In the autumn of 1979, I was in 7th grade (middle school). One day I was sitting in the front seat of our school bus, on the door side, play fighting with my friend. We weren’t being especially rowdy — we were just being silly on our bus ride home in the afternoon.

For some reason, an older guy in the other front seat, behind the driver, took exception to our playing. I was sitting on the aisle side of our seat, across from this guy. He told us to stop. I don’t remember exactly what I said back, but it must have been something smart, because the guy leaned over and slapped me on the cheek. He didn’t hit me real hard (not as hard as he could’ve), but he did slap me. I leaned over and slapped him back. I didn’t hit him hard — it was just a touch, really.

I was a scrawny little 12-year-old geek, maybe 90 pounds, soaking wet. He was a hulking 25-year-old line backer, maybe 300 pounds, hungry. OK, maybe he wasn’t. But he was older than me, taller than me, and considerably heavier than me. He looked like a kid who had failed a couple grades and should have been in high school, on the football team.

When I popped him on the cheek, his face changed from an annoyed frown to an enraged roar. In a flash, he reached out and grabbed me with both hands, picked me up out of the seat, shook me in the air, and hurled me down the aisle toward the back of the bus.

I landed on the floor of the walkway, surprisingly unhurt. It’d happened so fast, I was just then thinking, uh-oh. The bus was stopped and silent. I slowly got up off the floor, scared of what might happen next. This guy could tear me apart, I thought.

No one was looking at me — all faces were forward. Even the hulking monster wasn’t looking at me. The bus driver, a high school senior girl, had her head leaned back over her seat, and she had her hand up to her face. When I stood up, I saw her hand and face were covered with blood. What happened to the bus driver? For a moment I thought she might be dead.

Well, here’s what happened: I was wearing my Dingo boots that day, and when the hulk twirled me in the air, my legs and feet whipped around and hit the bus driver straight on the nose. Her nose broke and blood sprayed everywhere.

A couple kids helped her off the bus and across the street to the nearest house to use a phone. I sat down in the back of the bus, out of sight of the mountain of mean, while we all waited for a replacement bus driver to come and take us home.

* * *

The next morning, I was called to the principal’s office. The hulk was there, too. The principal asked us what happened, and I said he picked me up and threw me across the bus. He said I hit him and busted his lip. The principal looked at his unmarked lip, then at the whole mountain, then at little mole hill me. He gave us a stern talking to, and then dismissed us. We both walked out quietly, and to my knowledge, neither of us received any kind of punishment.

The big kid rarely road the bus, before or after that incident, and I never ended up near him again when he did. I saw him occasionally , at a distance, around school, but we never had any direct contact. He just ignored me, and I pretty much forgot about him, too, after a few weeks.

That girl never drove our bus again, but some time later I heard she was “OK.”

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

The boys were in bed and Cowgrit and I were snuggled up on the sofa spending some together time watching VH1’s Greatest Songs of the 90s. Cowgrit and I met and dated in the early 90s and spent our DINK* days in the late 90s. So some of the songs highlighted in the show brought nostalgic thoughts to our minds.

Most of the songs and commentary on the songs were “G rated”, but then came mention of Third Eye Blind’s top hit, Semi-Charmed Life. Cowgrit and I both liked the song, as it has a good upbeat tempo and happy feel, although neither of us really knew the lyrics. I thought the song was about having a mundane, mediocre life, and wanting more. Boy, was I wrong.

The commentators on the show said the song was about heavy drug use, wild sex, and “lots of really wrong, wrong things,” to quote one guest. Cowgrit and I were surprised. Another guest said, “it’s about doing crystal meth and having sex.” And that’s when we noticed Calfgrit7 standing at the hallway.

I fumbled around for the TV remote and managed to turn it off before any more enlightening commentary could be spoken. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard? How much did he understand? Oh boy.

We got him back to bed, and he never said or asked anything about what was on TV. If he grows up to be a druggie, sex-crazed, pervert, we’re going to blame VH1.

* Dual Income, No Kids

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

I’m taking a new job at a new company, and this company screens all new hires for drug use. This is fine with me, but it just feels a little unnecessary. But then, I’ve probably led a sheltered life, lately, where drug use is concerned.

