| General Fiction posted August 7, 2020 |
  |
Let go of the people who poison your spirit
God Said Brains
by Brad Bennett
"God said brains, you thought he said trains, and you missed yours."
My teacher said that to me. I was sitting helplessly in front of the class. I tried to run the analogy through my mind; what does that mean? If I heard the trains announced, then wouldn't I have caught one? Therefore, didn't I still get the brains, or, did I catch the wrong train, and those brains were still waiting for me back at the station? I sat bewildered and humiliated. Now it was confirmed, I was one of the rejects in Rotchman's 8th-grade class, a stupid, no hope kid. It was just one of the many times this teacher had singled me out. My self-esteem was flat enough as it was.
At this time in my life, I was staying on my grandmother's farm. Kids from the country were generally looked down on at the school, so that added to my inferiorty complex. But I had my fantasy world. I shut out most of the other happenings. Unfortunately, I ignored most of the teachers also. I guess I was cursed with an over-wired imagination. That, I suppose, is what set off Rotchman's wrath. This teacher was the one of the most feared in the school. He was gruff and sarcastic to any kid he sized up to be less than his expectations. and I was certainly not that in his eyes. As a result, I spent my time looking out the window. Sometimes I would pretend I was writing notes, when actually I was writing and sketching ideas for my cartoon strip. I would pass it around to other kids later in the school hallway. The strip featured a silly little character, who always got in trouble; I had plenty of life experience for fodder.
My other focus was my infatuation for MAD Magazine. What a fantastic source of creativity that skillfully illustrated book provided. The Spy Vs. Spy cartoons. The perfectly drawn comic strips spoofing the latest movies, and my absolute favorite, the clever take offs on advertising. I just had to do my own versions. I drew a well-endowed woman wearing a brassiere made out of wood, and bailing wire. I captioned it: I dreamed I went to school in my Madeonfarm Bra. (Maidenform.) It was confiscated by a teacher, and I was accused of drawing dirty pictures? More trouble.
I wasn't doing all that well in the other school curriculum either; I was mediocre at math, poor at science, and completely failed typing class. But so what I thought, I wanted to be an artist, why would I need a keyboard? The irony of that is depressing; I still can't type without looking at the damn thing!
But there was one teacher whose class I practically ran to attend, my history teacher Mr. Clausen. This man was a P38 fighter pilot during WWII, flying dangerous missions in the south Pacific. He was a true hero. His stories were fascinating accounts of fighting each enemy-occupied Island, Okinawa, Iwo Jima. I hung on his every word. I volunteered to draw a large map for him on the blackboard, showing each island and its position as they were liberated from the entrenched Japanese. My good marks in his class, no doubt, kept me from being set back in school. I owe much to this teacher for seeing my shyness, and encouraging me onward.
So I had Mr. Clausen as my salvation from the wrath of my inquisitor Rotchman, and I could find solace in that. But my feeling of inferiority was bothersome. I began to believe I was stupid. Even when I tried to comprehend my lessons, I failed. But then I would read the witty spoofs in MAD. Somehow it brought me comfort. I decided to be positive and laugh at adversity. When its funny, its not so threatening.
Later that year, I had a compatriot. My cousin, Billy, was now transferred to the farm because his dad and mom were divorcing. Billy was pretty good at mischief beyond my innocent escapades. Billy had a devious streak that ran through his bones, manifesting itself into revenge. One day a Bully from the 9th grade shook Billy down. This kid was big and mean, Billy was a smaller, skinny kid, and Bruce the Moose, he was called, would take Billy's lunch from him. Billy usually had a Hershey bar tucked in with his sandwich.
"Look," I told Billy, "hide the bar, and let him have the damn cookie." But Billy was plotting a different plan.
Sure enough, it wasn’t long before Bruce shook down Billy again. I met Billy after school for our bus ride home. "Did you let him have a cookie?" I asked.
"No," Billy answered. He retrieved something from his coat and showed it to me, "I took the Hershey out of its paper, and put this in." He held up an empty EXLAX wrapper.
Bruce, the Moose disappeared from school the following week. I'm sure his body size had decreased significantly. Billy was, and is today, a fine writer. He writes action/fiction novels under W.S. Snyder, “The Greenhell Girls." His main theme, violent revenge!
It was the end of the school year, when we were all gathered at the door of Rotchman's classroom waiting for the bell. Rotchman, for some reason, decided he would get a final dig in. He walked over to where I was standing.
"Class," he addressed them, shushing the chatter. "Someday I will say I was honored to have had one of you as a student." Then he pointed at me. "But it will never be said about you."
I don't know where my answer came from, but I blurted it out.
"Yes, and when they ask that kid, who was your best teacher, it certainly won't be you!"
I'll never forget his shocked face as we all filed out. One of his stupid kids had finally spoke back.
Thank you, Mr. Clausen, for giving me courage to believe in myself. And thank you Mad magazine for your motto. What, me worry? Never.
"God said brains, you thought he said trains, and you missed yours."
