What is wrong with this picture?

My grandson is 5 years old and over 4 feet tall. He weighs 76 pounds and is not fat. He’s a big boy with a 5 year old rapidly developing brain. He’s as tall as most kids 2-3 years older than him and at first glance; everyone thinks he acts like a “5 year old” instead of his supposed age. Many of the children in his kindergarten class are a year older and at this stage of development, that is considerable. Recognizing his future starting school, I advised him to explain to his teacher on the first day, “I am easily distracted, so I would like to be placed on the front row.”

I also explained that school can be a lot of fun if a student zips their mouth, opens their eyes and ears, and does their homework. All the actions and philosophy I described are repeated on a regular basis. On his first day of school he got a yellow mark for disrupting the class by talking. Now months into the school year, he battles with this same problem of talking or standing up or some such problem due mostly to his age and the fact that – gasp! He’s a boy and a hands-on child to boot. He likes to handle everything and this is not uncommon..

When he came in with the yellow mark after day one, I asked if he had explained to his teacher his issue of being distracted and he said he had. I asked what their reply was and he told me, “She said I was too tall and moved me to the back of the room.” Now months later he is still anywhere but where he asked to be seated and it is a 50-50 chance he will score below the acceptable green mark on behavior.

Now I am the oldest of 4 boys and there is nothing in his behavior that is outside of normality for a kid his age. He is active yes and will never be the kid that sits quietly for hours and does nothing to be noticed. The teacher did my grandson, herself, and every kid in the class a disservice by not listening to him on day one.

Now some may point out that a kid’s behavior is directly proportional to the teaching they get at home and years ago before experience taught me otherwise, I would agree with them. Ask any cop of preacher if their daughter or son is a bastion of righteous decisions and they’ll spew coffee, soda, or water all over you when they explode in laughter.

I’m not a doctor or therapist, but I think many of our boys are over-medicated to keep them from being boys and we refuse to think this child of ours needs help from pills. He has more energy than many and taking recess away from him because he won’t sit down in class is the direct opposite of what he needs.

Back in the day if a kid couldn’t sit still they would send them to the football coach and he would run the kid inside the gym for 10 minutes. The same went if fisticuffs broke out. The coach would have the boys put on boxing gloves and after that; they would become best of friends. These days the parents are fined a chunk of money and nothing is resolved. Its called zero tolerance and keeps liabilities at a minimum since no one is to blame for correcting the child.

 

When graduation from kindergarten finally arrives, my grandson will still be just 5 years old. Of course he will be 8 inches taller than the other kids when he begins 1^st grade and it is my prayer that this teacher will listen to his request.

In the past I have made it clear that I am for empowering our educators and bringing back a certain amount of curriculum control aside from State and Federal dictates. I have not changed this one bit, but like the football coach of old, I would rather see these high activity kids do exercise than be herded like cats or some pat formula cover all students alike.

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Brains versus brawn, you decide!

When I was a young man, I was athletic and I didn’t realize it. I just did athletic things better than a lot of other kids. I was unusually strong also. I was the oldest of 4 sons and when I was in the 6^th grade; my Dad gave me a 6 pound shot put as a gift. Living on a Michigan corn farm, I had no idea what to do with it, but I threw it around the yard, like kids did back before video games and other senseless and lazy current activities.

Ford Motor Company was embracing a new program named Punt,Pass, and Kick and like the other kids, I signed up for it at school. Now mind you, my dad was what was commonly called, a job shopper and as a tool and die maker he went where the money was and this meant we moved a lot - a whole lot. This was another reason I had no idea where I was in the athletic pecking order.

Consequently, we were the new kids on the block everywhere we went. What this means is you have no real deep connection with the kids at school and feel like a misplaced alien at every school. When the day came for the competition, I naturally wanted to chicken out, feeling like I didn’t measure up to the local kids.

My mom, in all her wonderful wisdom wouldn’t have that and forced me to go to the Dundee Michigan high school and compete. Now mind you, I was in the 6^th grade and although they had categories, the grand champ would get the prized varsity jacket which truth be told would fit a 16-18 year old athlete. Well, when the scores were finalized, I beat them all and walked away with a jacket that wouldn’t fit me for 4 years.

I was shocked, but this re-enforced the idea that the way to success was to be a very good athlete. I couldn’t have been more wrong. The way to success is making very good grades in school. We moved all over the place and I never played football, but found out that I was also very good at baseball.  In Woodstock Georgia, I made the All-star roster as a shortstop. Back then kid’s dad’s coached the team and although I could catch anything that was hit my way, and throw like Ken Caminiti, my accuracy was less than what it could have been.  I simply needed better coaching and didn’t get it.

Unbelievably, I flunked the 9^th grade. My acting up in English class allowed the teacher to flunk me by one point and our constant traveling made Algebra a foreign language. Well, I was of the mind that nothing really mattered except doing athletics and smoking cigarettes and being cool. Stupid times 100. The single best thing that happened to me was flunking and my decision to go to summer school. Back in 1967, it was something like $68 for the summer course and my Mom told me I had to pay for it and I did by working at the local Tastee Freeze every evening.  I think it took my paycheck for the entire summer too.

