Simile Smile

I taught the Eyos (Eight-Year-Olds) about similes and metaphors. Not only will it help them understand the verbal world better, but I want them to be able to use symbols in their writing. The metaphor lesson will be discussed later, but here’s a little snatch from the simile lesson.

I have found that learning more abstract concepts takes a few days to process. Students can tell me definitions, but the true meaning of those definitions isn’t realized until those application moments that teachers pray for. My simile application moment came during the the daily ritual of smacking around two of my students.

We have a class rule against violence, but there is one exception: the Paper Passers. I have two paper passers that…well…pass out papers. The spoonful of sugar that helps this medicine is the paper passers’ request for a beating. I goes something like this. Mr. Bushman: Paper Passers? Paper Passers: Yes, sir? Mr. Bushman: Come forward. [The paper passers walk to the front of the room. Mr. Bushman looks at paper passer #1 in the face.] Paper Passer #1: Hard. [Mr. Bushman takes half of the papers and hits him/her over the head, then looks to the now-chuckling paper passer #2.] Paper Passer #2: Hard. [Smack. More giggling.]

For the first few weeks, there are three choices. Hard, medium, and soft. As the year goes on, hard becomes very hard, then very, very hard, then super-duper hard. And so on. I am still amazed when little “Florence” asks for a hard smacking. “Florence” can’t project her voice from the third row to my ears. She is extremely shy and does her best to not be noticed for anything–except when she is paper passer. When she is paper passer, her face gets really red, but she still walks to the front of the room, removes whatever hair appliances are making her look so very cute, clutches her eyes closed, then says “Hard.” She doesn’t laugh, but her smile informs me that she won’t be shy forever.

“Jacque” is the kid who is always looking for the boundaries. I like him for this reason. One day, he pulled a fast one. I looked into Paper Passer #1’s face and she said “Very, very, very, VERY, very, very…” and was interrupted by a smack over the head. She joined the class in a hearty chortle. “Jacque” liked his, and so began into his string of verys. I gave Jacque his smack on the head, then he looked up at me and said through his grin “soft.” The class erupted into a chorus of gleeful ohs. As I said, we have a rule against violence, and the only reason I get away with the paper passer beatings is that they ask for it. If a paper passer doesn’t give a request, I just hand him/her the papers and it is over. For “Jacque” to ask for very soft and to get very hard–although it was his full intention–was a violation of our agreement. I took a moment to apologize to “Jacque” and ask for his forgiveness. I put out the idea that I was afraid I might make this mistake again, and so verbally considered abandoning the beatings. This was booed down out of hand. “Jacque” won and so did I.

Then on one fateful day, “Janice” was my paper passer. She got to the front of the room and said “Soft as a feather.” My face lit up. “Did you hear that everyone? Janice just used an excellent simile. Say it again Janice.” Sheepishly, but proudly, Janice repeated her simile and the students gave the obligitory shout out (w00t, w00t). She handed out the paper and we did out math. But now, the precedent was set.

My paper passers continued to say “soft as a feather” for a few times, but it didn’t take long to discover that the value of a metaphor was its novelty. This is when similes were actually understood. They’ve come up with dozens. As hard as a rock, as soft as falling snow, as hard as Arnold (Schwarzenegger–their phonics teacher), as soft as a hair. Time passed and “Jacque” was a paper passer again. He marched up to the front and spoke with the confidence of a saved evangelical:

As medium as a bull!

Becoming Homed

When I first decided to become homeless, I knew that it would require some adjustment. I failed to realize that the return would also require adjustment. I have been homed for months now, but I still catch myself relapsing into my homeless mindset. It is the same kind of feeling that I have when I walk out of the kitchen with a plate of food. I stop and think, “I can’t take this food out of the kitchen. It is against the rules.” Then I realize, that I am an adult now. Mother won’t see me, and even if she did, she wouldn’t disapprove in the slightest. That rule, that principle, that phase is over.

I still catch myself putting on sandals whenever I leave my room. When you live in an automobile, it is good to keep a pair of sandals handy so that leaving the “house” to use the bathroom doesn’t require putting on socks, lacing up shoes, and then repeating the process in reverse a few seconds later. Since the “house” is just one room, it becomes a habit; when I leave the room, I put on sandals. Now that I live in a house, I walk across the room to put on sandals just to go to the bathroom. I have to verbally remind myself, “No, you don’t need sandals just to go next door.” I tell myself, but I still won’t listen.

I remember the giddiness I felt when I first put on a pair of pajamas. I removed one pair of clothing and put on another pair that was designed just for sleeping. Wow. Sleeping clothes! Not only that, but I could both remain standing AND have privacy while doing so. Before it was a choice: either I would change clothes while inside a sleeping bag or I would stand up and wait for no cars to be driving by. And sleeping in a sleeping bag fully clothed gives a new level of meaning to the term frumpy.

One activity that I enjoyed while homeless was the listening of audiobooks. The library has no short supply of them, so I would spend many night getting a bedtime story from Jeffrey Devers, David Sedaris, or some no-name up-and-coming. It was great. When I became homed again, I found “Life of Pi” on my computer hard drive. I was so excited to listen to it again. I spent a few minutes trying to decide if I should put it on CD or copy it onto an MP3 player. The former would be more convenient later, but then I would have a stack of CD to carry around until…wait a minute. I had to shake myself. Why not just listen to it? Go ahead, just play it. I double-clicked on the first chapter and sat back to listen. I had forgotten that I could have recreation time in a place that didn’t have a steering wheel.

