THE ENFORCER - Opening segment (Scroll down for earlier chapters)

     The other day I was recounting some of my near-death experiences…algebra, biology, woodshop, and school lunches, to name a few.  

     For years my life had been free of such nuances.  Then came that first day of school; after that, I noticed these experiences seemed to occur with increasing frequency.       

     After several weeks of school, they had provided sufficient evidence that I should apply for other work. 

     I quickly learned that who you had for a teacher was critical to your development.  If you were a lazy, slothful, good-for-nothing slacker, you needed a teacher who could nurture those qualities; someone who could develop your laziness to its full potential.  If you got a teacher who insisted that you do your work properly; who expected you to be a respectable, productive member of society, it could be a very long year.  I had several years that went far beyond the calendar.   

     My cousin, Marky, found himself under the thumb of “Olga the Intimidator”.  It was Olga who encouraged him to try for his G.E.D. in the fifth grade.  It began when Marky wore low-hung pants to school.   He was ahead of his time.  It was not the year for low-hung pants.  It was also a time when teachers could pretty much dispose of you in the manner of their choice.    The “Intimidator” showed her disapproval of Marky’s pants.  She pulled them up so high, Marky was peering through his zipper and singing soprano down his pant leg.  His forehead became his new waistline.  This dampened Marky’s enthusiasm for low-hung pants, and stunted his emotional growth for years. 

     Since my own emotional growth had been stunted years earlier---by the first day of school---I needed a teacher who could get it moving again; someone who could nurture my wandering mind.  Getting the wrong teacher would mean sucking oxygen through a straw in my underground bunker or spending the rest of the year seeking asylum in the restroom. 

     The suspense would build with the approach of each school year.  It was no different this particular year.

 

 

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AS THE MIND WANDERS - Final segment (Scroll down for earlier segments)

     To shield my eyes from the blinding glare of Mr. Rottenweiler, I tried holing up in the back of the class, behind the tallest and widest student available.  I even offered him money if he could spread out a little wider.            

     Just when I thought I was safe, I heard my name called…“Mr. Maberry, would you please come to the board and solve this problem?”  I had my own problems.  I didn’t need his problems, too.  I wanted to resist, but knew if I hesitated too long Mr. Rottenweiler would probably flush me out with tear gas, or the student in front of me would get riddled with flying chalk, offering his body as a sacrifice on my behalf.  So I made the long, lonely trek to the front of the class, knowing it was going to be a stare-down between me and the blackboard.  I knew the blackboard would win handily, since my mind was on vacation, having left me for dead.   

     In between bouts with the blackboard, I tried to get a pardon.  I got little sympathy. 

     Since Mr. Rottenweiler was the vice principal, I asked him if I could take swats instead of algebra.  “I would be delighted to give you several swats,” he said, “but you’ll still have to take algebra.” 

     I knew I wouldn’t be getting any credit for algebra, so I asked if I could get credit for the swats.  “No,” he said.  “They wouldn’t transfer to another school.”      

     I asked him if I could post bail.  He said, “No, you need to serve your time.”  I thought two weeks in algebra was more than enough time. 

     I asked him when I could see my family.  “When you can solve for x,” he answered.  

     I had enough trouble solving for R…Rottenweiler.  If I was going to solve for x, I would have to put my mind to it.  That wasn’t going to be easy.  First I would have to locate it.  Then I would have to put it to solving for x.  That might be asking too much.    

     After being held captive for over seven months as a P.O.A. (Prisoner of Algebra) under Mr. Rottenweiler, I was beginning to think I would be spending the rest of my life chained to an algebra book. 

     Then the day of reckoning arrived.  I was hunkered down behind my fortress, when I heard a loud, rolling, thunderous voice.  I peeked over the top of my desk.  It was Mr. Red Flag. “Mr. Maberry, here is your report card,” he announced. 

     It was Judgment Day.  My very future was just inside that card.  Would I be granted my release, or would I continue to wander in the xyz wilderness?  My hands trembled as I slowly opened the card.  Peeking inside, I fell back against my desk.  There was just enough grade to allow for my release. 

     My wandering mind had found the courage to return and solve for x.  It had pulled off a coup and rescued me from algebra.  It joined me for the celebration.  I’m surprised it wasn’t awarded the Medal of Valor for heroism. 

     As I left the room and entered the outside world, I heard bands playing and a large crowd cheering.  I shook hands and held babies.  My mind and I were looking forward to a summer of fun. 

     If there would have been a class for wandering minds, I’m sure mine would have been at the head of the class; probably receiving an award of achievement, although, I’m sure I would have had to receive the award in its absence. 

