laz

sadly, it's 3:30 in the morning, and the only reason i'm still awake is becasue i don't feel like taking out my contact lenses.

i felt the need to write that down somewhere.

bloom

how does a person grow?

how does a person evolve?

how does a person, consciously or not, postively or not, progressively or not, develop? over the years that we are to call our life, we find ourselves in a state of constant change. this change is a product of both externa and internal factors; yet, where those external factors may be more comprehensible, the internal factors are the very enigmas that construct the essence of our constant state of trasformation. our metamorphose. old folks back home used to call it something in your genes, or something you got form your momma or your pappy. they would be the ones that would blame my nephew's recklessness on the fact that his father was, and is, and will probably always be, a hard-head. yet, i look at babes now and see only innocence, i see purity. i see a young domincan infant in the arms of his grandfather on 147th and broadway, not crying, not laughing, not sleeping or fussing or playing or trying to talk. no, this infant, in a baggy diaper and navy blue shirt with a puppy on the front, is simply looking around. first he looks at me, then he looks away, then back to the place where i was 4 seconds before, only to find that i have walked on. it takes him a second to find me again, then once he does, with his head only half full of curly black hair, he looks away again, paying me no attention whatsoever. but for 2 seconds, allowing me to be the only thing that existed to him at that point and time. some may say that i'm trying to hard or even thinking too deep. but it's real. over the course of years we refer to as reality, we gain consciousness. and with that knowledge, comes change. and with that change, comes more change. and soon, we die, only a summation of all of the change we have obtained, and all of the knowledge we will ever possess on this earth. a culmination of growth and adaptations. which brings me back to my original question. how does a person grow? how does a person evolve? when does a man look up to find that his priorities have changed? undewr what circumstances does a woman realize that her goals are different?

when did we change the course of our lives?

more importantly, when did we ever set it? i am led to believe that we, we are no different than that which we study. ever. and anything. we study words, animals, history, food, chemicals, clouds, metals, energy, atoms, plants, each other. we study it all, as if we are in a posaition to study. like a fly caught in a spider web, observing the squirrel in the tree. or rather like a baby, beholding an adult. in any sense, collectively, we are lost - and are found only by creating our own makeshift map, of the place we know not how to survey. a realm we don't know how to study. reality is unfamiliar to us, because we are born in it. because, it's what we are. because we only define things based on what it is not, and collecitvely agree that it is not anything else. a chair, for instance, is defined as a chair because it is not a sofa, or a dog. the present, is defined as the present only because it is not the past or the future. these things we know. yet, we cannot define reality, because we don't know what un-reality is. and so, we grow much like plants grow toward the sun, without the knowledge we so seek, but in the direction of the only sure things we know. be it love, or faith, or pain. we hold on to that which is most real to us, that which represents reality; we grow in search of a definition. thus, we alter our lives as that growth takes place, for our evolution is dependent on our internal manifestation of what we hold true, and that which we believe is real.

another type of dude

today i had the strongest urge to holla at a woman as she was crossing the street. and by that, i do not mean a holla like that of subtly asking for her phone number, or giving her an "excuse me miss, what's your name..." no. by a holla, i mean that i was down the block as she was crossing the street, and i genuinely wanted to shout at her. i actually had to refrain myself from simply yelling at her whatever came to mind. and "excuse me" cannot be yelled. or if it could, i couldn't bring myself to yell it in that setting. on the contrary, i had the intense passion to yell, at the very least "hey!" to this woman. but even then, truth be told, i would have added on a "yo", "shawty", or a simple "come here".

i KNOW why i didn't do it. but what i don't know is why i wanted to do it in the first place. true, she was fine as a silk thread and was wearing a dress that was fucking drawn on. and she had something of a glisten because she was walking near a broken fire hydrant where kids were romping on Play Street. now that i think about it, i didn't even want her. i wouldn't know what to do with a woman like that. or, and this is probably moreso the case, had i met her up close and gotten to know her personally, she would turn out to be nothing like the mirage i saw shining in the fire hydrant dew. in hindsight, my urge to yell was simply a desire for her to turn around. hell, she could've kept walking - and after someone yelling at her on the street, i'm sure she would have. but, for one second, she would have turned toward me just enough for her to be disgusted and would venture on her way. and that would have been enough. would have been just fine.

