What Do You Know (You’re Just a Kid) Ch. 24

It was early morning.
I knew that this day was about to be different. And I knew why too.
None of this was good and all of this was bad, but at the same time, at least I knew that an answer was coming my way.
I knew that the combination of my actions and the consequences that come with them were bound to catch up with me, which they did.
I knew that time was running out and like a countdown, I knew it was only a matter of time until the imaginary numbers went from ten, down to zero, and then that would be it.
And it was.

I was sitting in a room which I have described before. However, I think I will describe my surroundings differently for this entry. Rather than detail my location or the reasons for my detainment, I will use this entry as a means to define my emotional content.
Rather than glamorize or dramatize the moment, I would rather explain my reason for reflection which came to me in a place where time stands still, yet, the persecution lurks, like a stalking predator to the heartbeat of the weakest prey.

I was sitting in a small room.

I was uncomfortable for different reasons. I was sick too.
I was alone, but not totally. There were people around me but none of them were the desirable kind.
I was being watched, of course, and the intrusion of unwanted noise or the echoing sound of keys that hang from a belt-loop and flat-footed men in unfriendly uniforms who walked up and down the corridor with other mandatory visitors was one thing – but there were other intrusions as well.
I was cold. I was tired but there was no sleep for me. I was watching time move in slow-motion and at the same time, time was ticking away so quickly that I couldn’t stop what was about to happen.
There was no way for me to escape this or put the brakes on anything that was about to happen.

I remember thinking about the days of my early youth. I was thinking about the purity of my younger belief system and the days before fairy tales and different items, like the Tooth Fairy, and how this was ruined by some older boy who smiled and enjoyed their turn to ruin a younger boy’s fantasy.

I was thinking about the belief system of toys and stuffed animals and how we have certain things or memories, like the sound of a Grandmother’s voice or the touch of her hand, which is soft, because her skin was warm and gentle, like the feel of a ripened rose petal, just before the petals turn or wilts to sleep.

I was thinking about the belief system of he Golden Rule or how we were taught that people are supposed to play nice, or hold hands, or take turns and share.
I wondered where that went.
What happened to that rule anyway?
Did we lose this the first time we saw someone get bullied for being themselves?
Was it that we saw what happened to the nice guy who finished last?
And we thought to ourselves, “I don’t want that to be me!”
No one wants to be the fool . . .

I wondered why we are taught to do this yet life is not fair and people will seldom play fairly or nicely. Another thing is not everyone is a friend, not everyone believes in taking turns or sharing, and certainly, not everyone is open to holding hands or even looking both ways before they cross the street.
And shit, that’ll kill ya!

I was thinking about how we were taught the simple things and regardless of how simple and pure they are, if this is so important and if the golden rule is so golden, then why are these rules not enforced or reinforced as we grow or get older.

I see people move too quickly. I see people move in self-satisfying ways.
It’s all about self-preservation or survival, I suppose.
No?
I see people who are stuck in a mindset or caught up in their selfish motivations and sure, everyone has an angle. We all do.
I have one too.
Everyone has an agenda.
But no one really teaches this to us when we are kids.
No one ever tells you to watch out for the smoke and mirrors or look out for the tricks and be aware that not all friends are friendly, not all smiles are true, and not all handshakes are warm or wholesome.
No one tells you that it’s okay if you fall for the trick.
Just don’t let this stop you from being you.
No one says that hey, it’s okay that you fell for it or that you were the “nice guy,” and that nice guys might finish last, but hey, that’s only because they’re not looking at life like a race nor do they need to trip anyone to cross over the finish line.

I was sitting in this little room and thinking about the directions I chose or why, and then how I was caught up in this tidal wave called an inaccurate life which led me to where I was and kept me from being me.

I was thinking about the golden rule and the warmth of the way it was when we sat together without any understanding of the different levels of status or popularity.
There was no social order nor was there any kind of social or interpersonal government – there was only the rule to be nice, play fair, say sorry or excuse me, and learn to share and take turns.
Oh, and don’t hit!

I saw life as it gained momentum yet, I was only a kid.
I only saw the tip of the iceberg, But what I saw was an unattractive version of life. I saw a far cry from the lessons we learned when we were little kids.
None of this was nice or fair.
Get it while you can.
Take advantage before someone takes advantage of you.
That’s what I saw.