     News flash!  I just received some good news.  A recent study found one of the leading causes of poor grades to be schoolwork.  I’m relieved it was schoolwork and not me.  I’ve finally been vindicated.

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AS THE MIND WANDERS - Segment 3 (Scroll down for earlier segments)

    

    

      ... It wasn’t long before my mind was off on another sightseeing venture.   

     Every so often it would show up in class and startle me.  One day it stopped by my general math class to show me some pictures it had taken while vacationing in Cancun.  While I was looking at the pictures, my counselor stepped into the class and announced, “Mr. Maberry, you need to be in algebra.”  I thought I was being promoted, but my mind was waving a red flag.  Trusting my mind, I felt an evil foreboding.  The future didn’t look bright, either… 

     The next day I found myself sitting in Mr. Rottenweiler’s algebra class.  It wasn’t where I wanted to find myself.  I would have preferred Disneyland. 

     I soon understood the red flag.  It was Mr. Rottenweiler.  He was short, stocky and gruff.  Mixing him with algebra was like throwing a match on gasoline.  Looking around the room, I wondered how many students were there because they had been given the choice; algebra or prison.  I wondered how many had chosen prison. 
 

     I was now a hostage of Mr. Rottenweiler and his algebraic equations.   With little effort, I got off to a rocky start, which worsened with each passing day.  I was soon going downhill at blinding speed.  It was the closest I ever came to a near-death experience.  Mr. Rottenweiler couldn't understand how I could daydream at that speed.  I'm sure he would have been more understanding if he knew the self-discipline it required.

    
     Anyone who was deficient in solving for x faced his wrath.  I was beyond deficient.  I was anemic.  To save myself, I attempted a daring escape, but just as freedom beckoned, I heard someone on a bull horn..."Mr. Maberry, I'm a tutor.  I can help you.  But you must get out of the window, and return to your seat."  

     I tried to convince Mr. Rottenweiler that I wasn’t ready for algebra, and might never be ready, but he just ignored my feigning insanity and the drool running down the front of my shirt.  “Mr. Maberry,” he said, “you can do algebra if you put your mind to it.” 

     First of all, I never knew if my mind was going to be on location.  Secondly, it had to be willing to participate.  Any contact with algebra would often cause it to have spells of dizziness.    

      Dad tried to help.  He bought me a book called Algebra Made Simple.  I would have preferred Campfires Made Simple.  I quickly discovered that the word “simple” was just a teaser to get people to open the book.  I scoured every page, from front cover to back cover.  I found nothing simple.  It had completely disappeared.  I considered bringing in a team of experts, to see if they could locate it, but decided I would have to stand alone against the forces of darkness…algebraic equations.   

 

 

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AS THE MIND WANDERS - Segment 2 (Scroll down for opening segment)

     Although I loved going to school to escape from my dog, school was never my first choice.  It wasn’t my teachers’ first choice for me, either. Most of them didn’t like the fact that my mind and I rarely came to school together.  While I was at school, it would be playing in the irrigation ditch, eating cherries in the cherry tree, or chasing roosters (just a fantasy I had).

     If I could have gotten my mind to come to school more often, I’m certain I could have made the honor roll, although Gramps didn’t think I needed that much to make it.  He was always telling me, “You could make the honor roll if you had half a mind to.”  Unfortunately, I had a hard time getting half a mind to school. 

     When I did, my teacher would tell me, “You could do this work if you would put your mind to it.”  It sounded simple, but putting half a mind to anything is no easy task. 

     My mind and I would try to connect on occasion, but it was usually after school and during the summer.  We rarely connected during class.  This increasingly irritated my teachers.  “Mr. Maberry, has your mind taken another leave of absence?” Mr. Bagley would ask.  “Why don’t you go out in the hall and see if you can find it.”   

     After allowing me sufficient time to scour the hallways, he would call me back into the room.  “Well, Mr. Maberry, did you find it?”

     “No, but I think I can tell you where it is,” I answered.  Now that I had the attention of the entire class, I was ready to drop the bomb. 

     “Wait!” said Mr. Bagley.   “This may call for a school assembly and press release.”  After the uproar died down, he asked, “Okay, where is it?”

     “It’s been kidnapped,” I said.  Everyone stared in disbelief.  After all, who would want my mind; it never stuck around long enough for much good.

     “Who’s the unlucky one?” asked Mr. Bagley.

     “Sally,” I answered. 

     After restoring order to the class, he said, “I think you need to get your mind off Sally and let English captivate your mind.”  I tried, but Sally looked much more captivating. 

 

     It wasn’t long before my mind was off on another sightseeing venture. 

 

 

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