CARROTS

I was not really hungry at all. I had to eat quickly for a Friday with a no-planning period and a 30-minute Friday lunch while prepping for my two remaining classes. The warmed-in-a-microwave Papa John cheesy breadsticks from last Monday and softball-sized orange were both good. I was swallowing the last of the cold coffee in my Kindness mug when the sound of enthusiastic chaos began making its way to my door.

Paxton and John were the first to arrive. They had these broad smiles on their faces, the devious smiles that would have instilled teacher trepidation and tension at the beginning of the year when I barely knew these kids. Now, though? Either one of their friends said something idiotic at lunch, or another friend got in trouble again. Even though I feigned indifference over their juvenile adventures, I needed to know deep down. The anticipation was eating away at me.

Paxton chuckled as he reached behind his back. "Here, White Rabbit." He tossed a big plastic bag of carrots right in the middle of my desk.

My eyes watered at the hilarity of all of this. I grasped the arms of my chair to keep myself from falling onto the floor in laughter. I am seldom at a loss for words, but my laughter prevented me from saying anything as all three of us just kept laughing and laughing while the rest of the class continued to come into the room. I finally cleared my throat to say, "Thanks, Pax. This really made my day. I needed this."

They both regaled me of how the crew gathered up the carrots from the cafeteria lunch to stuff them in a plastic bag they would drop on my desk. More students continued to enter the room as they did this, discovering the carrots and laughing. I wanted to call it a day right then, like a mic drop, a perfect way to end a chaotic week.

Context, though. Moments like this need context.

My classes had been reading Matthew Quick's Boy21 for a week. Not everyone is a great reader; not everyone has the patience to invest time and energy into the characters in a book. As a teacher, I never know how a class will respond to a book we will read or a project we will undertake.

The book's narrator is Finley, a quiet senior whose basketball coach has asked to befriend a new student named Russell, who has moved from California to Boston after losing his parents to a senseless murder. Finley is the only white player on the basketball team, so his teammates jokingly call him "White Rabbit." Kids sometimes like to play around with their friends and teammates, so Finley is initially fine when the cafeteria students dump uneaten carrots on his tray during lunch while saying, "Here you go, White Rabbit." Unfortunately, this act becomes a joke that borders on torment. 

Quick takes the reader on a journey of three people: Finley, Russ, and Finley's girlfriend Erin, who learn to cope with life's painful struggles. Together the three learn the importance of connection and the necessity of having people who understand and honestly care about one another in our lives.

As I said earlier, the bag of carrots was a perfect way to end the week. I could have packed up, turned the lights, and then headed home. But my class just had to read the book, and they insisted on going outside to the sunny courtyard to do so. It was hot, the kids tend to be crazy, and the courtyard lacks the control I need for a class. I usually absolutely hate making little trips like this. 

"Let's go. Bring your books and be quiet in the halls."

We sat on the courtyard steps in the bright afternoon sunlight with the ambient noise of the water fountain around us. We took turns reading the next few chapters. We did our "Did you notice..." or "I wonder why..." discussion starters. Different people sat on different levels of the stairs, some squinted in the sunlight while some covered their eyes with the book, but all of us shared thoughts about Finley, Russ, and Erin. Time wound down, and everyone seemed to want to read one more chapter before making the long walk back to the room.

So why did I laugh when the carrots landed on my desk? Why did I say that the bag of carrots made my day? Why did I so willingly take a trip outside with a class when I never do that? I have been pondering this for a while.

I keep seeing posts on Twitter and Facebook about teachers leaving the profession to find something else to do or to begin their retirement. I keep wondering how much longer I can do this. My neck and arm are so sore from reading papers and typing on the computer that I have taken to wearing a brace once again this spring. I am tired of a non-stop schedule of classes and activities that always transforms into a sprint at the end of the year, one which takes me weeks to recover. I am tired of finding it harder to enjoy life once the school day ends. I get it, though. I chose to teach, and I will never regret it. 

Unfortunately, I appear to have grown accustomed to doubt. I wonder if what I do makes any kind of impact anymore. I wonder if anyone ever listens anymore. I wonder if I am past my prime and am awaiting a resurgence of energy that may never come. I wonder if my body can actually hold together much longer as I empty the latest bottle of Tylenol. I wonder if my doubt will ever overwhelm the good moments, and I wonder what I will do when that time comes.

So why did the bag of carrots mean so much?

God occasionally speaks to us through the actions of others. He lets us know when our path is correct and when it may be time to rest. Through others, He tells us when we still have a purpose and that our influence on the world may be one that the world continues to need. And sometimes, God tells us through a random bag of carrots that everything will be okay.

So, yeah. "Thanks for the carrots. These really made my day."

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BEHIND THE BENCH

My grand quest has rewarded me with the best seat I have ever had at a high school basketball championship tournament: directly behind the bench. Well, not quite directly, but close enough. I hope the old woman in the over-sized yellow security jacket does not walk down the long bleacher stairs to find me here.