I was sitting in a room with an absolute finality. My fate was out of my hands and the upcoming decision was impending and doomful. However, the only thing I knew was that something was coming my way – but what?
I had no idea.
I saw the cruelty between men and women and people of all kinds.
I saw the dishonesty. I saw hate and violence.
I saw people who went to places of worship on Sunday and come Monday, their secret truths emerged from their crooked grins.
They might have added to the donation pot, but come Monday, they made it back ten-times as much, all through their scams.

I saw the rush and the controversy and the angles and the corners that people would look to cut.
I saw the so-called “Easier, softer ways,” and the scams and the artists who pulled them off.
I was far from an artist when it came to this.
I was more obvious than a fish out of water.
I was clear and obviously out of my league and about to be in the den of real thieves, and not the pretending kind or the kind who brag about their scams, but they never pulled any of them off.

We were taught about sharing and to play nice with each other.
And like I said, we are taught, “Don’t hit!” Yet, people still do.
Don’t lie.
Don’t cheat or steal.
At least when you’re young, there’s always someone around to hold you accountable for your actions.
But not for long.
The leash extends as you grow older and eventually, the leash gives way until it’s gone.
Then what?
The so-called mutual benefits of kindness, or the reciprocity of good nature and common courtesy and decency breaks away.
But why?
Why are we taught to be so kind and then worlds changes to a series of unkind levels, which is not to say that everyone is in on the hustle. But the hustles are more prominent than the kindness at the close of mass on Sunday when people turn to one another and say, “Peace be with you.”

What is this?
Why does life change like this?
Is it the envy?
Is it jealousy?
Is it fear and insecurity?
Is it the worry that perhaps if we don’t push or shove or make our way, we might never get what we want or like the nice guy, we’ll finish last and miss out on the whole parade?

I sat in my little space, cold and unkind, and reeking from an unfortunate smell, I wondered why this was the case.
We go from the golden rules of our younger years, of being fair to each other, and then we face the release into the next pond, a size up from the smaller one we were accustomed to. Being the small or unknown fish in a bigger pond, the rules change from be kind to an acronym that reads: D.T.A.
Don’t Trust Anyone.

The ponds we are released in grow bigger and bigger as we grow older and older and here we are, awaiting our fate and wondering who the teacher will be this year.
I say this figuratively speaking because there will always be a new teacher and teachers come in all shapes, ages, and sizes, and of course, life is the longest running teacher of all, with tenure and everything.
Like all teachers, they’ll only give you so many chances before you get called up in front of the class or you’re punished or made to stand at the chalkboard and write, “I will learn my lesson, a thousand times.”

Teachers . . .
If you do something wrong –
They’ll make you do it again until you do it right.
Or until you learn.

Meanwhile, not every kid falls into the trap.
I did though.
Not every kid goes the wrong way or finds themselves in trouble yet every kid is taught to be good and to be kind.
However, out of all the lessons we learned as kids, it seems that kindness is the most forgotten lesson of all. That lesson, and look both ways before you cross the street.
That one seems to be forgotten a lot too.
Don’t believe me . . .
Look around when you drive through the neighborhood.
You’ll see.

I was sitting in that room, alone as ever.
I was hurting and sick from a problem that needs no mention in this entry.
I was thinking about the people who I knew, or who knew how to be kind or who knew what it meant to be fair and reciprocal.
I wished I stayed around them more, rather than less.

I was in a room, not too far away from others who went the wrong way themselves.
I was in a place where the light was re-manufactured, and the air was stale and reprocessed.
I was about to face the consequences and facing the lesson that states, you can’t run from fate forever.
Fate is faster and has better endurance. Oh, and no matter how you try to hide from yourself, I learned the lesson which claims, “No matter where you go, there you are.”
I was thinking about the kids I knew when I was younger.
I was thinking about my need to fit in or to be cool.
I wanted to be wanted. I never wanted to be rejected or picked on.
I wanted to fit in and have this become seamless, instead of forced or coerced and awkward, like everything else in my life.
I was thinking that the social branches of our interpersonal government was all a lie.
All of this was bullshit.
Just egos and images.
None of this made a person real.
Yet, we all pay homage to the kings and queens and princes and princesses.
We all know who sits where in the school cafeteria. We all know who has more money, who dresses better, who is better looking and, of course, we know who is considered to be ugly and who is unwanted or less-than, and undesirable.
That sucks.
I never wanted to be any of this but there I was, becoming the person I never wanted to be – with age.