granted, i may be giving her too much credit. looking the way she did, she had to have gotten her fair amount of street hollas by now and has learned the art of entertaining the holla. she would have been just as likely to turn in disgust as she would have been to give a faint smile and a graceful turn. and then there's always the slim chance that she actually come over to me and see what i want.

i dunno. in a sense i may just be changing. over the past year ive been getting a little more in touch with...with...damn, what would you call it, the street? i dunno. for instance, songa i wouldn't have given a shit about in atlanta, i feel the dire urge to get crunk to in the club. it's like an obligation up here. when i'm at a party and i see japanese girls "leanin and rockin" with it better than i am, or latina girls quoting every word to T.I. congs where i only know the verse - there's something wrong. hell, i'm FROM atlanta! they dont even know what the TRAP is!! for another instance, i talk a little different. i mean, people up here have often told me i have a southern drawl; but it seems that every time i come back from atlanta, i come back a little more hood than i left. living in spanish harlem doesn't amke things any easier as i get in touch a little more with my puerto rican roots. i tend to find that possessiveness a little stronger than before, and my sexual nature a little more aggressive than in the past. am i sharing more about myself than i should right now? probably so. but it's cool though. because as i type this, i think it's a way of me admitting to myself that i'm growing into another type of dude.

maybe.

this may all be a joke. a phase that every 22-year-old man goes through as he recognizes his adulthood. or, this could be a by-product of me working out a little more, kind of an arrogance that comes with the knowledge that you can bench-press X number of pounds. who knows...hell, that girl would've known had she turned around without me hollering at her, that's for damn sure. not to mention that i was carrying an air conditioner on my shoulder at the time.

but that's neither here nor there. if you hear me on the street, you'll know it. and if you do, rate my holla. let me know what you liked and what you didn't. i'm open to suggestions and comments as i tinker with the artform.

other than that, have a nice day.

good morning professor

on my first day of grad school this quarter, i left my bookbag in the classroom by mistake. realizing that "something's missing" feeling, i walked back to class, confident that it was still there. it was only a few minutes after class, and no other class was coming in behind us, so sure it had to be there. yet, as i entered the room, i found that my professor was going through my bag in an attempt to find out who's it was. unfortunately, and unknowingly to myself, all that was in my bag was a pair of boxer briefs.

i don't know how they got in there. my guess is either i changed one day at the beach a few weeks back and forgot them in there. or they are leftovers from when i used the bag to do laundry. so, with those being the options, either they were really really clean, or really really dirty. in either case, you'd be surprised how you would act when you discover your teacher has discovered your draws in her classroom. it actually went quite smooth. she blushed. i smiled. she handed be the bag and told me have a nice day.

anti-climactic?

sure it is. this is reality. far-fetched stuff only happens on wednesdays. yet, since then, i believe i have a special bond with my professor. for instance, using me in an example the other day (after i came in late), she described that people that lack time management skills actually have a "disability", one that should be embraced and catered to. i felt good about that. she also used me in some other example that i wasn't paying attention to. truth is, i think i can get at her. just maybe. if i were to play my cards right. the way she looks at me is very similiar to my sixth grade teacher that used to play in my hair. and i STILL think i can get at that sixth grade teacher, especially now that i'm practically her peer.

in any sense, i'm saying all this to say that i have to keep my imagination running strong as i sit through class every morning because it's boring and i can't find rope during the lectures to hang myself. next week, i think i'm going to leave a condom around my desk. just to jump-start things.

then class will be much more interesting.

ellipses

you know. i was surfing blogger. and...i came across this picture of two babies. these two babies. and, well, i mean, they're real babies, there were alot of pictures of them. man, i pray to God the mother or anybody doesn't come by my blogsite. i mean, i took the picture off of their site, because...well...because...cuz they're babies. and...um...like, all babies are cute. and, well, ok, bye.

my problem with dating

i just figured it out. my idea of an ideal night is a large pizza, a movie, and my pajamas. yet, it's difficult finding the women into that because all of them are at home with large pizzas, watching movies in their pajamas.

does that make me fat and lazy? i think not. in a world were most mid-20 year olds are out partying and getting sloppy drunk, grinding on strangers and passing out on 13th street - i'd like to call my ideal night innovative and unique. no, not fat and lazy, but against the grain. genius is what i call it. and if i really want to get things poppin, i'd go find some sticks - pop some marshmellows on em, and old them over the open flame stovetop. yep, that's livin.

or...maybe i'm a teacher on his first summer break.