6 weeks later, I came out of the class with an A and a whole new understanding on school. 6 books on the must ready to enter college list and 6 book reports later, I realized that school was a whole lot more fun when you did your homework and actually knew the answers on the pop-tests. School is fun when you have learned to study and know the answers! What a revelation for a jock! What a revelation for any student.

I never stopped reading books after failing the 9^th grade. Those kids we made fun of who were terrible at sports became our bosses. Joking and skipping classes by jocks was simply making a path that later on put us in the lowest of low jobs. That fat nerdish kid with glasses runs the bank that we borrow from. That is probably a poor example, but you get the idea.

 

Jocks don’t run things, it’s the nerds. It’s the Steve Job’s, Mark Zuckerberg’s, Bill Gates’, Warren Buffet’s, and Donald Trumps’ that do. The only chance an athlete has is to be an Emmitt Smith or JJ Watt – or to have the brains to get a degree along the way that can make them money when their bodies fail and they do fail more times than not.

Think about this when you are pushing your kid to excel in sports over everything else. Nerds rule. They always have; they always will. Teach your kids to read.  Teach your kids to love books. Books and their imagination will take them places no ball could ever possibly emulate.

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Where did they miss it?

I have a reoccurring thought about past school mates.  It is a generalization on a grand scale and for the most part, no one in particular is identified.  I went to a lot of different schools in many states, so I am fairly detached and frankly don’t remember many of them.  But that is not what I ponder.

The thought usually drifts in when I watch people behave poorly.  Sadly, this is almost daily.  I wonder how they got from being a well behaved student sitting next to me in the 3^rd grade to the obnoxious person they are now.  Why do some kids “get it” and others don’t is a real mystery to me.  Why do most people go through school, learn the ropes, adjust to behaving properly and some miss it by a mile?  That is what I don’t understand.

This past week I witnessed one of the most illogical and irresponsible acts I’ve seen in some time.  A man and a woman in a white Chevy 4X4 pick-up were driving on the Blue Heron Park Hike/Bike Trail.  My bride and grandson were circling the pond on a bike when I spotted the couple.  Of course I confronted them and the man told me, “We are squirrel hunting…”and they had a firearm of some sort.

Now it has been raining for about 2 weeks and the ground is soft, so when I declared I was calling the cops, they lit out of there, sending mud and grass straight up in the air.  They drove down the 10-foot wide hiking trail toward Barkuloo Park partially on and partially off leaving more ruts.  They drove right past the sign that declares no motorized vehicles are allowed and into the Chaparral Village subdivision.

Now where were these people when the rest of us were learning to read?  Where were they when deductive reasoning should have taught that squirrel hunting at 3pm on a city park walking trail with a firearm wasn’t a logical option?  How could they possibly justify driving a full-sized truck across a city park and rutting it up for their fellow citizens?  Wouldn’t it have been legal to actually park in the parking lot on Blue Heron and walk into the woods?  Well, then there is the rifle issue and the fact that the woods are private property to consider.

Two weeks ago on a Saturday morning, I was running at Blue Heron Park when I heard a car pulling a disturbing stunt over in Walter Jenkins Park.  The maneuver is called “drifting” and involves smoking the tires for a long period of time while going in circles.  It continued for about 5 minutes, despite the fact that the car had a definite miss in one of the cylinders.  I imagined daddy was paying for those tires, as the character was peeling the rubber off at an alarming rate.

For the column, I measured the distance in Google Earth and I was a half mile away and it sounded like I was right there.  I’ve seen evidence of this activity in Jenkins Park before and knew exactly what the guy was doing.  Where was he when the rest of us learned not to do things like this?  Did he miss normal behavior ethics growing up?  At what point in his life did he decide the rules didn’t apply to him and the whole neighborhood would see him as a super star?

Another oddity I’ve observed over the years is how a meek and well-behaved man or woman turns into Don Rickles when they get behind the steering wheel of a car or truck.  They become arrogant and inconsiderate and yes, sometimes angry.  They cut you off without a second thought, tailgate, and zoom past you only to slam on the brakes and turn.

I think I would like to go back to any single classroom I sat in and look at where each person went and accomplished.  I’m sure it would be both an amazing study and probably a tragic one also.  Some ugly ducklings would become beauties, while other very promising school mates would crash and burn.  Some would blossom and become success stories and wonderful model citizens.  The kid who had it all might end up in prison or be killed in war.  Most of all though, I would witness their social transformation and the underlying causes.

Aw, phooey; I can’t regulate anyone’s behavior except my own.  I can vocally react to bad behavior all day long, or I can choose to take the higher road of keeping my cool and doing the right thing. Yea, that’s what I’ll do, but I can’t stop wondering about those school kids around me.
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Resisting a Bully – Part Two

 I am still in contact with a good number of student friends in North Georgia through a mailing list I started about 12 years ago at the urging of my sister and a classmate.  We call ourselves Friends Forever and on this list is a fellow named Alan Dempsey.  Alan was always like an older brother to me when I lived there, a welcome change from the extremely anti-Yankee attitude that prevailed at the time.  He was also a real charmer of the ladies and this, of course made him the target of every jealous boyfriend.

