Irony

27 September, 13

My life is pretty ironic sometimes. It has a tendency to go the opposite way that I thought it would go, sort of like a bottle rocket, whose stick has been removed. The less I think, the more opposite the rocket's trajectory. You light it, throw it and hope for the best, which, when I was a kid, would be that it hits somebody else. We didn't have a whole lot of options for recreation in Hartsville. There's a blog in there somewhere...

Take Spanish for instance. I have had exactly two school years of formal training in Spanish. Actually that is not correct. I have had two school years, less a few weeks of suspension from school. Way back in high school, I really saw no need for something as useless and, frankly, stupid as a foreign language. Look to your left. Look to your right. If you live in America, we all speak English. Especially back in the 80's. I already shared with you how rare it was to spot a Yankee in my town. Foreigners from other countries were downright exotic. I remember we had one exchange student, a boy from Mexico. We thought it was the best thing since sliced bread to teach him bad words. He left after one semester. You just can't beat good raising.

So when the two rivers of my life, that being curiosity and rebellion, converged at Spanish class, I found ample opportunity to flood the banks of propriety and wreak havoc on the landscape. I feel sorry for those teachers. They had no idea what was coming, and they acted appropriately by kicking me out of the classroom so many times. One time, the teacher kicked me out at the beginning of class. I said, "What did I do wrong?" She replied, "Nothing, but I know you will, so get out."

My Spanish name was El Salvador, because of the war in that country at the time. In 10th grade, I just kind of spoke out of turn. Eleventh Grade was a breakout year for me. Louis Cook and I turned the classroom into a freeform performance theater. He would stand on top of his desk, while the teacher was turned around. He never got in trouble, because his mama was the math teacher at school. I stole the sacapunta, or pencil sharpener, off the wall. The teacher knew I did it, but she couldn't prove it, so every time somebody would say they needed to use the sacapunta, she would tell them to borrow it from me.

One day, we had a fiesta and the class cooked some South American dishes to eat outside. A real treat. Well, the teacher saw fit to take punitive action against me by not allowing me to go outside. I was left all by myself in the room. Curiosity and rebellion began raging against the sides. Chili powder found its way into my view. In a moment of culinary inspiration, I sprinkled it around the entire perimeter of the classroom, and the bell rang for the next class. The next class met outside as well, because they couldn't breathe inside.

After one suspension, I met with the principal and my mama. He asked me whether I could now behave in that class, to which I replied, "No, I don't think so." Incorrigible.

Now I am in Spain. My Spanish grammar is atrocious. On one trip to Nicaragua with Stop Hunger Now, we had a translator. When I would speak Spanish, he would translate my Spanish into Spanish. It's that bad.

I wasn't ready to learn. I did not have a proper perspective. I lived my whole life, to that point, deep within a canyon, and I could not see above the walls. Once I emerged from the canyon, then I realized how foolish I had been to not take advantage of such an incredible opportunity. Now I am trying to lift my kids out of their respective canyons to give them a better view of the world. Hopefully they will grasp a root at the edge and pull themselves the rest of the way out. The vistas are incredible.