Professor Kesler

CRW 3013: Getting Schooled

Kevin O'Neal

Getting Schooled There was an incident when I was in sixth grade where there was a group project going on in class and this girl had taken my seat even though I had previously claimed it by placing my backpack on the ground, leaning on the chair. An argument ensued, but it didn't last long as I quickly and angrily grabbed my backpack off of the floor and walked over to another group of tables with an open seat. Perhaps it would have lasted longer, but the eyes of fellow classmates began coming our way and ears began to tune into our debate. That, plus the teacher was bound to wander over if it went on for too long. But once in my new chair with my new group, of which I only knew one person, I began to calm down and exchanged introductions with the group. I actually remained friends with that group throughout the three years of middle school before we got separated in high school. But I wasn't always so quick to quell my anger and move on from it. I didn't start on my path to peaceful solutions until roughly second grade. Mr. Shields was my second grade teacher and he was a very kind man. He was one of those teachers that was on good terms with both the kids and the parents; no one had any issues with him. I don't remember him being terribly old, even though he had been a police officer before becoming a teacher. However, he did have a balding head that sometimes shined, depending on the light. On this day, I believe there was such a shine as he stood at the front of the room and explained, in his deep voice, the project that we were to work on that day in class. Although I don't remember exactly the assignment that was given, I do remember that it was one of the arts and crafts variety. After hearing that we would be making something, my class began the day moving desks and chairs around the room to form a large "U" shape. In the open middle space, we also placed several desks together to form a small supply station where we could get scissors, glue, colored

Professor Kesler

CRW 3013: Getting Schooled

Kevin O'Neal

pencils, crayons, etc. Everything started off fine, all of us kids were working at our own paces. Some had gotten materials at the very beginning, but others were getting up to get some glue, and other such items, and then returning. There was a slow, but fairly constant stream of kids coming and going, getting supplies, and dropping them off. As the school day progressed, however, there was an incident. At some point I had decided to take a small break from my project and talk with some friends several seats over. A few minutes after I was enjoying myself I looked over just in time to see another classmate walk over to my area and take my glue. Instantly, I stopped talking and walked over to confront the guy. "What are you doing?" I asked even though I already knew. "I'm just borrowing some glue," he said. "Why are you stealing my glue?" I believed the glue I took from the communal pot was my own. I looked him up and down, my anger apparent. "There wasn't any glue with the other supplies and I saw that you had some over here." A reasonable response really, considering everything. For some reason, however, I could not get over the seeming fact that he had marched over and taken my glue without my permission. Who did he think that he was? I glared at my classmate and balled my hand into a fist before launching it square into his stomach. He moved a hand to his stomach and bent over as he started crying. That's right, I had just punched a kid for using some glue that was intended for everyone to use. And I felt fine about doing it, thinking that he deserved it. But despite my solid reasoning, Mr. Shields didn't agree with my actions and sent me to the principal's office where I received my punishment for striking the kid.

Professor Kesler

CRW 3013: Getting Schooled

Kevin O'Neal

It wasn't an uncommon thing for me to visit the principal when I was in California. My bad temper and quick reactions often landed me in trouble, which of course my parents found out about. One would think that getting in trouble twice, once from school and a second time with my parents, would teach me perhaps to not punch people or have a smart mouth, but I seemed to be a slow learner. Maybe it would be better to say that I chose not to accept the lessons that were brought before me. Obviously, I encountered many events, many of my own doing, that made me face consequences for my bad behavior, but I never seemed to let that sink in. It would take some time before I recognized many of them. Many would be realized after my family's move to Florida, but a few were realized before the radical change in my life. Moments would happen that would stick with me even until today, and I would finally grasp that what I did had been wrong and what I could learn from and change. One such occasion was after school as I was passing time on the playground until I had to leave later with my mother, who was talking with some teachers. There was going to be roughly half an hour to an hour wait before we left, so I decided to grab a soccer ball to kick around until then. But in order to get a soccer ball, I had to walk into the school's administrations office. The walls were colored white and blue to match the school colors. The walls were made of white bricks which ended in light blue trim that gave way to the plain white ceiling and the checkered white and blue floor. The wooden desks, counters, and drawers were all painted a sky blue. Behind the front desk sat and stood several of the school's employees. I recognized one of my older siblings' teachers talking on the side of the desk: Mrs. Swan. I had seen Mrs. Swan many times before, because of my siblings, and we both knew each other to a small degree. She was an older lady with short, curly white hair. About her neck hung a beaded strap with her glasses hanging on the end, resting on her chest. It was the kind of item

