a kid who’s not there to defend himself. It’s bad form.

Then again, I don’t need yet another good reference on my resume and I’m very pissed off at humanity in general, so… yyyyeah. Patience and tolerance are not the same thing. And there came a point when I realized I didn’t care about being “professional” anymore. This was a small group of smart, college-bound kids, so why not just give ‘em a taste of the bitter person they are bound to become later in life?

We were all being very casual and candid, and we were somehow on the subject of students assaulting students or teachers on school grounds. I said that no student could ever intimidate me, not only because I’m not easily intimidated, but “because… as a teacher… if you so much as threaten me… it’s over. You’re done. I will own your ass!”

They burst into red-faced, delighted laughter, saying, “You don’t usually hear a sub talk that way.”

I followed up with, “I was doing hand-to-hand combat when you were learning to wipe yourself!”

A little bit of Ed Harris mixed in with my usual Jason Statham and Clive Owen combination.

Yes, it was rather unprofessional, but somehow appropriate for the situation. It’s not exactly the “quiet dignity” I had in mind, but you know what? After being insulted and manipulated by my roommates in that bizarre Overland Park situation, then being psychologically imprisoned and abused by my sister-in-law in St. Charles, being unemployed for eleven months only to get a job as a holiday cashier, after dealing with horrendous encounters behind that cash register, after putting up with all sorts of bullshit from punk kids for another few months on top of that, after being surrounded almost exclusively by mean-spirited people, at the mercy such assholes, you know what? You know what? Yes, my patience is a bit strained. Yes, I am fed up. Yes, I am actually a pretty hostile person these days. Yes, I have slipped from the gracious demeanor Gichin Funakoshi had in mind. Yes, I am human.

It was maybe just a little bit of therapy, a sort of self-empowerment after months of being abused by impertinent brats. And it let the “good kids” know, once and for all, that their views of the warrior bard only scratch the surface.

Tomorrow is the last day of school, which means they won’t need a sub. Today they didn’t need a sub. So yesterday was it. I’m done. Mischief managed. I got to leave on a high note. After all this time, I got just a taste of respect. Too little, too late? You got that right. But a lot of those kids freaking love Mr. Scott. Call it an investment in case I’m doing the same thing here in the fall (unless there is a just and loving God, in which case I won’t be).

I haven’t talked to Mike Scheck in forever. Somehow I think he’d be disappointed in learning of my post-BG exploits. They fall somewhat short of expectations for “The Legend,” after all. But I didn’t come up with the nickname. That’s how nicknames work.

This is the warrior bard, reminding you to check for ticks.