Then there was the day that I went clothes shopping. I wanted to make a good impression on the parents of my first crop of students. I knew that I would need some respectable clothes. Earlier that month, I had been putting the finishing touches on a play that I had been working on. I was volunteering at a homeless shelter. I had been working with several homeless children at a summer school program, but since the program shut down, these kids had no where to go. I decided to put on a play and use these homeless children as the cast and crew. One step to putting on the play was getting costumes. I had made an arrangement with Deseret Industries to have black T-shirts and denim pants given to every child that didn’t already own such. I felt like Santa Claus on the day that I delivered them. There were slim pickins at D.I. when I went there, so a few of the boys had to were girls’ shirts. They didn’t care. They were so grateful to have a real costume. And then there was me. I went into a mall and purchased $200 worth of clothes in 30 minutes. When I got out to my car I felt sick inside. Why do I get so much? I called my brother right away and he talked me through some cognitive re-framing exercises to mitigate my guilt. That was over a year ago. I haven’t purchased jeans from a mall since.

Yes, coming back was difficult. I still find myself choking on the excess and gluttony with which I am surrounded and involved. Life is simpler without. Sometimes I wonder how much I have reverted back into apathy. But a few days ago, I got home from work after a long day to discover that the power had gone out in my part of the city. Life wasn’t much different that night from any other night. When the power came back on, I didn’t change what I was doing. I didn’t catch myself saying “Finally!” or “Thank goodness!” Instead, it just happened.

To me, that was evidence that you can put a boy in a house, but you can’t make him homed.

Super Powers

Even though I think that the convenience market is way out of control, I must admit that I have a place in my heart that absolutely adores infrared sensors.

As I child, I would lay in bed and put my full concentration into turning off the lights with the power of positive thinking. Minute after minute of scrunching up my face and trying to will the lights off resulted in nothing but disappointment. How do the Jedi do it?

Now that I am an adult, I am surrounded by devices that dry the eyes of the disappointed child. I still get excited when I activate an automatic grocery store door opener. The paper towel dispensers at my school operate only after waving my hand in front of them. So, of course, I wave my hand as if I were using a Jedi mind-trick to overpower the dispenser–the force of my will demands that paper products be provided. Auto-sinks, hand-dryers, and motion sensors all give me a sense of childhood delight. I allow myself to believe that there is something about ME that makes these devices work. If you watch me closely, you will probably notice some subtle body language to support this claim. Watch my eyebrows and the pacing of my strides. Those are the biggest giveaways.

I wish I could say that it is embarrassing to admit, but it isn’t. I don’t mind being a Jedi.

Closet Sandwich

I know it is a good day when I find a sandwich waiting for me in my classroom closet.

This sandwich inaugurates me into a new class of citizenship.  I am now a long term, moderately aggressive investor who considers domestic and global mutual funds which are diversified and rebalanced annually.  I know it’s true because the guy who left me the sandwich said so.

So there.

Disappointment

Walking into a drafty old classroom only to realize that you have to turn on the heater or else other people will complain.

The Itch

I saw a van for sale today. $250. I got this feeling…

The van was parked outside of the end of semester Utah State University “yard sale.” The University sells a bunch of stuff that it isn’t going to use anymore, so I like to stop in and see what cool stuff they’ve got. (Incidentally, I spent seventy-five cents on used office supplies.)

I looked at the sticker on the windshield of the van. $250; sold as-is. Awesome. I looked in through the window of the full sized van. There were two bucket seats in the front, a center bench, and the rest was open space. That’s when I felt The Itch.

I just finished having a conversation with friend of mine about a Christmas dilemma that I am facing. I don’t want stuff for Christmas this year, but I don’t know how to explain that to my family. If I say “please don’t get me anything,” they still will. The problem is, they will be left to their own imaginations to find out what I want. They will buy me something for my personal life or my classroom, neither of which will be very valuable to me. I have what I need. Most anything else would just get in the way. On the other hand, if I tell them, “I don’t want anything, but if you MUST get me something, please get me this and this and that”, then they will listen more to the second part and not the first. What’s a brother to do?

So, here I sit in my eerily bare bedroom, typing this message. My room is WAY to big for me. I don’t have enough stuff to fill up a room. If only my landlord would let me rent out the closet like I offered, he could make more money, and I could have a more appropriately sized living quarters. All I really need is an area about the size of the back of a van.

I’ve been homed (home-ed) now for four months now. It’s terribly boring. So when I see a “mobile home” on sale for $250, my mind starts racing. I pay more than $250 for rent. I could convert one month of rent money into a home that would last for a year at least. I have a nice enough car that I could just park the van wherever I liked and live there at nights. I have plenty of connections. I could park it in Paradise (the city, and the state of being) by Georgianne’s place. I could park it at Rich’s farm. I could park it on Pat’s property. I wouldn’t even need to register it and use it as a van. It would be a tent that would be weather sealed against the rain and snow. Awesome.

One of the big reasons I bought my convertible was to discourage me from living out of my car again. In all, I have lived in a Lincoln Towncar, a Mazda 626, a Pontiac Trans Sport, and a Chevy Blazer. It is just too easy to be homeless. I had to find something that couldn’t protect me from a Logan winter. I thought the convertible would protect me from The Itch. I was wrong.

I got huge paycheck this month, and I have a Christmas bonus on it’s way, so buying the van wouldn’t affect my budget. I could keep the room I rent and STILL be a homeless guy. You know, just on weekends and holidays. I could have an easy place to shower on Sunday, but still have the simplicity of homelessness. This way, I could be “in the home” but not “of the home.” I could honestly tell people that I am not homeless, but I could still live the homeless way.

I know that I shouldn’t think about it. But every now and then, I just feel The Itch–a call from the other side of the hill, reminding me how green I feel when I am homeless.

Maybe I should go camping this weekend.