Professor Kesler

CRW 3013: Getting Schooled

Kevin O'Neal

you think of when you think of a librarian; they'd be at the circulation desk, glasses on and beads hanging, and once you'd make a noise they'd hold up their finger to their mouth and tell you to shush. Perhaps she was a librarian at some point, but I didn't know her that well. As per usual for Mrs. Swan, she had decided to wear strict, yet colorful clothing. One last thing about Mrs. Swan: I did not care for her. There was a slight pause as I took in the others present. I recognized those who sat behind the desk as well, but I liked them well enough. They were listening to whatever story Mrs. Swan had for them this afternoon, but I'm pretty sure at least half of them didn't want to be there. It was probably a story about another day with a student who wasn't following directions, or perhaps an incident during a recess break. "Can I have a ball?" I didn't even say "please," not that it would've excused my intrusion. "Didn't your parents ever teach you manners?! Don't just interrupt a conversation demanding the floor." Mrs. Swan snapped back at me. I wasn't exactly sure why, maybe she had had a long day, maybe she was really into her story and didn't want to be interrupted, or maybe she was just tired of me in general. "I'm sorry. I'll wait." I couldn't help but be taken aback by such a comment. My head reeled as her words stung me. "No. It's too late now. Get him a ball." Despite my dislike of Mrs. Swan, she at least seemed to ease off of me. Perhaps it was a good part in the story that she was so immersed in. After a few moments I had a soccer ball in my hands. "Thank you." It seemed to be all I could say before I left. If I had stayed any longer it would've just made things worse. Those words that Mrs. Swan had said to me have stuck with me since. I have always remembered the tone and harsh truth of her words - I shouldn't have interrupted that

Professor Kesler

CRW 3013: Getting Schooled

Kevin O'Neal

conversation, especially at the ripe old age of nine when I should've known better. But despite what Mrs. Swan thought, my parents had taught me manners. For some bizarre reason I just didn't follow them. As time progressed, I would dwell on her words - perhaps because I was upset that she wrongfully called my parents out. But at first, I didn't pay them much attention. After all, we were going to be moving to Florida soon, and during the trip I wouldn't be thinking of the words she had said that day. There were far too many other things for me to see and do and think about. In the front two seats of our forest green van, making the long trek from California to Florida, sat my parents, my dad at the wheel. It was an old car, even then I remember thinking that much even though the world was just getting ready for the Y2K party. The seats were the plain tan ones that you saw in all standard cars at the time - or at least that's how I remember cars back then. The van, however, only had one side door. Maybe that's how I figured that it was an old car. To make up for its lack of access, the other side not only sported a built-in cup holder, but also a small compartment with a sturdy lid. When the lid was closed, it was a fine area to place items on or to rest on. And there, at this point of the trip anyway, is where I sat. It was arguably the best seat of the vehicle, excluding the front two seats. To my right, on the passenger side, sat my brother, six years my senior. Like most of us, he spent a fair amount of time looking out of the window, but much more time hunched over playing on his portable playing device: the Sega Game Gear. Out of us kids, he was the most engrossed with technology, and escaped into his games more than anyone else that I knew. But, as I will find out later in life, I tended to exhibit similar behaviors at times. In my brother's defense, in regards to him playing games instead of looking out of the window and resting, his side of the van had no ledge to rest on like my side did.

Professor Kesler

CRW 3013: Getting Schooled

Kevin O'Neal

Behind all of us, in the large, sectioned back seat, was the last of my immediate family: my sister, also six years my senior. She did not like the back seat at all, however, she was upset and grumpy and taking it out on her two siblings in front of her. She sat in the middle of the back seat and propped her feet up on the armrests of both my seat and my brother's seat. It was at this point that I nudged her foot off of my armrest with my elbow as I fought to reclaim my territory. Her foot there, deliberately wagging and brushing against me, was annoying the crap out of me. But just as I was fed up with her stubborn, rebellious attitude, she was fed up with my selfish, bullying self. "Kevin! What the heck!" We weren't allowed to curse. The rule would start to rub off with age, but I was 9 and my siblings were 15 at this point. "Your foot is on my seat! And you keep hitting me with it!" Obviously, a couple of days in the same car wasn't doing us any good. "It was the armrest! And you weren't using it!" A point that I'd like to pretend wasn't true. Part of the reason I had pushed her foot off was to annoy her, not to use the armrest myself. "Well it's part of the seat!" Another valid point. And this was one of the reasons I felt okay doing what I did. "Amber! Kevin! Settle down back there." At least my mom's voice was able to keep a calmness about it, though I'm sure she too was getting irked by our daily arguing. I looked back at Amber and made a face in belief that I'd won the fight. "He started it. He wasn't using the armrest, so I wanted to put my feet on them. And then he just pushes my foot off." Looks like my sister wasn't backing down yet. "Was too!" Such a great response on my part.