Alan was also a scrapper and although you couldn’t find a nicer guy, he seemed to always be getting in fights and was pretty danged good at defending himself.  Back in 1967, if you were caught fighting, a number of things were going to happen, but none of them involved dragging your parents to debtors prison, like is common today.  First, you were going to get “pops” or a paddling and you may end up going to the gym and putting on boxing gloves and get pops from the coach to boot.  In extreme cases of multiple acts of fisticuffs, you could get suspended or even expelled permanently.

The last time I saw Alan before we moved from Georgia, he was running across the breezeway and his face was bloody.  He stopped long enough to tell me he had just successful “beat the fire out of someone,” and kept going, fearing he would get pops.  Knowing Alan like I do, I can pretty much tell you the fight was by a jealous boyfriend.  Alan wrote on our mailing list today, asking for more details of the fight I wrote about last week, so here it is:

 Alan, it was Eldridge Bentley.  Someone had (reportedly) paid him $10 to beat me up, and then go after my younger brother.  I was his first target and in 3rd hall talking to a pretty girl when I saw a large crowd coming.  Eldridge was in the lead and the oddest thing was I had missed the bus and rode to school with him that morning in his car and we had arrived early, easily beating the long bus ride of 20 miles.  He was very strong and I was a full grown young man and he grabbed me by the front of the shirt and partially lifted me off the ground.  My back was to the edge of the lockers and he said "Me and you are gonna fight."

 I said, "Okay, but what for?"  I'll never forget his answer, "That's none of your danged business," and he hit me.  I bounced back into the corner between the locker and the wall and landing back on him, I wrapped my left arm around his neck and popped him in the face as hard as I could, maybe 6-10 times before he laid a wicked and wild hay-maker on the side of my jaw.  His thumb went under my jaw, hooking it and cutting my neck while breaking his thumb and wrist.

 It took me a few days and the help of a witness to figure out what happened when he hit me the second time.  The strike turned my head and I slammed my nose into the corner of the locker and I remember being on the floor trying to get up, but not going down.  I laid there for what seemed like a minute as my head spun, but was probably closer to five and in the meantime, the bell had sounded and first period already started.

 I got up slowly and I remember staring at the pool of blood on the tile.  I looked to my right and the teacher was in plain view, but to this day, I can't tell you her name, again a product of moving from school to school.  I gathered up my books and went to my desk.  My face and shirt were bloody and I couldn't breathe through my nose, as I thought it was broken.  No one looked at me and the room was very quiet. 

Now, let me back up a bit.  A week before this happened another muscular bully insulted me in front of Mr. Crockett's classroom in the hallway and again I was talking to a pretty girl.  I was in 10th grade and he was in the 9th and he also played football.  Seems like his name was Bobby something, maybe my brother remembers.  He said something really vulgar and I asked him what he said, as I had had enough, but being a Yankee from Ohio in North Georgia in 1967 made me lay pretty danged low, as there were just too many people who wouldn't mind seeing the Civil War end with a Rebel yell.

The fellow, who lifted weights and looked impressive, smacked me hard in the face and I was always under the ignorant belief that you let the other guy actually hit you before you fought back.  I threw my books to the side and hit him with a left, then a hard right as he went off-balance and I knocked him onto the floor on his back in front of everyone.  To my surprise, he grabbed up his books and took off and I grabbed mine and hurried into Mr. Crockett’s class before he arrived. Mr. Crockett was known for his ability to lift grown high school boys off the ground with his paddle and it was his answer for every altercation.

 I now believe this was the impetus for the Bentley fight.  The rest of that story I’ve already told and the odd thing was, I never got in another fight at Cherokee High School and everyone who was afraid of Eldridge Bentley steered clear of me and this is why you always resist a bully.  They only feed upon the weak.

My brother sent me this note:  “The kids name was Bobby Croft. I think he thought if he whipped you he would be some kind of hero. After the Eldridge Bentley fiasco, I was fishing at the little creek down from our house and Eldridge came along with his pole and sat by me. He told me what inspired him to fight that day. Our redneck neighbor from North Carolina, Mr. Lott offered him $5 apiece as a bounty to beat us up. Eldridge never got paid and he was sorry that he took the offer. He was the starting tailback on the football team and that ended his playing. I was walking in the 9th grade hall when I suddenly was picked off the ground from behind by the back of my shirt. Eldridge wanted to know where you were as he was going to go kick your butt and then come back for me. By the time I got over where you were Eldridge had already been there.”

Am I advocating fist fighting in school?  No.  I am advocating standing up for yourself and this may include learning to defend yourself, but it will for sure call for an adjustment of your attitude and that only comes by confidence, careful planning, or anger.  The pen is indeed mightier than the sword, so friends, choose your path wisely.

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