UNCONDITIONED CHAPTER 11
Surfing Buttholes
Jesse’s educational path had been a bumpy one right from the start. By the time he was in middle school, he paid attention and got good grades if the teacher was interesting, but if the teacher was a bore, he misbehaved and flunked. He was self-possessed and had learned to be judgmental from me. Conversations on the topic were circular, “My math teacher is such an asshole.”
“So, you think there’s a place where there are no assholes?”
“Mom, you don’t understand. You wouldn’t believe this guy.”
“Actually, I think I would. Get used to it, Bubby, they’re everywhere.”
“But Mom, this guy is REALLY an asshole.”
“Jesse, by getting bad grades you’re only hurting yourself. I did the same thing, and it was a mistake.”
“Mom, you just don’t get it.”
After my experiences in parochial school, I did get it but this was not the time for reminiscing. At this point, I’d move on because I knew in my heart that, despite his erratic grades, this kid was going to be just fine. At twelve, he had more self-confidence than I had at thirty-three.
One day, the middle school assistant principal’s office called me to come in immediately because Jesse had been suspended for was using inappropriate language. This surprised me because of the deal we’d made years ago: Jesse could swear in certain circumstances, such as alone with his friends or in the privacy of our home, but never in front of elders, in school, or out in public. I’d never seen or heard him abuse our understanding. When I sat down expectantly across the large wooden desk from the assistant principal, he said, “Jesse wrote swears all over his notebook.”
“Really?” This did not sound like my son.
To make his point, he whipped Jesse’s notebook at me across the polished surface as though he were skipping a stone on a lake. I caught Jesse’s notebook before it hit me in the chest and found it was covered with graffiti-like calligraphy of the Sex Pistols, Circle Jerks, Butthole Surfers, and Suicidal Tendencies. I snorted, “These are names of skateboard bands,” thinking, der, about a guy who spends every day with kids and is clueless about their interests. This guy was not looking for my advice, but I gave it to him anyway, “If you make a big deal out of it, Jesse’s enthusiasm for outrageous band names will increase.”
“Well, maybe that language is acceptable in your home, but there’s no place for it in my school.”
“It’s not a big deal because these are simply band names. He wasn’t swearing at someone. That, to me, would be an offense.”
“I’m destroying that notebook. He’ll need a new one to get back into school.”
As I walked out to my car I thought, of course those band names are inappropriate for school, but how can that guy not see the difference between the musical trends of the skateboard culture and using abusive language to hurt someone? Why did he have to be such a dick about it? No wonder Jesse’s miserable here.