Professor Kesler

CRW 3013: Getting Schooled

Kevin O'Neal

"Children! Both of you. Stop it. Kevin, don't push your sister. Amber, don't put your feet on the armrests." Yeah, I'd say that our mother was tired of us too. At least back in our house in California we were able to go to our own rooms, or go outside to the beach to escape each other, but here in the car we seemed to take turns raging in silence. I didn't win all of the fights, of course, and neither did she. I'm not quite sure what the change was when we had finally made it all of the way to Florida, but we seemed really close. Maybe it was that we had our own rooms again, or that we had run out of things to argue about, or maybe we were just tired of fighting. We explored the house together, videotaping the new rooms and appliances, and we ventured outside together as our brother, Michael, stayed inside playing games. Within the first week of getting the feel for the new place, Amber and I went out onto the front yard and stood on a giant stump looking around. Across the street, we saw some kids playing basketball. Back in California, there were plenty of street basketball games, street hockey games, and other activities with the neighbors, but here there were only a few kids shooting hoops. We just stood, watching. My sister and I loved basketball and we were both pretty outgoing (her more so than me), but for some reason we both just stood on that stump watching them. Sure, we didn't know the kids across the street, but that hadn't stopped us from meeting new people in California. But we just stood there, like we were only allowed to watch them, not join them. The sound of feet scrambling across blacktop and driveway, the basketball bouncing on the ground and hitting the backboard, as well as the neighbors shouting for the ball, brought back fond memories. But in the here and now, there were four kids, three guys and one girl, playing with the basketball. They often ran into the street to try and make a three pointer. There was a

Professor Kesler

CRW 3013: Getting Schooled

Kevin O'Neal

slight danger to this as, just a house further down, there was a large dip in the road where you couldn't see cars coming until they were almost at the top, but kids will be kids. They were all young. They would be fine even if they did get hit. Plus, what's the fun if there's not some form of danger? We had to get out of the street plenty of times in California. After watching for a while, my sister turned to me and asked, though she seemed disheartened, "Do you think we should introduce ourselves and see if we can play with them?" In the past I would've cheerfully said something like "Let's do it!" and jog over and play with them, but I simply stayed put and took a moment before answering, "Yeah, I guess." Maybe we both felt like we needed permission to join our neighbors, or maybe we had both changed with the move to Florida, but we still waited for a few minutes before we worked up the courage to walk across the street. Our actions, or lack of actions for a while, were stark comparisons to what we used to be like. To what I used to be like. Even when I was back in school, I wasn't getting into the trouble that I used to get into. I had more self control about myself after realizing that one, my reactions weren't really the nicest of reactions, and two, they got me into trouble. Dealing with the consequences of physical violence or breaking the rules were not something that I wanted. There was a time in my fifth grade class in Florida, for instance, where I really disagreed with the results of a poll. My class and I were in the last few days of school and the only activities left on our schedules were fun ones - we even had a party in class, with cake and everything. There was this festival that was coming up later on in the week and we were all preparing for it. At the festival, there were different events, games, and little prizes that people could win. Most of the activities were physical ones, like running for instance, but there were some other less physical ones as well, like archery, or bowling. But the big event that topped all others, the one I wanted to be

Professor Kesler

CRW 3013: Getting Schooled

Kevin O'Neal

part of the most, was a kickball game. It would be fifth graders versus teachers, and it was the grand finale that most of us looked forward to the most. The deal with the kickball game, however, since there were more fifth graders who wanted to participate than spots available, was that each of the two fifth grade classes got to choose five people each to play the game. To do this, a note card was given to each fifth grader and they were told to write down the five people, from their class, that they thought would do the best against the teachers. I felt confident. Although I admit that I was not the best player from our class, that title would more than likely go to Charlie, but I was good. I thought top five good. In addition, I had made friends of most everyone in my class, perhaps in part because I was no longer punching others, and I was at the very least acquainted with the rest of the class. I had even talked with my closest friends about who we were going to put down on our cards. Of course I was one of the five we were going to write down, so I was a shoe in. Or so I thought. For whatever reason I was not in the top five. I was not popular enough or good enough to be on the team that I so rightfully deserved to be on. To say that I was a little upset would be an understatement. But instead of lashing out at those around me, instead of taking out my frustration on people or a bathroom (in California I had once participated in flooding a bathroom), I simply raged on the inside. When the festival finally came, I participated in my events, but when it came time for the kickball game, I simply wandered around the playground, away from the crowd. It was during my wanderings that my father found me. Since it was the last event for school, the parents were allowed to visit and stay for the school day if they wanted to. He looked a mix of happy and sad. I suppose he was proud of me for many things and was having a fun time, but at the same time was sad that I was not enjoying myself like every other person there.