I thought about the lies of my insecurity and how the direction of my thinking led me towards a dark and lonely hole—an abyss, of some kind, dismal and comfortless, and abandoned of hope or love; as in no warmth for the hand and no voice as soft as Grandma’s.
But why?
Why do people lie?
Why do people steal?
Why do people hit or hurt one another?
Why did I become what I hate the most?
Why did I become what I detest in others and why, of all things, why did I accept the baton in this dysfunctional relay race?
Why did I become like Romeo when he slayed Tybalt and screamed, “I am fortune’s fool!” and allow myself to play this role?
This was a great question.

Why did I allow myself to become the person who I would otherwise dislike or condemn and why did I allow myself to become this altered version of myself?
I never wanted to be this way.
Why couldn’t life stay the way it was?
Why couldn’t we be the way we used to be?
I used to believe in the magic of fireflies.
I loved the way my tongue changed colors when I ate certain candies.
Why couldn’t this be an everlasting feeling?
Why can’t people be this way over the opposite or the antitheses?
Be kind . . .
I wish we could all feel the same energy we did back when the sky lit up with fireworks on the Fourth of July.

I used to hear people say things like, “You’re just a kid!”
Maybe I was. . .
But let me ask you:
Are adults much better?
Is it better to be an adult?
Is it better to think that hey, I better be good for goodness sake?

I think if given the option, I would like to go back to some of my younger or more childish beliefs. I want to go back to my earliest disciplines which tell me, yes, there is nothing as powerful or as healing as a soft or warm voice.
Sharing is good. So is holding hands.
So is being nice.

I wondered when I allowed myself to vacate from this discipline.
I wonder why I allowed myself to become so frightened or weak that I chose to hide behind a mask or claim an identity that was opposite from my true self.

You know . . .
I remember playing with a friend when I was in grade school.
I told him that I want to write a book someday.
He looked at me like I was just a stupid kid.
He told me that would never happen –
I never told anyone about my writing after that, at least not until I was much older.
I never dared to tell anyone about my feelings or my poetry or my love for art because I thought what he said was true – I was just a stupid little kid.
I never thought I would be able to pull this off or grab “a look” that would make me seem mysterious or cool. Not as a poet, anyway.

I saw this person not too long ago.
I didn’t say anything. I let him pass me in the street like I was a stranger.
I remembered my little book which I showed him
It was just pages from a notebook that was stapled together. I wrote in this with a red pen.
I was writing about wanting to join the Army.
I was just a kid . . .
Maybe either eight or nine, or I could have been ten.

Maybe that’s why I’m writing this to you.
I want to be a kid again.
Only instead of saying if I only knew then what I know now . . .
I can say that I know now . . .
And this time, I want to do it right.

I want to be free.
I don’t want to become anyone else —I don’t want to be anyone other than me or who I am. Rather than find myself in the pits of despair or lost in some locked room, hemmed up, and cornered with unfriendly watchmen and unfriendly souls who broke the rules, let me be that one who insists on taking turns.
Let me open this cage which I see us keep in all too often.

You can go out first, if you’d like.
Here, have some of my things—because sharing is caring. Rather than compare wealth or status or talk about the size of my bank account or the abundance of our portfolios, we can do a kind thing or play a game.
If you’d like, I can share some of my dreams with you—even if yours come true and mine are still yet to come or never materialize, I can show you the wholesomeness of following the golden rules while I applaud for you because you made it to where you want to be.
(Even if I never got there yet.)

I think we’ve both had enough of the selfish or self-centeredness around us, or the “me first,” or “Get outta my way,” pushing and shoving of an otherwise adult world.

Man . . .
Who knew that telling someone “You’re just a kid” was such a compliment?
I did.
I just never had the balls to write about it before
(until now).