My quest began two days earlier, shortly after Central Catholic's Maroon Knights completed their monumental comeback in the second half against Grafton in the state quarter-finals, landing in a rematch of last year's state championship with Shady Spring for a spot in the finals. I was at home, watching the game stream on the sports network. My wifi is spotty at times, but the part that really pissed me off was the feed that had the announcers completing the play-by-play before the on-court action actually occurred. Seriously! I needed to see the game live: unfettered, close-up,  the way I watched all of the home games I attended this year.

The three-hour drive from Wheeling to Charleston was a grind, but I arrived at the coliseum at the halfway mark of the game before Central's game. Perfect timing. After I emptied my bladder, bought a program, grabbed some salty popcorn and an orange Powerade, I pulled down my hat and slipped on my readers. I reviewed the memorized lie that I was sitting in Section 110, Row M, Seat 4 instead of the actual ticket location on the opposite side of the floor: Section 135, Row M, Seat 9. I readied some wrinkled bills, including a crisp twenty to use as a possible bribe, then covertly began my "older gentleman lost" look. 

I strolled past that old woman security guard playing around on her tablet. I shuffled down the stairs, gripping the metal arm rail with my sweaty palm as I looked side to side for any open swath of seats until I found three halfway down. "Excuse me, young man," I mumbled to a couple who were actually about my age. "Are these seats taken?" For good measure, I spilled some popcorn and pretzel salt all over me and ended up sitting in the wrong reserved section for the next hour, unbeknownst to anyone of importance. 

I got this. I am a Knight.

The orange Powerade surging through my veins imbued me with even more resolve when seven minutes remained before the Central game commenced. I stepped down to the main floor, where I looked dejectedly at the reserved WVSSAC signs taped to the front row of seats before turning back to a vacant second-row spot, the better place for an onlooker, an observer to the lionhearted last stand of the Maroon Knights. 

I am here for the game, of course. I am here for more, though. 

How can any sports fan not appreciate the chess-like precision that encompasses a great basketball game? How can any beating heart not appreciate the small school vs. the large school confrontation, the David and Goliath biblical drama backdrop? The game did not disappoint as two teams who met over a year ago returned to play again, one intent to reassert dominance and the other prepared to prove the naysayers wrong. But after the ball was tipped, everything was pushed to the background as the game moved to the forefront. The game was like games the sports world has seen repeatedly. One team jumps to a lead until the other returns to tie the game then takes the lead. The first team plays catch-up until the final seconds tick away, and the last shot bounces off the rim. Unfortunately, the game did not end well for Central.

My popcorn bag rested crumpled beside my empty Powerade bottle, coarse salt remnants scattered around my seat behind the bench. I watched as the Central student cheering section slowly broke apart and scattered, making room for the next school. I checked my Twitter for likes and replies that had been riddling my feed with people asking for updates during the game. I returned the wrinkled bills to my wallet as I hoped to find something more healthy to eat later that evening. I did everything I could to not look where I should be looking: at the team. Of course, time slows down for us when we are at our lowest.

I cannot imagine the feeling of having to go through a line to shake hands after losing a game you desperately wanted to win. I cannot imagine the feeling of walking through that line as a senior as finality begins to creep its insidious energy into an already beaten and exhausted body. I cannot imagine walking back to the locker room for the final time, glancing about the crowd slowly leaving the coliseum and wondering how much I will miss this.

But I stopped all my anxious avoidance and remained in the moment. I wanted a seat behind the bench for a reason. I stole my way down those stairs not just to watch the game up close. To be honest, the view near the bench sucks. It just does. Coach Mel stands the entire time. The bench crew is always jumping up when a three-ball is shot, ready to thrust three-fingered fists into the air. And it sucks when the players come off the floor looking exhausted and frustrated when the game is not going their way. No one really sees those expressions when sitting in the prime spectator seats on the other side of the floor.

I will keep my seat right here, as uncomfortable as it seems to be.

You see, closer is always better. From this spot, I see more. I see the coaches interacting with all players as a group, as individuals, and as a bench. I see the hand movements and faces during the timeouts, but I have no idea what is being said. I see the Gatorade water bottle sitting five spots down from the player who needs it the most and wonder if I can bring it to him. Up close, I see the celebrations when victories are snatched from defeat and when losing feeds desperation. I see the underclassmen who want to walk in the path of the seniors but need to carve out a story of their own. I see the faces of the seniors who have dedicated years of their lives to the sport they love. I just see more.

Rest is not an option when dreams are there to follow. Determination and perseverance mean that you go hard, you do not look at the clock, and you leave the floor with no regrets. I hope that the players on this year's team understand how much they have inspired people to do just that. 

The old woman in the yellow jacket found me. "Sir, could I see your ticket? I do not think this is your seat." I was unsure if this was a dream, so I just laughed, slipped her a crisp twenty from my wallet, and politely said, "Ma'am, I will be here for a while longer."

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I will continue to add special products related to my books, blog, and podcast.