School Daze

 

It's that time of year again.  Back To School.  It was, believe it or not, one of my fondest memories about school.  It wasn't the actual return, although the idea of reuniting with friends and forming new comraderies was nice, the part I enjoyed most, was the anticipation of the return.  Like the countdown of a clock, the excitement would grow.

I grew up on a farm outside the city, so summer vacation was quite limited, unlike the kids who grew up in the city.  I didn't have a neighbour two or three doors down that I could hang out with all summer.  My closest friend lived about five or six miles down the highway.  Biking to his house would later become an option, but as a youngster, it wasn't safe to venture down the highway alone, even back then.  So my summer vacations were comprised of pretty much staying home and entertaining myself.

When the prospect of returning to school began to permeate, it was an exciting premise.  Reuniting with schoolmates, seeing some new faces, forming new friendships.  Playing games and having fun with actual people and not just in my own head.  The one aspect that I found more enjoyable than this, however, was the shopping for school supplies.  It was a joy that continues to this day.

Recently, I found myself in the stationary aisle at one of the big box stores, my eyes focused and scanning the many shelves and hooks at all the wondrous items.  Hundreds of pen styles and colourful markers.  Even today, I continue to buy shit, storing them all in a basket in my home office, rarely even opening them to use.  I have stuff, here, that I've paid good money for, stored away and have never looked at since it's purchase, except only to remind myself that I have it, when I go searching for another item.  When Target closed up their stores, I went in there and cleaned house.  I bought a shit-ton of discounted items, which I then stored up in my home office and haven't laid eyes on since.  Pens, paper, markers, rulers, paint, staples, paperclips...  You name it, there's a chance that I may have it.

When I was a kid, the joy was the same.  Books, binders, loose leaf, crayons, etcetera.  It was crazy.  Crazy cool and crazy fun.  I felt that the choice in scribblers and binders would define me as a person.  Help me standout from the crowd.  Make me special, perhaps.  Maybe another student may admire me or be impressed by something that I had, that they did not.  I was hoping to be admired, I think.

We never had a lot of money when I was growing up, so I appreciated everything that I got.  However, the year I was allowed to have the 48pk of Crayola's, I was over the moon with excitement.  I felt like a Rockefeller.  Striding into school with my bag of goodies and unpacking my bounty for all to see.  Anticipating the excitement of the neighbouring child looking over and reveling the appearance of the illustrious 48pk of crayons, which shadowed their pitiful 12 or 24pk crayons.  The very children who should have showered me with glory, instead commented on my 48pk, saying, "Those are nice, but have you seen Scott's 64pk of crayons?"  Suddenly, the wind had suddenly disappeared and stopped filling my sails.  I was foiled by the new kid.

Scott was the new kid.  He had arrived in school late the previous spring, but all-in-all, he was still the "new" kid, as there wasn't anyone newer to replace him.  Scott had come to our school the previous year, arriving on a day when I was at home sick.  When I came to school, I asked to play with a friend, who told me NO, telling me that the "new kid was more fun".  That damaged my fragile ego as a seven year old.  After that initial shock, I felt like I was having to catch up and continued to feel that way for a very long time.  I never became friends with Scott.  I don't know if it were out of resentment or if it was just that he was a cocky little shit.  To this day, I couldn't give you a definitive answer.

Scott's family had migrated from Europe.  One of the Scandinavian countries.  I can't remember which one, but he did bring his father's wooden shoes to Show-And-Tell one time, so whichever country that was.  His family had money, obviously, because the 64pk of Crayola's was not cheap.  It was the package that had the pencil sharpener in the back so your crayons would always perform at their pique best.

I was always a shy kid, so anytime I thought I could be special and liked by the other children, was a positive thing, but when I continued to get shit on and foiled by those who would eventually come to bully me, school wasn't all that much fun.  I can't imagine the enormous pressure kids must have nowadays.  What with social media and all that other bullshit.  I had it easy by comparison.  In some ways, though, I still feel like that shy little boy who wanted nothing more than to be liked and make friends.  These days, I have a few friends.  Not many that I spend an evening with socially.  Time, family and distance has all but robbed me of those joys.  I still cherish every single relationship that I've made.  Wish I could see some people more.  Share some laughs.

That's kind of how I view some of these new jobs that I've started.  I size people up and wonder, if we'll be friends.  Go out and see a movie or something...  So far, it's a no go, but at least I have some that remain by my side.  Give me the support that I need, for which I thank them all.

