Honestly

So this isn't meant to fulfill the assigned blog post, it's pensamientos based on the idea of bringing truth into fiction. So I'll try to expose myself but heaven knows how it'll go. I'm writing true stories because that seems the best way to start. So... this isn't a full story by any account. I'm still learning, poco a poquito.

The new Physical Education teacher was called Dr. Gonzales. No, not Mr. Gonzales, he was sure to point out. This man was far above par as far as elementary PE teachers go, and don't you dare forget it. We'd power walk down to the lower field for kickball, making sure never to run lest we hurt ourselves- power walking was one of those fantastic hobbies they must teach you about in order to get you from "mister" to "doctor," and what a relief it must have been for those administrators to see orderly lines of power walking second graders in contrast with the reckless runners we'd been in previous years. Down at the field, we'd divide into boys and girls- it would have been entirely unfair to require the poor little girls to play against a more talented gender, but don't worry now, you were born that way. So we'd divide the field in half and learn to play nice and support our team. If anyone was tired, they could sit out and watch. We wouldn't want children to be uncomfortable during their physical activities now would we? They might get a bad impression of it all- avoid joining sports in the future. Best let us rest.

I have trouble working sarcasm or any sort of irony into writing, I'll work on that. In the end of this story, Erin decides that conventional sports are not for her and goes from Irish dancing to horseback riding to running in order to maintain some level of physical activity, but does not enjoy a PE class ever again. In another equally true ending to this story, some classmates decide in fourth or fifth grade that we will write a petition about this teacher, deliver it to the principal, and then have an extremely uncomfortable conversation during which the principal asked us to discuss with Dr. Gonzales directly about what we felt he was doing wrong, as she sat and watched. That was pretty awkward.

So I could write a story that takes place more recently but I worry a bit because at a certain point it switches from an attempt at an honest account to a lot of gossip, and I am not a fan of gossip. Hmm

Michael says he doesn't want to waste his money traveling.

"Waste?" I ask him, putting my toe up against a fence to stretch my calf. He keeps stretching his quad and just kind of stares at me, like I'm so naive not to understand this.

"Well yeah, I have to pay tuition and room and board and food and..." he trails off, as if it's a long list. I know better.

"College and what?" I ask. If he's going to treat me like I don't get it, I'll act like it. He can try explaining his excuses to himself in simple terms.

"Just college," he says, "but that's a lot of money. I don't have time to spend my summers on the Mediterranean. I have a job you know." I know he doesn't mean it with any offense, that he honestly thinks teaching kids math day after day will do him more good than experiencing a new culture, that he's only saying this because he needs to reassure himself that the job signifies him becoming a mature adult, thinking for himself, making his own decisions. I swear to myself that I will never try to prove my maturity by resorting to the mundane.

"I'm not saying you have to go right now," I say, ignoring his comment on the Mediterranean. "What about next year? You don't already have a job for next summer. You could go somewhere completely new, like Cambodia."

He switches to his IT band. "I'll still have to pay for college next year..."
"So what, you won't go anywhere for the next four years? What about after that, when you get a job? It's easier to travel when you're young you know"

"I have a job," he reminds me. "Four years isn't that long, I'll have plenty of time for adventure after that. It's not like I'm in my eighties. Besides, college is enough adventure for me."

 This is why Michael and I can never quite get along. Enough adventure? I think. Does anyone ever have enough adventure? I stretch my hamstring to keep myself from giving him bad looks- it's hard to roll your eyes when your head is upside down. "A real job," I say. I've given up trying not to offend him. "You think suddenly you'll get out of college and have a ton of time and money? You think your first job will give you a month of leave so you can learn another language in another part of the world? What if you go to grad school? What if your first job isn't perfect? What if you never find a perfect job? Plenty of people don't, you know. Will you just keep putting off adventure until you think you have everything else right? You never will- and I don't mean that offensively, I mean nobody ever has everything right. But it seems a little silly, doesn't it? Giving up excitement in order to find the ideal balance of boring?"

"I am not giving up excitement forever just because I can't afford to spend a month in a third world country this summer." Michael is indignant. "And yes, I might very well get a Master's or a PhD. I'm sorry if you can't appreciate the educational opportunities offered in conventional systems like, I don't know, the entire system of American universities." He spits out the words conventional and American, as if I have degraded them without a second thought. "You really can't accept that there is any merit in going to one of the best schools in the country?"

I do a frog, that uncomfortable quad stretch I learned in Irish dancing years ago. "Of course I can," I say, "and getting some of the best jobs in the country, and being a hard working American with a comfortable salary and a delightful wife and all the workplace freedom you could ask for and... by that point you won't want to travel will you? By that point, you'll be so convinced you have it right that you'll decide to have children! Oh joy of joys!" A part of me prays that he is tuning me out, but now that I've gotten myself started I have to finish. "And then once your children are half grown and you've been sitting at home and in a cubicle for ten years because nobody really enjoys traveling with children, it'll hit you that your life has no meaning and you'll wonder what might have happened if you'd started searching for adventure in your youth instead of letting your life waste away for twenty or thirty years as you gain raises and recognition that don't matter..."

Michael looks at his watch. "I have to go tutor," he says

"Have to?" I ask. I need to stop messing with him, he's a good kid.

He rolls his eyes and puts his sweats in his athletic bag. "I enjoy working, I enjoy tutoring these kids, I enjoy learning in a normal classroom, I enjoy aspiring to higher and higher goals without changing everything that I am, I enjoy talking to normal people. Excuse me while I zip up my mundane athletic bag but I really should get going to my conformist car... want a ride? It's on the way."

"It's a nice walk," I say, leaving through the back gate. Besides, I like hopping the fence.

Of course it didn't happen just like that, and of course I have more respect for Michael than I give him credit for in the story. And yeah, he knows the story's on here. I wasn't expecting that story to run so longgg. I'm not sure about the stretching though, it seems like it only fits some of the time. And that's the best ending I could figure out, but I've never been good with conclusions. I have more real life stories but that's enough for one post, and hopefully I'll have aquired some technique and a better sense of voice by the time I write the next few.