INSPIRING KIDS TO ACHIEVE? THAT’S THE JOB

Who is inspiring kids to achieve?

Who inspired you?

I’ll start.

It’s the parents, mom and dad, the home unit.

What else would you expect from a baby boomer blogger?

My parents inspired me.

Instead of a pair of dead-ass adults waiting for some signal, some message to act on their kids’ behalf, they were ‘involved parents.’

If they got a call from Mrs. Emmit to hold for Mr. Ludlow about some kid problem, they’d get things straightened out right then, or later, depending on the urgency.

After a bad home haircut made worse by complaining, mom got the call after a kid wouldn’t take his hat off in class.

Momma showed up with an offer: “Would you like your butt paddled in the office or out in the middle of the field all of the classrooms looked out on?”

A few hacks made everything better.

For someone.

What would happen today if someone’s mom spanked them at school?

It would be a viral TikTok of my mom finishing her mom-work and inviting the film person over to finish what their parents left out.

My Mom:

 

She started out their marriage as a Marine Wife.

My older brother and I were born Marine Kids, him in a Navy hospital, me at Letterman Army Hospital.

Imagine the combination of Marine Wife and DMV instructor in your face.

Life was hard, lemme tell ya. You couldn’t get away with nothing, or maybe I wasn’t devious enough.

If you knocked on their door you’re getting a 5’10”, 220 lb woman with a familiar DMV expression asking ‘what the hell do you think you’re doing here.’

She’d fill up a door frame, but you might notice the Resting Marine eyeballing you from the couch watching for your next move.

I don’t believe they would abide with masked men yanking them out of their house.

Would it help that they knew every state cop in the Southwestern Region Operations?

That my dad and the city police chief were on a first name basis?

Probably not, but they were experienced negotiators in their lines of work.

They would go along peacefully while my mom would quietly shame each of them for the way they turned out, for acting on wrongful given orders.

“I’m sure your mother’s proud of you. That’s why you wear a mask?”

 

After Parents, Then Who?

It’s friends and social media, that’s what is inspiring kids.

At least that’s the story.

I heard another story the other day about a teacher who cut a fifth grader from being the drummer in band.

The kid grew up to be a local sports talk host with his partner who had just had a weekend at Black Butte.

The partner talked about a nice family he’d met around the pool, a nice retired couple, former teachers.

As it happened, the man was the band teacher who’d dashed the drum dreams of the other guy.

Who was uninspired by his teacher at the time, and continues to be uninspired to the point of naming names today.

 

I met a woman in her late-sixties, early-seventies, who had gone to a concert in high school with her high school friend.

She was a pretty woman, probably a pretty girl, and they both got invited back stage where the woman I met watched her friend start making out with the guitar player.

When the star came in he swooped on the woman I met with a big sloppy slobbering drunk rocker lip lock, in front of his girlfriend, who said something shitty in Spanish to the person next to her.

Once the kid disengaged herself from the groping star, she said something back in Spanish and left her friend.

That was her memory fifty years later.

People remember things, inspirational or not.

 

The Blank Page Of Life

Whatever your guess, or sure thing, about who is inspiring kids today, we know one thing:

Kids are a blank slate, a sponge, and they will remember.

You remember, I remember, they remember.

I remember being in summer band, not just school year band, going into Junior High.

We had a teacher who uninspired a few kids. I was one of them.

Since it was summer band, the teacher should know I was committed.

He took it out on me in class when I didn’t practice enough to play second sax.

I don’t remember what he said. I do remember packing my horn in summer band and sitting out by the curb for the an hour waiting for a ride.

Alone.

I told my parents what had happened. They weren’t happy. With me.

I was a quitter, the worst thing in the world.

But I could live with it better than getting hounded by a teacher in a voluntary summer class.

By then I knew how to deal with a bully.

Leave them alone. If they persist, give a warning. After that, hands fly.

I wasn’t about to go back and get my ass kicked by Mr. Howely.

Would it be in the office, or out in the field?

 

PS: Choose your battles.

PSS: Once you choose, stick to it.