Professor Kesler

CRW 3013: Getting Schooled

Kevin O'Neal

"What's wrong, son?" he asked even though he already knew. "...Just kickball. I can't believe I didn't get in." I almost didn't say it because I was trying my hardest not to shout or punch something. "Well," my dad began, "I know that it stinks, but that's life, son. Sometimes things just don't work out the way you want them to." "Yeah, but I'm better than at least a couple of those kids!" And there was the raised voice I was trying to avoid. "Maybe." There was another pause on my father's side as he tried to approach the subject delicately, "But you've said before, at home, that there are other kids who are better than you at kickball." "I know, but... I was supposed to play against the teachers." The world revolved around me, after all. He nodded slightly, "You were going to win, too, huh?" "Yeah." I nodded back. "I think you would've been great if you were playing." He gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder, "but... Things didn't turn out that way. You can't let that keep you from having fun. Plus, your class needs your support to win against the teachers." I was acting stupid and I knew it, "Yeah, you're right." He always is. "Okay. Let's go over there and watch the game, then." After he made sure that I was going to follow he turned and walked towards the game. Despite the intervention from my dad, I would like to believe that I would've come to that decision on my own. Perhaps I would not have joined the game until after it was halfway done, but I still truly believe that I would have. I think this because not but a year later in school I faced

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Professor Kesler

CRW 3013: Getting Schooled

Kevin O'Neal

a much more personal, one-on-one encounter where I overcame my inner anger and enjoyed the situation without acting out. Sixth grade brought about a new school, new teachers, new faces, and new friends. I still had some friends from fifth grade, but we were much more spread out and I usually knew only a handful of people in each of my classes. Despite the new surroundings, I quickly got to know my teachers and made new friends and new acquaintances in those classes. A good part of this was more than likely due to the fact that the teachers liked putting us all in groups to work together towards something. It was one of these moments in my math class where we were to pick our seats at desks that were already moved around into groups. We got to choose where we sat, and therefore the group we were in, but there were only four or five people per group and seats were quickly filling up. I raced towards the area where I usually sat in class. Most people seemed to be sitting in their normal sitting areas, and I liked the people around me. I set my backpack down on the leg of a desk and went to look at the materials for what we were going to be building later on during class. I turned back around and walked towards the desk I had claimed, but there was a girl making a beeline for the seat that my backpack lay near. She, Kylie, approached from the open side of the chair (the chair was attached to the desk by bars on one side) and I, from the other, blocked side. Seeing that I would not beat her to actually sit down, I quickly placed my hand on the table right as she slid into the seat. Apparently, Kylie really wanted that seat for I believe that her own friends were already sitting in that group of tables. And so, as she sat in the seat, she said in a loud voice, "Hey! What are you doing?!"

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Professor Kesler

CRW 3013: Getting Schooled

Kevin O'Neal

Strange, because that's what I was thinking of asking her, "This is my seat. My backpack is right there." So far, so good. I was keeping calm, though already I could feel my blood beginning to boil. "Stop touching my boob!" Nothing to do with the seat, and even then I knew it. I glared at her for a moment, my hand still on the table. To be truthfully honest, I didn't care about that, after all she had slid into my arm. If anything, her boob was touching my arm. But that didn't matter. The seat mattered. However, as Kylie looked to get the attention of the teacher, I brought my hand back and snatched up my backpack. In the past I might've raised a fist against her (yes, even against a girl), but I refrained from doing so. I wanted to. My hands were already curled up in anger, but I could tell that nothing good would come of either hitting or arguing. So instead, I looked around for an empty seat. I only knew one person in the group, but that just meant that I met two new people. And we had a grand time making a bridge out of tooth picks even though the beginning of class had started out so sour for me. A small part of me was glad, though, that I was able to get past those tense moments and calm myself down without erupting with anger. Aside from knowing of them, I never knew the principals of any of the schools after I moved to Florida. I seemed to have kicked my old habits to the curb with the move and I didn't lash out anymore - and I was polite and respectful to people. I had been schooled in manners.

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