tomato.

play street

yeah, another thing i've never herad of before coming up here is the Play Street. MY street happens to be the Play Street this year. not that i'm sure if it's the play street every year or not, but it's just funny that i came home one day and saw that parking and traffic were prohibited for the sole purpose of letting kids play in the street. it's an excellent idea really. granted, the crooked drug-dealing cops down the block are responsible for it, but doens't that make it all the better?

not that water is expensive, sarcastically speaking, but one must wonder if this will indeed be the highlight of these kids summer. wearing their bathing suits and sandals, these kids are really treating this as the pool, or amusement park, or beach (as i've seen one kid with his plasitc pail and shovel). and though i could understand if they had no way to get to coney island, or long peach, or robert moses park, that is not the case. many of my students take two trips to the domincan republic a year, but can't affor pencils...how the fuck does that happen?! how can they walk in with the latest in electronic gear and games, but not be able to afford a $3 notebook? "mr. wilborn, can i take notes on my Sony PSP?" no! you can't!!

but i digress. the truth is that it's quite nice coming home and finding that all the children in a 5 block radius are on your street at the same time playing wiffle-ball and playing in the cities water exploding from the emergency hydrants with such glee and joy. protected. watched out for. it's kinda like when my dad gave me money to take girls to motels because he didn't want me fooling around in empty parking lots in his brand new minivan. i was young then too. and i did appreiciate that added protection, knowing that i could fall asleep without someone mugging me behind the deserted high school. i know how these kids feel, and it's good.

until i go for my mid-day ciesta and hear 10-year-olds fighting over a fucking frisbee.

playstreet, another reason i love and hate new york city.

she's clubbin

on a recent trip to a "dancehall", i found myself amongst a trio of sorts. it was actually something of a methodical orgy. this young woman had successfully interwoven three gentleman to her fancy, switching them betwen genres of dance as she saw fit. needless to say, i was one of them. but the most peculiar thing, was that either none of us were aware, OR all of us were aware. and in hindsight, i lean to believe it was the latter of those two choices.

the first guy was given Time. this dude was a handsome, tall, and well-dressed. a professional of sorts. he looked as though he just left from work and came to the establishment to take a load off. but on that note, he was definitely in his comfort zone. he knew all of the songs, all of the dances, and all of the moves necessary to have a good time. like how much to drink to get "good", but not "tipsy", and where to put hands on a woman so that it was "seductive" and not "perverted". he was an alright guy, and the woman in focus saw just that. to him, she gave the most of her attention as the majority of the night was spent by his side, smiling and dancing.

the second guy was given Energy. a little more thug-looking than the first, this cat had a bald head and, to my memory, had come out of his tshirt and was strutting around in a wife-beater and jeans. made sense though, the tattoos were much more visible this way. at first, she was approached by him, and the dance turned into one of booty shaking and vibrations. hence, on each song that called for a red bull, she would find him, and they would spend their time together sweating and swinging.

to me, as i see it, she gave Intimacy. which is strange, because after time and energy spent, how could one have anything else to give. yet, it was so. when the track wasn't popular, or high octane, or anything by jay-z, but rather chill and slow...she found me. and we would pull each other close and embrace in such a way that implied that we may have even known each other. as if i had come there with her and was going to leave with her. as if i were there for her. we would sway in the crowd of strangers as if she were not one. we would be in a realm all our own. no one else was there it seemed. nothing else mattered or even existed. we were a bond, of one beat and one flow.

and then the song would change and she would run away to the appropriate man of her choice.

the best part about the entire observation though is that i realize that each of those dudes had to feel the same way when they were with her. she had so maticulously chosen each of us, hadn't she? she had so neatly arranged the order nd priority by which we fell in line, didn't she? weren't we playing to her, just to get a glimpse of that exclusivity, of that notion that we were all that mattered to her? weren't we all just living for the moment, defined only by the premise that it was more?

it was logic.
i mean, it couldn't have been anything else...

riding clutch

a friend of mine found himself in a particular situation one day and, upon barely making it out, simply said "whew, clutch".
i said, "clutch, well, whatever do you mean by that?"
he replied, "clutch, you know, the guy that brings up the rear, the last person or thing in a sequence. in this instance, i am referring to the fact that i made it out of that situation in the last second."
i said, "you mean, clutch, like the jamaican bobsled team?"
he said, "yes reggie, that would be doug e. doug in cool runnings..."
"wow!" i exclaimed, "that's how i live my entire life!! my life is clutch!!"

