WHAT THE HELL, SAM?

Nothing really surprises me anymore as a teacher. I tell my high school students that I have heard about every "story" or "reason" for homework not being completed, for projects remaining incomplete weeks removed from a due date. Nothing surprises me. I have learned to roll with the explanations students offer me as they hope that something will stick.

"Having said that," I explain to those empty-handed teenagers in front of me, "I would still like to see this finished. How much more time do you need? How can I help you?" Inevitably, that which is incomplete is completed; those that are lost find their way.

The past month has been different in my English IV classes. I have been incredibly surprised, and I am at loss for words. That's a new one for me. Nothing bad is happening in Room 304; life is actually the opposite for this teacher and his students.

I met Sam Hill over Christmas break this year. My Kindle offered his story as a free download for a short time, and I wanted a good read over break. I needed a book to take me somewhere beyond the daily grind of reading analysis papers and poorly written vocabulary sentences. I needed a book destined to remind me that despite the precarious nature of life, I can still experience something extraordinary if my vision is clear.

Robert Dugoni's novel The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell is the story of Sam Hill, a man who was born with ocular albinism, a condition that affects the pigment of the eyes. Imagine going through school in the 1960's with red eyes and having classmates rename you as "Sam Hell." Throughout his novel Dugoni transports the reader from the present day to the past and back again as Sam relives life experiences in order to understand the person he has become. Sam's life is at times a spiritual struggle as he explores his purpose in life. Robert Dugoni has created a thoughtful novel which at times is a reflection on morality, kindness, faith, and God.

Soooooo...

Over several weeks after Christmas break I nonchalantly showed individual seniors in my English IV class the paperback copy of the book, all 428 glorious pages of it, until everyone in my classes had a chance to read the compelling back cover then leaf through the book. 

"Oh, yeah. I think this will be good." 

"Ugh." 

"It is awfully long, but this sounds like it will be interesting."

"It's huge. How are we going to read all of this?"

"That cover is so cool. Is his name really Sam Hell?"

"Is there a movie about this?

As I said earlier, I have heard just about everything in my thirty years of teaching, so none of this surprised me at all. I was hesitant to even begin ordering The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell out of fear that my students would absolutely hate it, and I would be shackled with tediously dragging a bunch of teenagers through 428 pages of the book. This could become a nightmare for all of us. 

However, I had faith that my students would find the character of Sam Hill and his friends Mickie and Ernie as compelling as I did. I had faith that Sam's story, as full of eye-opening reality as a teacher can take in a classroom, would connect with young people who may have experienced the same issues of acceptance, relationships, isolation, bullying, faith, and death as Sam does throughout this novel. I had faith that they would understand the messages that Dugoni is expressing through the lives of his characters.

A month later the teacher in me has been experiencing truly "extraordinary" moments as I have attempted to pace the reading of the book as I normally do every other novel I have ever "taught." I have always enjoyed reading to students in class to help them become acclimated to the novel, the characters, the plot, themes, and the author's writing style; I did so throughout the first two parts of the book, but then I began encountering these types of excuses:

"Mr. Bucon, I hope you aren't mad, but I have been reading ahead."

"Sorry but I read the next three chapters. Am I in trouble?"

"Quiet, Mr. Bucon. It is Sustained Silent Reading!"

"I have finished Part Three already. I cannot put this down."

"This may be my favorite book ever."

"Are you sure there isn't a movie about this?"

We just finished a "test" of sorts on Friday about Part Five of the book and only have two parts remaining this week. As a teacher, the experience of a class becoming so enraptured by a novel like this is one which I will not soon forget.  They are a wonderful group enjoying a truly wonderful novel.

At the girls basketball game last Friday night, JB and Michael, two students in my eighth period, ventured over to sit beside me at halftime and never left. Guess what. The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell came up. "So, Mr. Bucon," JB began, "What is going to happen with Sam and David Bateman?"

"Do you really want me to tell you? I don't mind."

"No. No. Don't tell me. I want to be surprised. Is it good though?"

I smiled, shrugged my shoulders, then looked at Michael who sat silently beside JB and me. He is probably one of those kids who read ahead and does not want to tell me. He doesn't like to get into trouble. 

Twitter post and a comment from Robert Dugoni.

ON STANDBY

I know all about the pitfalls of traveling over the holidays, particularly over Thanksgiving. Of course, that did not prevent me from booking a last minute flight to North Carolina to see my North Carolina family. It had been quite a while since I ventured south. Life and all of its irritating complications pushed a visit back on a regular basis. 

I wish I could say I had grown accustomed to the unpredicatable nature of life, but I cannot do so with any degree of certainty; however, this journey wrapped some odd moments among important messages I needed to revisit. 

