Between the Seams

Many things can
be seen between
the seams of a
baseball,

in the mud marks
and scuffs, the
chunks of its
dermis hunked out

like:
Afternoons spent begging
dad for to toss it in
the backyard.

Nights, face-up in bed,
lobbing it up,
knocking the ceiling tiles,
then it popping the back of the glove.

Saturday mornings skipping cartoons
to squeeze on a worn Reds
cap and pitch World Series games
to an overturned metal drum.

And in grassprints, prayers:
To hear a ting from the
singing metal bat, not a
silent swing, each at-bat.

That squinting extra hard
would help to find a
pop fly
against a blinding sky.

That life never got
any harder than sliding
face-first
into home.

A Poem

My little tribute to the lovely weather we've been having...

Skirt, Shorts Nice

It's skirt, shorts nice out
side. I didn't have to feel
the breeze on my bare
knees to know. My throbbing
sinuses told me so
days ago
it would be.

But these are days when
the headache is worth it.

These are days when
I like to walk.

These are days when
getting smacked on back
of the calf by the seems of
a screaming fastball doesn't
hurt nearly as much as it usually
would.

These are the days when
God is evident.

Subbing Story 2: "Wipe my butt!"

If you read the title, you might think you know where this is going. Prepare to have all preconceived mental images trumped.

A few weeks ago I was scheduled to be a "floater" at an elementary school in the district. I usually like this distinction because instead of staying in one class all day, you "float" around room-to-room every hour or so. So if you get stuck babysitting a bunch of future convicts, you only have to grit your teeth and bide your time until the teacher returns.

For this particular floating day I was to spend most of the morning in a class of kids who were dubbed "behaviorally challenged" (how's that for P.C.?). The first hour was fine, I had an EA in the class with me and he knew how to handle the kids. The second hour was alright, save for the tantrum of one of the kids that included throwing every small item in the room within reach and kicking the EA who was trying to control him. After he was escorted out of the room and settled down, and ultimately sent home, and after the EA explained to me that this had never happened before, that's when I like to say the magic happened.

A little boy, we'll call him Bobby, who I think might be mildly autistic, decided he was going to use the restroom which is attached to the classroom. A number two special, if you will. After about twenty minutes of silence he began to scream.
"Help! Help! Help me, please! Help," he yelled, over and over, through the door.
"What Bobby?" responded the EA.
Bobby then opened the door and revealed to me his "state of affairs." The EA was helping another student and could not see into the restroom. What he was missing out on, of course, was the fact that Bobby had his pants down to his knees and was crying.
"Help! Help me! Wipe my butt! Wipe...wipe my butt!" he repeated over and over.
The EA then turned and headed over to the restroom. When he finally got within a few feet of the door and could assess the situation, he turned to me, hand over mouth, and nearly choked on his own laughter. While Bobby continued to plead for a hand, quite literally, the EA tried desperately to hold back the tears and chuckles while explaining to Bobby that he was a big boy and needed to finish what he started, so to speak.
Bobby continued to cry out, "Wipe my butt! I poopy! I poopy! Wipe my butt!"
Whenever the EA told him he needed to do it himself, he responded, "No, I can't! Please, help me!"

After about 10 minutes of these negotiations, Bobby relented. He resumed his silence and took care of business.
At least we think he did.
Following few flushes, he returned to the classroom, walking a little funny, and to the puzzle he was finishing on the floor. I continued to watch him for a few minutes afterward out of curiosity.
After a few moments of "puzzling" he looked around the room, making sure no one was watching (he didn't noticed I was), then bent his head back toward his rear and sniffed in that direction. I looked up at the EA who was watching Bobby as well.
We smiled at each other as he said, "A day of firsts. And of all the days."
Yeah, seriously.

Subbling Story 1--"Fact: Martin Luther King died on the toilet."

I'm planning on blogging more. No, honestly. It's going to be a weekly thing. Mostly because soon I'll have nothing better to do, and because I need to start writing regularly again. Anyway...

If I've gained anything at all by being a substitute teacher these past few months, besides of course a permanent migraine and a sour view of the future generation, I've gained stories. A bag-o-stories, in fact. Here's one. I'll add a few more soon.

I was subbing a day in second grade, the day after Martin Luther King day. The teacher had in her lesson plan "explain the difference between fact and opinion, use MLK," so I flipped on the old overhead projector, uncapped a marker, and prepared for the popular "blank stare" response to my lecture. After writing "Fact" on one side of the overhead, and "Opinion" on the other, I asked the class to give me some examples of each about Martin Luther King.

I called first on a boy to my right who chimed, "He was black!"
"OK," I responded, "Is that fact or opinion?"
"Fact."
"Good. How about an opinion?"
I called on a girl to my left.
"He was the greatest man in the world, ever!" she proclaimed.
"Alright. Who else?"
Another girl, jumping up and down in her seat, looked as if she was going to explode, so I called on her next.
"He died on the toilet!" she yelled.
I paused.
"Umm...I don't know about that..." I mumbled.
"He didn't die on the toilet?" she interrupted.
I didn't know what to say.
"Uh...let's move on to the next lesson." I flipped off the overhead and chuckled to myself.