that was several weeks ago. and since then, i have said clutch about a number of things. truly, i have lived up to the exclamation that i live clutch, that it is of my essence and physical fabric. i embody clutch. and though i cling to it like a infant embraces an 21-year-old breast, sometimes i find it frustrating. for once, i would like to not get through something by the skin of my teeth, but rather walk across the finish line, taking comfort in knowing i could have stopped to potty along the way but didn't.

but to do that, i would have to hold my urine, or at least not drink alot of gatorade before the competition.

what i'm trying to say is that to get out of clutch, one needs preparation.

for instance, i had to write the rent check for our apartment this month. (the building requires that we only submit one check, so we take turns writing rent checks out to each other every month.) however, all of the roommates, myself included, were going to be out of town for the 4th of july weekend. if i was one to practice extensive preparation, i would have written the rent check early, and submitted it with a letter asking them to hold it until the 1st, when i would be sure all the rent checks had cleared into my account. and then, all would have been well.

but no, that's not what happened. what had happened was, i ended up losing my check card over the course of the weekend, having only enough cash to get me to wednesday night. yet, getting in late wednesday night, i didn't have a chance to go into a banking branch to retrieve more cash. thursday, after my daily battle with the snooze button, i rush to class, scrounging up just enough change to catch the train to school (because my metrocard was expired). yet, upon leaving class, i find that i didn't scrape enough change to get back. so, equipped with $1.65, and a rent check from one of the roommates, i searched for about 30 minutes for anyone that could cash the check. and all i needed was 35 cents. there was no bank of america for miles, no other bank would cash it without an account, and with opening an account with a new bank, they would keep the check for 5 to 10 business days. so i started walking, with my eyes glued to the ground hoping to come across a quarter and a dime.

15 minutes passes and then it happens...clutch. out of 20 people in my class, i'm friends with two and good associates with 6. one of the 6 comes out of popeyes, and touches me on the shoulder as i walk by. she asks me whats up. i tell her i'm stuck in queens. she gives me a dollar. i give her a hug. and it's a done deal. i walked to the train and took it back to the city, where i deposited the check and took cash out to last me until my new checkcard comes.

hence, the jamaican bobsled team wins again. but one has to ask themselves, how often can that type of thing happen before it doesn't come through any more. i mean, how much skin could i possibly have on my teeth?! should i give up the lifestyle that has come through for me time and time again. technically, no one even remembers the front runner from cool runnings, and malik yoba can't be found. the only ones still out there are doug e. doug (kinda) and taye diggs.

maybe the moral here is not to be frontrunner or clutch. maybe i should start aiming simply for shotgun, not overly prepared, but not in the back either. then i can start making movies with sanaa lathan and knock her up before she realizes that i'm not that good an actor.

but then, that would put me right back at clutch. damn. can't win for losing.

situational behavior

in a recent road trip, i deviated from my group and found myself in a drunken stupor wandering around wilmington, north carolina. it was a long week.

but in such, i found a story to tell. for one, i have come to the conclusion that there is at least one object, event, or action that, when witnessed, reverts a given adult to the child they once were. at least one. one thing that makes one drop every ounce of responsibility and maturity for a certain instance, and turns them into the child of their past. that occurrence for me is fireworks. from the first pop, to the last explosion, i am a 4-year-old boy, gaping at the sky with my mouth open, occasionally mouthing the word "wow" silently as the bombs burst in the air. the 4th of july is steadily becoming one of my favorite holidays. yet, it has only come to my realization these last few years. for some reason, i never ventured out to Stone Mountain or Lenox Mall to see the fireworks in Georgia; however, in spending my last 3 Independence Day's in the north, there are fireworks around every corner. it would be hard to miss them even if i tried. and so, with the convenience of witnessing the spectacular shows of fireworks increased, i have been privy to be turned into a toddler at least once a year around this time.

for others, it may be christmas lights. for others it may be trick-or-treating. some childhood flashes come during roadtrips, or eating at certain restaurants. but for me, hands down, it's fireworks...and maybe eating at picadilly.