My teacher said that to me. I was sitting helplessly in front of the class. I tried to run the analogy through my mind; what does that mean? If I heard the trains announced, then wouldn't I have caught one? Therefore, didn't I still get the brains, or, did I catch the wrong train, and those brains were still waiting for me back at the station? I sat bewildered and humiliated. Now it was confirmed, I was one of the rejects in Rotchman's 8th-grade class, a stupid, no hope kid. It was just one of the many times this teacher had singled me out. My self-esteem was flat enough as it was.
At this time in my life, I was staying on my grandmother's farm. Kids from the country were generally looked down on at the school, so that added to my inferiorty complex. But I had my fantasy world. I shut out most of the other happenings. Unfortunately, I ignored most of the teachers also. I guess I was cursed with an over-wired imagination. That, I suppose, is what set off Rotchman's wrath. This teacher was the one of the most feared in the school. He was gruff and sarcastic to any kid he sized up to be less than his expectations. and I was certainly not that in his eyes. As a result, I spent my time looking out the window. Sometimes I would pretend I was writing notes, when actually I was writing and sketching ideas for my cartoon strip. I would pass it around to other kids later in the school hallway. The strip featured a silly little character, who always got in trouble; I had plenty of life experience for fodder.
My other focus was my infatuation for MAD Magazine. What a fantastic source of creativity that skillfully illustrated book provided. The Spy Vs. Spy cartoons. The perfectly drawn comic strips spoofing the latest movies, and my absolute favorite, the clever take offs on advertising. I just had to do my own versions. I drew a well-endowed woman wearing a brassiere made out of wood, and bailing wire. I captioned it: I dreamed I went to school in my Madeonfarm Bra. (Maidenform.) It was confiscated by a teacher, and I was accused of drawing dirty pictures? More trouble.
I wasn't doing all that well in the other school curriculum either; I was mediocre at math, poor at science, and completely failed typing class. But so what I thought, I wanted to be an artist, why would I need a keyboard? The irony of that is depressing; I still can't type without looking at the damn thing!
But there was one teacher whose class I practically ran to attend, my history teacher Mr. Clausen. This man was a P38 fighter pilot during WWII, flying dangerous missions in the south Pacific. He was a true hero. His stories were fascinating accounts of fighting each enemy-occupied Island, Okinawa, Iwo Jima. I hung on his every word. I volunteered to draw a large map for him on the blackboard, showing each island and its position as they were liberated from the entrenched Japanese. My good marks in his class, no doubt, kept me from being set back in school. I owe much to this teacher for seeing my shyness, and encouraging me onward.
So I had Mr. Clausen as my salvation from the wrath of my inquisitor Rotchman, and I could find solace in that. But my feeling of inferiority was bothersome. I began to believe I was stupid. Even when I tried to comprehend my lessons, I failed. But then I would read the witty spoofs in MAD. Somehow it brought me comfort. I decided to be positive and laugh at adversity. When its funny, its not so threatening.
Later that year, I had a compatriot. My cousin, Billy, was now transferred to the farm because his dad and mom were divorcing. Billy was pretty good at mischief beyond my innocent escapades. Billy had a devious streak that ran through his bones, manifesting itself into revenge. One day a Bully from the 9th grade shook Billy down. This kid was big and mean, Billy was a smaller, skinny kid, and Bruce the Moose, he was called, would take Billy's lunch from him. Billy usually had a Hershey bar tucked in with his sandwich.
"Look," I told Billy, "hide the bar, and let him have the damn cookie." But Billy was plotting a different plan.
Sure enough, it wasn’t long before Bruce shook down Billy again. I met Billy after school for our bus ride home. "Did you let him have a cookie?" I asked.
"No," Billy answered. He retrieved something from his coat and showed it to me, "I took the Hershey out of its paper, and put this in." He held up an empty EXLAX wrapper.
Bruce, the Moose disappeared from school the following week. I'm sure his body size had decreased significantly. Billy was, and is today, a fine writer. He writes action/fiction novels under W.S. Snyder, “The Greenhell Girls." His main theme, violent revenge!
It was the end of the school year, when we were all gathered at the door of Rotchman's classroom waiting for the bell. Rotchman, for some reason, decided he would get a final dig in. He walked over to where I was standing.
"Class," he addressed them, shushing the chatter. "Someday I will say I was honored to have had one of you as a student." Then he pointed at me. "But it will never be said about you."
I don't know where my answer came from, but I blurted it out.
"Yes, and when they ask that kid, who was your best teacher, it certainly won't be you!"
I'll never forget his shocked face as we all filed out. One of his stupid kids had finally spoke back.
Thank you, Mr. Clausen, for giving me courage to believe in myself. And thank you Mad magazine for your motto. What, me worry? Never.
 Recognized |
"I was a huge fan of Mad Magazine, as a kid, my life revolved around it." -Weird Al Yankovic
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. 
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. Brad Bennett All rights reserved.
Brad Bennett has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