I was not going to be late for my 8:30 a.m. flight, so I spent the night in Pittsburgh where I could decompress before catching a shuttle to the airport for a 6:30 a.m.check-in. I had this all planned. I was going to be early, early, early so I wouldn't stress, stress, stress. Riiiiiiight. 

At baggage check, the cordial woman behind the counter asked for my destination. "Cleveland then to Raleigh." She informed me that I would not be going to Cleveland that day. "But that is where my connecting flight is." I distinctly remember planning this trip and finding it perposterous that I would be headed to Cleveland before Raleigh. She explained that this airline does not fly to Cleveland for connecting flights. "That can't be possible," I laughed, pulling my flight itinerary up on my phone. "See? CLT to RDU." She smiled and indicated that CLT is actually Charlotte. I felt like an idiot as I had complained to everyone the past week that I was going to Cleveland then Raleigh. 

Two hours later, I boarded a plane which was packed from front to back. I thought I was being so polite to the silver haired old lady who was sitting in what I thought was my seat. "Honey, I think you have my seat. I am 6D."  I was wrong again, showing the lady my boarding pass which clearly identified my seat as 8D. "That's all right," the nice lady consoled me, "maybe you should get your glasses checked, honey." I was so embarrassed that I stood in front of my seat before sitting until eveyone log-jammed behind me passed. Eventually an irritated woman in the seat in front of me yelled at me to please sit down already. 

Despite all of the excitement about our trips, all of us passengers cooled our personal jets while we waited on the runaway for thirty minutes until a break in the strong winds appeared. All I could think of was missing my connecting flight in Charlotte. I fell sound asleep watching The Office on my Kindle Fire, startled into awakening by the sound of my own LOUD SCREAM when the captain finally blared throughout the cabin that we would now be taking off. I pulled my ball cap down while apologizing for my scream to everyone beside me and in the two rows in front and behind me. The irritated lady in front of me just shook her head. I was now an official nuisance on that early flight out of Pittsburgh the day before Thanksgiving.

An hour and a half later we landed in Charlotte where my connecting flight had already begun boarding fifteen minutes earlier. As I exited the narrow confines of the B gate, I sprinted the entire football length of the Charlotte airport, stopping only because my legs were wobbly from sitting so long on the plane. I arrived at the C gate area to find it packed with people standing at over half of the gates while waiting to board their planes. I saw C18 at the far end of the terminal. The humanity, the sweating humanity. I sat a moment until the speaker announced that my group was boarding. "Group 6 now boarding." I edged myself into the throng, slowly moving toward the gate. I eventually saw the destination sign, now unobscured by the people standing in front of it. "Newark, NJ." Shit.

"Ma'am," I begged the attendant at gate C12, "my notification says C18. It really is not my fault I am late. I was stuck in Pittsburgh for half an hour, I sprinted here to this end of the terminal, and I was sitting right over there by gate C18. I couldn't see anything. Could you please open the door?" She shook her head, explaining that they change gates all of the time. I didn't even know how to respond to that. What was I going to do? It is Thanksgiving. The kids are waiting for me. 

"Sir, you will have to go to C6. They will put you on standby for a later flight."

Two hours later I felt as if someone had smashed my body into the standby window seat as punishment for my earlier expectations of a calm and uneventful travel day. I was definitely being punished with an inch of space between my knees and the seat in front of me. I pulled up my Kindle Fire again, slapped on my headphones, then sulked as much as I could while watching Doctor Who. I did not anticipate being able to fall asleep in that seat, but I did. I woke up as the plane was touching down in Raleigh. 

The rest of the journey was the uneventful journey for which I yearned earlier in the day, nearly seven hours earlier. I had a quick bag pick up of my suitcase which had arrived an hour and a half before I did, a nice choice of five different rental cars, and a trafficless highway between Raleigh and Wilson. I made it to Robert and Emily's home in Wilson around 3:30 p.m., only nine hours from the time I began this adventure.

Emily and I took the kids out to eat while Robert finished his shift at Firestone. Olive Garden was so relaxing that I was ready to explore the toys and candy sections at Five-Below with a renewed energy while making up for lost time with some special people in my life. We filled the evening with board games and coloring, excited about the beautiful Thanksgiving dinner the next day. Everything turned out fine, maybe even better than I expected.

Our lives are filled with moments in which we are uncertain of our destinations. Sometimes we are so absolutely certain of our paths that we stumble over our self-confidence, losing our purpose and determination when events steer us into different directions. Embarrassment, indecision, and doubt become traveling companions for whom we have never purchased tickets. While it is not possible to anticipate the unexpected, going on standby works really well as this provides us an opportunity to reconsider our direction until another more viable path develops that will take us to our ultimate goal.