so there i stood, drunk, alone, and in utter amazement and satisfaction, under a vast sky of red, white and blue flames in the air. what's more is that my cell phone had deceased over the course of the trip, so getting back with my group would prove to be a more difficult task than i initially thought, but i wasn't worried about it at the time. nor did i have much time to worry about it. soon after the fireworks were over, a fight broke out behind me. a gang of white boys and a gang of black boys had gotten into it over something or another and were going at it like arizona wolves. yet, as people were running away in droves, looking for the police, i simply stood. i don't quite remember why i was just standing, i wasn't that drunk, especially after the fireworks, but there was a certain level of strength i found in just standing. part of me wanted to go and help break it up; another part of me wanted to walk away before i caught a punch. but the vast majority of me thought it best to just stand, and watch. it was as if i were trying to talk with my action. as if i were trying to say, "shit, i'm from atlanta, i live in new york, and i'm a teacher...you call this a fight? this ain't nothin. i'm not running from this scrap, nor will i even give it the energy to try and stop it. it barely even deserves my attention." and now, reading back over the last few lines, i am sure that is what i was trying to say. hell, i even had on my shades. and i don't even wear shades.

in this sense, however, i saw the vast difference in who i presented myself to be over just a 5 minute interval. one minute, i'm a kid, looking up in the sky, oblivious to not only others around me, but even to my own image. yet, the next minute, i am 30% observant of other's behavior and 70% self-conscious of my own, in an effort to present myself in a certain light. both instances were results of events at the time and both were equally impactful on my state of mind, which makes me wonder...how often is my personality dictated by events in which i have little or no control. what percentage of my behavior is an effect of some other cause? and at that thought, how often is my behavior manipulated?

all of these thoughts have come out as they were written, hence, this is will something that i think about for the rest of the day, as i attempt to access the actions i take on my own, verses the actions i take in response to something, or someone, else.

any thoughts?

quarter jerk

i have often been told that puerto ricans have a bit of a possessive side. the main source of this information is my mom, whom has a puerto rican father, making me 1/4 puerto rican. others have been friends and family members that also attest that puerto ricans, and most spanish cultures for that matter, just seem to be more possessive than other cultures, especially with relationships.

though, even given my puerto rican background, i never really considered myself possessive. on the contrary, my non-chalont nature led me to believe that i wasn't the type to even get jealous. and to my knowledge, i have only showed an overprotective bearing on my little sister, for whom i would very likely die and kill for.

however, in the last several years, i have not only found my puerto rican possessiveness to be present, but have also realized that it has been there all along. hell, in the last year it has become more apparent than ever, as i have been teaching in a predominately latino school. i've had one student swing on another because they were leaning against HIS desk, i've had one student try to stab another with a pencil, because they had HIS pen, and i can't begin to count the incidents that have happened because somebody is dating HIS girl, or HER "man". all of it has caused me to think...to reflect. and the truth is, is that, i'm a possessive guy. i have lived in the basement most of my life, and have always wanted it a certain way. it was my territory. the Quest, which i treated as my personal apartment my senior year of high school, was mine by default, and everyone knew it. in some way, sort, or manner, i managed to let everyone in my family know that this is Reggie's vehicle. i wouldn't let ex-girlfriends have a successful breakup, because although the title left, i didn't want them to go anywhere. i didn't want them to go to a point where i couldn't see them or know what was going on. in my mind, my subconscious puerto rican mind, they were mine. and i wasn't about let them not be mine.

last week, for instance, i found myself in a situation at grad school. my class, made up of mostly career changing adults, had piled into the room and were awaiting the professor, whom by this time had established the fact that he was always going to be late. now, within the program i'm in, there are about 120 of us, and as such, the school has split up classes in about 3-4 groups. each group gets mixed up each semester. now that we're about a year into it though, everyone pretty much knows everyone else. i can count my friends on one hand. that's not because i'm not friendly or anything though, it's just that most of the people in my program are career changing adults...and a quarter of them are jerks. in this particular class that i'm in now though, i have one good friend. she was my first friend in the program, and one that i probably have the most fun with sitting in class making sarcasitc remarks. she very smart though, where i'm a little rougher around the edges. think of it as a hermonie and harry thing, for those that are into the harry potter. for as often as she helps me with an assignment, i make her laugh. or, for as often as she makes me laugh in class, i fuck something up and upset her in a "dog-pissing-on-the-carpet" way. to a certain degree though, i think she takes pleasure in the fact that i would really be a fuck up if it weren't for her. but i would probably never admit to it.