Holy shit!!  Can you imagine the dreams being crushed by the kid who brings this incredible collection of pencil crayons to school? 😬

Flight of the Bumblebee

 

It's been said that a bumblebee should not be able to fly.  The span of it's little wings, is too small to actually allow the insect to gain flight, yet every spring and throughout the summer months, the bumblebee can be seen flying all about, gathering nectar from the flowers and trees and spreading it's seed throughout the neighbourhood.  The insect should not, by scientific terms, be able to fly, yet it does, the reason sloughed off, citing "It flies because it doesn't know any better."

Growing up, I had all kinds of dreams of what I wanted to be when I grew up.  At a young age, I had a million ideas running through my head as to what a young Jeff could become in the world.  Dreams at such a young age, can be priceless.  Many people, wanna be a police officer or a cowboy or even an astronaut.  I never had any dreams like those.  Mine were more, I don't know, for the age bracket, they were dreams that were a little outside the norm, but if endorsed or guidance would have been provided by a parent at such an age, who knows the prominence one might achieve in life.

At a young age, I remember drawing a lot.  I was always drawing up buildings and alike.  I can remember receiving compliments from people, my mom included, encouraging me to make more pictures.  One friend of the family even mentioned "You're going to make a fine architect one day."  I'd never heard that word, architect, before and began telling everyone that I was going to grow up to be an architect.  Until another family member, likely my father, but my mom had an equal hand in discouraging me from some things, like this.  Until about twenty minutes ago, I thought their intensions were malicious, but it may have just been their way of protecting me from disappointment in life.  Either way, we'll never know.

I remember wanting to be an architect, but was told there was too much science involved and I wouldn't be good at it.  I wanted to be an actor (not a movie star, like so many kids say), but I was told that I had a face for radio, not a TV screen.  I may have even mentioned that I wanted to try out for football (real football 🏈, not that soccer bullshit), but I was told I was too small and would probably be killed.  That last one sounds legitimate, actually.  I would not fair too well against those mastodons.

At one point, I actually went off to collage to study Film History and Production.  I was one of the first first year students to get into that film production class, as it was usually held over for second year students, at the University of Regina.  A terrible school for studying the artform as their equipment was obsolete, even then.  After applying to many schools, the University of Regina was the only school I could get into.  It was a wasted year, to say the least.  What I do recall from that era, was my dad introducing me to one of his friends or family members, including the fact that "Jeff is in university for..." he paused, glancing over at me, "I don't know.  Some kind of bullshit." He rolled his eyes with true embarrassment and I turned away, heartbroken.

I never returned to school the following year.  The University of Regina was a lost cause.  I knew that, but lacked the resources to go to a better school, but a year of neglect and shitty grades, would've prevented that, anyway.

I often wonder about the road not taken.🤔What if this? What if that? What if? What if? What if?

What if my parents had embraced my ideas as a young pup?  Steer me in the direction of honing my skills to help shape me and better prepare me for the disappointments that were sure to follow me in my quest for betterment.

What would be different?  Everything.  Would I be in a better place?  Who the f*ck knows?  Chances are I wouldn't have the great friends and acquaintances that I do.  While not the picturesque friendships that movies and TV would have, but they're awesome people, all the same.  I definitely wouldn't have my boy, Monkey.  I can't imagine a life without that furry little face staring up at me.

Nature versus Nurture is a common debate.  Nature dictates that a being is already wired for a certain behavior.  That it's a natural instinct to follow a certain path in life, without any outside influence.  Nurture suggests that if a being is influenced by an outside factor or it's environment, that it can be coerced or guided into a life path.

I don't recall receiving much praise or support from my family growing up.  I was an accidental pregnancy, while my sister was not and boy, was I reminded of that fact much throughout my young life.

My dad was an alcoholic.  Later in life, after he had passed, I came to peace with the whole ordeal.  I call it "Jeckyll and Hyde".  When my dad was sober, he was the best.  When he was drunk..., look the f*ck out.  Maybe, and I'm just surmising here, but perhaps because I was an accidental pregnancy and viewed as "the reason his life was shit", is the reason, subconsciously, that my life was somewhat sabotaged as an infant.  That's just being passive aggressive.  Blaming others for my own shortcomings, but wouldn't the same be suggested of his motivations?

I could have taken control of my own horse and carriage and steered myself in whatever direction I deemed best, just as he (my father) could have done anything to follow his dreams, as well.

By all accounts, the bumblebee should not be able to fly, but it does.  Does it do so, because it isn't aware that it should not be able to?  Or did the bumblebee receive more hugs as a larva?

Just look at that face! No matter what bad decisions I've made in my shitty life, I don't regret ever bringing this little dude into my life.  My little angel, Monkey. 🥰 

Dedicated to my little boy,
Monkey.