Untotaled: Stepping 40 (May 19th, 1967) Last Day of School ’67… November 15, 2014

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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(Transcript)

How does one describe the last day of school?

I suppose I could use the word “rapture” if it weren’t so entwined with the religious phenomenon.

I could use “orgasm” if it wasn’t so linked with what would be misconstrued by prudes.

So I guess the best word would be “carnivale.” Not that I’ve ever been to one–I’m just assuming the wild, abandoned glee over not having any more pressing responsibilities pushing in on you, realizing that there are a full eighty-eight days of summer ahead.

I never liked to be the first one to leave the school on the last day.

I liked to hang around for a few moments to walk the empty halls, with little clumps of dust still tumbling along, and discarded papers left to the discretion of the overworked janitor.

So by the time I headed home, everyone was pretty well gone, and it wasn’t until I got to my front door that I remembered I had forgotten to pick up an English book which my mother had insisted I bring home, because she had paid eleven and ninety-nine to purchase it because I had misplaced the provided copy.

So I had to weigh my options. My mom’s anger, or returning to the school I had just gloriously abandoned.

I walked back.

The door was still open and as I entered, there was an eerie sensation which crept down my spine at being in this empty edifice of learning, now so silent that you could hear the creaking hinges on the door.

I made my way down the hallway to Mr. Marshall’s English class, which also, miraculously, was still unlocked.

I crept through the door and walked to the storeroom where I knew he kept the books. I gently turned the knob, crossing the fingers of my other hand, hoping that it, too would be accessible. It was.

So I flung the door open in glee, only to discover that in the shadowy confines, not yet lit up by the overhead bulb, was Mr. Marshall, shirt unbuttoned, kissing Miss Crowley, the biology teacher, who had her top off, showing her “booba-toobas.”

(I developed the name “booba-toobas” in an attempt to be unique and humorous, and even though it was silly, I persisted in the terminology since a cheerleader once giggled upon hearing it.)

Honestly, in my entire life’s journey, I have never seen three people so frozen in time. Mr. Marshall, Miss Crowley, and dumb me, peering at one another.

No one knew what to do.

Finally, Miss Crowley grabbed her blouse to cover up her left “tooba” and said, “Jonathan, what are you doing here?”

I gasped, “I came to get my book.”

“You want a book?” she inquired.

Apparently my quest for knowledge was more surprising to her than being found in a closet with her paramour.

Mr. Marshall disconnected himself from the human apparatus, put his arm around me and walked from the room out into the hallway. He stood there looking at me for a long time. I wanted to say something but everything that popped to my mind seemed dangerous.

At length he sighed and said, “Well, Jonathan, we have a situation here.”

I nodded.

“Tell you what I’m going to do,” he continued. “I’m going to treat you like an adult. I’m gonna believe that you’re going to walk out of here with your book and never say another word about what you saw.”

Leaning in close to my face, he punctuated, “Because if you did, Miss Crowley and I would probably get in a helluva lot of trouble.”

I knew he meant what he said because no teacher would ever use the word “hell” in front of me unless he felt I was worthy to join him at the local bar for a drink.

All I said to him was, “I won’t.”

With this, I took flight out the door, running as fast as my fat legs would carry me.

I know he must have thought he was sunk, but on the way home I felt so grown-up.

I was trusted.

For the first time in my life, I was to be taken at my word without the threat of punishment.

And you know what?

I never did tell.

Even a month later, when my friends came over to sleep at the house and we watched “Chiller Theater” and everybody was getting real honest, I bit my lip and the side of my cheek, and stuffed a lot of pizza into my mouth to keep from blabbing.

When I returned to school that fall, Miss Crowley was gone and I heard she had gotten married over the summer–but not to Mr. Marshall.

The grown-up world is very confusing.

I never told anyone until this day, even though I have used memories of Miss Crowley’s “booba-toobas” to stimulate a few sessions in youthful lust.

 

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Populie: Be Careful What You Say… June 4, 2014

Jonathots Daily Blog

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“Sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me.”

Many generations have used that little adage as a philosophy to handle the bullying, accusations and lies that fly around when our race attempts to jockey for position.

In times past, a man or woman were judged by what they did instead of what they said. (Honestly, a slip of the tongue is very common on the icy roads of daily fumbling.)

But the choices we make in how we interact with one another and the deeds we choose to perform are in our power.

Yet nowadays, we are obsessed with “right speak.” And “right speak,” by the way, is determined by the mood of the moment.

So very little is being accomplished because the whole world is self-conscious–to make sure and say the appropriate thing.

Religion loves this populie because it sets up a scenario for what we shall call a false persecution complex. If we can convince God that the heathen are attacking us verbally, perhaps some of our indifference and spiritual awkwardness will be forgiven, considering how bullied we are.

Politics uses this “be careful what you say” trend to attack opponents and also to pull up lame, hoping to gain the sympathy of the electorate over false reports.

And of course, entertainment finds this populie profitable because it allows them to test the boundaries of free speech and sell tickets based on alleged controversy.

Yet the most recent bizarre example is that of Donald Sterling and the tape that surfaced with his paramour, discussing racial issues.

First and foremost, that particular conversation he had with the young lady was private. I, for one, would not want things I share in my business meetings with friends and comrades to be trumpeted and played out on CNN.

Secondly, Donald Sterling has done many deeds of prejudice over the years, which should have been called out instead of using the back door of illegal intrusion to alienate and defile him.

Bluntly, I don’t want to judge anyone on his or her words. I will leave that to Almighty God. My job is to look at the fruit people bear in their lives, to determine the soul of their human matter.

Even though we’re not allowed to judge, we are entitled to view the efforts and deeds of our fellow human beings to ascertain their mission and goals.

Not only are we becoming too sensitive to words, believing they actually do break bones, but we are also creating a generation of false apologizers, who have turned repentance into a political maneuver and social evasion.

“I’m sorry” needs to mean “I’m sorry” again. Otherwise, it’s just a gentler way of proclaiming, “Leave me alone.”

Case in point: the chances of me saying something wrong in a daily column are innumerable. But I will not allow you to judge me by a term, a paragraph, or even one entire essay. My life is available for review and is played out on any Google search. Click away.

With that in mind, let me tell you how I believe things should be reviewed:

1. Hear.

Yes, listen for something you agree with and then take the leap to believe in it. Stop trying to be safe with your language so you can please everybody. Commit to something.

2. Do.

Don’t preach at people. Don’t quote scriptures, the Constitution or the latest popular book. Take that belief you have claimed and put it to a challenge, to grant it credibility.

3. Share.

And then, once you’ve gained a testimony–a piece of evidence–don’t decide for others that they should walk in your moccasins. Just tell your story.

I am not going to be careful about what I say. Because of that, I will make errors that are sometimes contrary to my actual heart, life and doings. Instead:

I will hear things that I believe and follow them.

I will do those things faithfully to see if they stand the test of time.

And then I will share my story with no condemnation or criticism in your direction.

In a world where we decry bullying, we are all eventually cast into the role of bully. Then what do you do?

I think we are best served by going back to defending ourselves against sticks and stones … and regain our sense of humor about mere words.

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity

After an appearance earlier this year in Surprise, Arizona, Janet and I were blessed to receive a “surprise” ourselves. Click on the beautiful Arizona picture above to share it with us!

Click here to get info on the “Gospel According to Common Sense” Tour

Please contact Jonathan’s agent, Jackie Barnett, at (615) 481-1474, for information about scheduling SpiriTed in 2014.

Click here to listen to Spirited music