in this class, the one i'm in now with her, she has been more of a help than in any other. this class is one focusing on upper-level mathematics, proving theorems and laws, and all sorts of shit i haven't seen in years. so we often sit next to each other, as we have done in every class before, and do our usual thing. i take notes. i don't understand notes. i daydream as she takes notes. then she explains the notes to me. then i understand the notes. then we both take notes until i start daydreaming again. last week though, i walk in the classroom, and this OTHER guy is sitting next to her. i froze at the doorway for a second and just looked at him. surely he knew that was my seat. i'd been sitting there the last two weeks! for the next 15 seconds i tried to run theories in my head as to what was going on. had she asked him to sit there? was he only there for a moment, maybe asking her a question? or, like a sixth grader, was he just simply trying me, eager to see what i was going to do about his infringement??

i took a deep breath, and quietly sat down a few aisles from him.

i caught a few undefined glances from her during that class, but neither of us said anything after class was over. throughout it though, he often looked over on her page of notes, asking her questions and commenting on the lesson. she, not being rude, was responding, entertaining the whole situation. i could do nothing that whole class, although i was quite impressed with my completion on a su doku puzzle i had been having problems with all that day. the next day, i found that i was earlier than the both of them, and went to take my regular seat. she came in next, and went to take her sit next to me. then he came, and took a new seat next to her. and there it became apparent. he was after my friend. he wanted to be her harry potter. and yes, i was a jerk for thinking this, but i didn't care. this was my class buddy. my only class buddy, and i wasn't about to let him take her away. and so as a defensive move...i did nothing. i simply sat, and let him do what he thought was best. bugging her during the lessons for explanations, which i never did. looking on her page, copying from her notes, which i know irritated her. after about an hour in, i actually found it entertaining that he was digging his own grave.

then, it happened. it was like a lost episode, after you find out that huge piece of the puzzle that answers so many questions while simultaneously introducing new questions...yeah, like that. towards the end of the class, the guy seemingly didn't understand something that the rest of the class seemingly understood (a position i find myself in everyday in that class). yet, where i know just to shut the fuck up in that situation, he thought it to be more impressive if he demanded answers from the professor in a back and forth argument about what exactly it is that he didn't understand. you see, HE understood what he didn't understand, but for some reason, he couldn't quite convery that to the professor efficiently. so after about 3 minutes, he gave up and let the professor move on. and it wouldn't have been so bad if it had stopped there, but it didn't. apparently, he used to sit on the front row with some other, more attentive, classmates. and about a week before, he was asking one of the girls on the front row for help, and she rejected him, which is why he moved to the back and started moving in on MY class buddy. and so, right after his heated discussion with the professor, the girl in the front that rejected him a week before decided to help him out by explaning to the professor what exactly he was confused about. and that's where it got nasty. i suppose he had been carrying around a grudge for that girl not helping him; so at the sound of her voice then, deciding to help him then, and not before, he started yelling in an outrage. "NO! I DO NOT WANT YOUR HELP! I DO NOT NEED YOUR HELP NOW!!" the professor couldn't control it. and the girl just kept talking, trying to tell him and the professor she can help explain the problem. then he stood and pointed at her, "IF YOU WANT TO HELP, YOU SHOULD TEACH THE CLASS!!! I DO NOT NEED YOUR HELP ANYMORE!! YOU ARE NOTHING!!..." and he kept this up until she broke out of the room crying.

the class was in utter silence, until that special quarter of the class (the jerks), started laughing at the whole spectacle. me and my class buddy, just stared at each other, afraid to say anything due t the fact that we were sitting right next to him. in my mind, he not only dug his own grave, he went and laid in it, pulled the dirt back inside, mounted the headstone, and pushed up some flowers.

i felt a little bad at first. i felt bad because i felt good. a fraction of me was satisfied; hell, even gleeful. there would be no way i would lose my friend to him, the yelling dopefiend from the grave. but still, he was only looking for help. companionship in a classroom of jerks and career-changing adults. this didn't matter though. that fraction of me was overwhelming. it was happiness, and i had to focus to make it go away. it's not like me to find satisfaction in the misfortune of others, for he had truly embarassed himself. by the end of class though, i managed to find some true pity floating around in my stomach, and felt relieved that i wasn't a total monster. no one said anything about it as class ended, though everyone was looking at him, some with shaking heads, others with small smirks. my friend though, looked at him with what seemed to be understanding, but still disappointment. kinda like a "dog-pissing-on-the-carpet" look.