I’ve never done any illegal drug. I don’t even smoke tobacco or drink alcohol. Heck, as I mentioned in an earlier post, I don’t even drink sodas anymore. None of my friends, personal, family, or work, smoke or take illegal drugs. I just don’t hang around with that kind of crowd. (Someone may drink a beer or wine or something on occasion.) So, the whole concept of testing for drug use seems kind of other-worldly.

When I was in high school, I had a couple friends who smoked cigarettes and marijuana, and drank alcohol. One of my best friends at that age was a serious pot head. I was present when he influenced one of my other best friends into smoking pot for the first time. That incident saddened me, for that second friend. But I’ve never even so much as had a curiosity about trying the stuff. I had it offered to me, but saying “no” was usually enough to settle the question.

I remember back in the 1980s, when the “Just say no,” anti-drug campaign was being ragged on as unrealistic and naive. That argument always confused me. Just saying “no” worked for me every time. Sometimes I had to say it twice, or even three times, when the offerer gave me the “Oh, come on, give it a try.” But “no” did work.

After going off to college, and leaving those high school friends behind, I can’t remember ever encountering drugs or drug users again. None of my college friends did any drugs, nor did they smoke tobacco or drink alcohol. I can’t say I hung out with a higher class of people — that would be laughable. We all just didn’t do that kind of thing. We played video games, role playing games, went to movies, and ate pizza and drank Mountain Dew until the sun came up, sometimes, but we never did any drugs.

For over 20 years, now, I haven’t associated with, or even known anyone who used drugs. The idea just turns me off. It’s like contemplating befriending someone who eats their own excrement. It’s so disgusting, it’s absurd.

So, the idea of having my urine tested for drugs seems silly to me. But, then again, I guess this kind of thing just helps make sure that the people around me, at least those at my work, are, indeed, drug free.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

We were getting the boys ready for bed, and I was going to read a book to both boys, together. (We normally read to them separately. They have different interest levels.) I asked them to pick out a book, and Calfgrit6 asked if I would read one of his comic books. I said, “Yes,” and then he picked up two. He showed them to Calfgrit3 and asked him which he wanted to read.

It’s very sweet that he asked his little brother for his choice, and it was fun to watch the negotiation.

Calfgrit6 held up the two comics and asked, “Which one do you want Dad to read?”

Calfgrit3 pointed to comic B and said, “That one.”

“You don’t want to read this one?” CG6 wiggled comic A.

“No. That one.” CG3 pointed to comic B, again.

“This one,” said CG6, wiggling comic A, “has excitement.”

CG3 ignored him.

CG6 tried again. “Don’t you want to read the exciting comic?”

CG3 pointed to comic B again, “That one.”

“But,” said CG6, comparing comic B to comic A, “this one is not as cool as this one. Don’t you want to read the really cool one?”

CG3 just looked at CG6.

CG6 decided on a different selling point. He wiggled comic A again, and said, “This one is funny. Do you want to hear the funny parts?”

CG3 said, “Uh huh.”

CG6 grinned. “So we’ll read this one,” he said, holding up comic A.

“No,” said CG3, pointing to comic B, “I want to read that one.”

“Um,” said CG6, trying to think of another angle to offer for his side.

I interrupted his thought, “Come on, I’ll read both of them.”

Calfgrit6 got up in the bed, and I sat down next to him. I opened comic B, to read it first, but Calfgrit3 wouldn’t join us. I started reading comic B, but CG3 had changed his mind completely, and didn’t want to hear either of the books.

So I went ahead and continued reading. Cowgrit eventually came and took Calfgrit3 to his room and read him one of his own books. I read both comics to Calfgrit6.

* * *

For the record (though I think I’ve stated it in a previous post) Calfgrit6’s comic books are screened by me before he ever sees them. I make sure any comic he looks through and/or I read to him are age appropriate. They have little, mild, or no violence, and the themes are not complicated or dark. Marvel (my favorite comics publisher) has a series of comics written especially for young children.

Calfgrit6 is really doing well with learning to read, and can read some books already. Very soon, he’ll be reading his comics all by himself.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com