i hadn't made it out the classroom before a small voice in my head said, "cójalo, él es un asno!"

moreso a sheperd 2

if you look closely to the corner, you can see some of my students planning something mischieveous behind my back.

as a continuation of "moreso a sheperd", i would like to point out that the end of this school year was not an easy landing. as you can tell, i fell asleep during a field trip. to a certain degree, i have justified this, but in all honesty, there is no justification. i was tired, and i dozed off during the 3rd inning of a bring baseball game, and was foolish enough to let it get caught on camera. (for those losing their minds about this, i was sitting with a number of other teachers...so they weren't unsupervised; no children were harmed in the making of this story).

the purpose of this continuation though, isn't the whole falling asleep bit, but rather than fact that, once again, had to to ward off the wolves.

after the 3rd inning, i realized i was falling asleep and decided to figure out how to stop it. i turned and saw that the cause of it, however, wasn't that i was that tired, or even that bored, but because the people behind me were sitting in such a way that i had to sit up and have my hands suppot my head (as pictured). this is also how i fall asleep on the toilet. in any case though, i moved my seat and found it much easier to stay awake and keep an eye on the students. and allow me to note here, that despite how much NY kids may be into a baseball game, they are still just as likely, if not more, to find something to get into. but given that it was hot, long day, it wasn't that bad. one kid made another kid cry beause they were talking about their daddy; one kid made my top student curse her out because they accused her of spreading rumors; and for a moment, i was stuck outside of the stadium with the worst student of the class as he decided it would be best to throw a wiffle ball against the side of the entrance, almost getting into a fight with another school single-handedly by accidently hitting them with the ball.

relatively, that's not bad.

what was taxing though, an incident that happened around 8th inning, when my girls started getting a little restless. it first started with one or two standing a few rows down from me and smiling to the next stand. i assumed they saw some of the students from the other class and were cracking jokes, as usual, so i didn't bother them. yet, when about 5 more of my 12-13 year old lady students moved closer to the end of the row the others were on, smiling harder and laughing flirtatious like, it was then that i looked over and saw the several boys they identified as "cute". apparently, a number of schools caught the same deal we caught and brought their students to the ball game. including some high schools, one of which had several pseudo-thugs that seemed to be confused as to whether or not they wanted to be chris brown, or the game; either way, they had successully caught the attention of 8 of my girl students. so, almost instantly after realized the situation, i moved the girls back to the other side of the row. knowing that the gig was up, they didn't put up much of a fight, they simply moved to the other side of the row, though a few were still looking. but 5 minutes later, who do i see stalk-walking their little lanky asses over to our section of the stadium?! "the nerve of these dudes," i thought to myself, "fuckin new york!" my girls, upon seeing them, got gittery and excited, letting out shrills of "Oh My God, girl!" and "oh shit, they're coming" and "quit cursing, mr. wilborn is looking at you!" i let the dudes get right about to where i was, sitting in the middle of a row, with my girls being to the far right, and simply said to them, "hey huys, go back with your group." they looked at me as if i had asked the for their pride. so i said, simply, but with a little more force, "leave the girls alone, go back to your group." these jokes loked at me again, and walked a little to my left, murmuring under their breath, and sat down near me, as if to say, "we're not going back to our group, fuck you". and with that, realizing that i'm not their teacher, i let them sit. yet, at the same time, i put down my soda and tied my shoes. there would be no way i was going to let them get near my girls. after a few minutes, they looked over at me. we met ees for a minute in a clear stare-down, and that was all. they got up, and went back to their fucking group.

my silly little girls got even more gittery, and one came over to give me a high five, exclaiming "we sure showed them, mr. wilborn!" i looked at her like she was crazy and told her to go sit down.

later, as in 7 minutes later, all the girls came to me and asked if they could go to the bathroom, as if i had "STUPID" tattoed across my cheekbone. i told them no, and they tried to assure me that it was okay, because my 6th grade boys would be accompanying them. again, i told them to go sit down. my boys are just as protective as i am aganinst the girls, and just like me, they would fight over them if something were to happen. yet, it's ok for me to go to jail. not them.

all in all, a shepeard is a sheperd. and whether it be protecting the flock against high school boys at the baseball game, kidnappers at the movie theatres, cars on the street, and even each other - they are a herd of human beings that don't know any better, and as such, assuming any different will be handing the sheep over to the wolves.