Equal Signs

We hear a lot of the fight for equality. Equal to what though?

Equal to waking up to a pointless existence where no one appreciates you? Equal to working hard only to die before you actually accomplish anything worth a damn? Equal to Screech from Saved by the Bell?

(This is your goal)

I don’t want to be equal to anyone. That means they have everything I have. If a person can do that, and I’ve met people and boy I’ll tell ya I am not a fan, what’s that say about me?

Keep fighting for equality. It’s perception. Maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to realize you’re better than comparing yourself to others. Equality is just a false-sense of security and saves you from the brief feeling of being an outsider.

Writing Goals & Pants Holes

I haven’t blogged here much in the last two years. At first it was because I had a job that drained me plus I had found other outlets where I could make money. I’m still primarily writing elsewhere about sports (people love sports) and seeing some success. I’m not satisfied though as writing is still only a fraction of my “career.”

Unfortunately it’s a tough industry. More and more people are learning English plus women who know how to write are no longer tossed into rivers to see if they can float. This immediately doubles my competition, which I’ll have to accept.

A large part of me still does enjoy writing on humorous topics. It’s tough for me to get rid of completely because I don’t take much seriously. I add my jabs and sarcasm in as necessary when writing about sports yet it’s still limited at times and when I try doing it sometimes feels forced. So I may be writing here a little bit more now that fantasy baseball season is over. Probably, my train rides home will include a little bit more writing about my life or how much everybody else is a silly person.

Ultimately, my writing goals include nothing specific. I just want to be able to say something, be heard, and then have someone hand me enough money to pay my rent, buy food, and have a little extra left for pants whenever they rip in the crotch. Or maybe that last one is society’s fault and they should just learn to accept seeing more flesh than they’re used to.

(These aren’t my work pants, but just so you know, all 3 of my pants I have for work have giant holes in the crotch and I have no idea what to do about it other than lose shame)

Writing about your life isn’t exactly lucrative though unless you’re already successful at something else or killed someone. Nobody is interested in the autobiography about a person who thinks their life was interesting if the only thing interesting about it was that they wrote about it. We’re not as special as we think we are and as I’m looking at Kurt Cobain autopsy photos knowing he’s younger dead than I am currently alive, it’s humbling to know how insignificant I am.

I’d love to write a little more openly. An opportunity to entertain more than inform would be dazzling! Where I’m at in life, people only want facts from me instead of opinion. I’m also tiring of editing which is why you will certainly continue to find many typos on this blog. Between writing, eating, and making sure my blinds are drawn so my neighbors can “accidentally” get a glimpse as I change in the morning, re-reading anything I write falls to the side. I can’t imagine how painful it is for you to read it once when I’m incapable of even passing my eyes along it as I type.

All of the articles I see online about getting paid to write online are outdated and reiterate the same information. The days of content farms are over. Your best bet is joining an already established site where you can break off on your own blog or killing someone. I don’t own a gun and I’m too short to clobber someone in the head without them seeing it from a mile away. I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing instead and hope someone just gives me a winning lottery ticket.

Slideshow Bobs

I haven’t blogged here in nearly forever (a slight exaggeration) and I happen to be drained from writing about baseball at the moment so I figured why not entertain you fine Mohicans still checking in on me here.

I’ve been writing lots, still, but mostly about baseball. I’ve been keeping up with Phalse Philly Sports, however, I’m thinking about ending the blog when I reach 1,000 posts in the next three months. Having the blog mentioned on a sports radio show multiple times seems to be its pinnacle and I think I got everything out of it that I could.

Back in December, I began writing for a baseball site. It was fun for a short while until several circumstances led to even more frustration than my life needed at the time. I’ll go into detail at a later date, but the key thing I took away from it was the importance of slideshows and other clickbait techniques. Because I know the editor I had an issue with is stalking me online now, which is really creepy, I’m going to save the juicy details until after he disappears for good.

A combination of frustrations with my flailing writing “career” and my job which seems to have become a “career” made the last two weeks pretty shitty. Hoping to find something good, I managed to discover sportsblog.com during a Craigslist search.

Immediately I created a blog then decided my idea was too simple and I needed to not focus on one topic, rather, open it up to all baseball related news.

Since creating The Cleat Report back in July, I’ve published almost 900 posts–many being links to other places I’m writing. I thought by now I would be eligible for Adwords, but to even be considered you need to average about 600 views a day. Bloggers know how difficult this can be and if I ever want to make money writing I’m going to have to venture out in more directions.

So my new main focus is writing over at Innings Eaters. It’s unbelievably awesome because I get paid, the site already ranks high in Google, and there are plenty of competitions a boy like me can enter and enjoy. It’s far from a permanent dream writing gig, but it’s one of the best experiences I’ve had writing about baseball so far. It’s also only been a week so like the wrestling card at a WWE event, my opinion is subject to change.

That’s what I’m up to and focused on most. Life is pretty crazy at the moment so it’s nice to have something I can put a lot of energy into and get a lot back from.

(He’s making an Atheist Face)

Long Icy Walks

Winter has arrived and more people than ever are slipping on the sidewalk and cracking their heads open. I am not one of them, yet.

Yesterday on my long icy walk home from the train station a funny thing happened. I met a new person who wants be my friend. I don’t want to be his friend though. Hopefully after reading this you will understand why.

Early on in my trek home, I passed a house with a man standing on the stoop with the door open. He had a strange voice, like the kind you expect to ask you for change with some sob story. He did ask me for help and with a sob story about how he has a heart condition and if I could help him while he goes inside and gets his other dog. He was worried he might pass out going up the stairs and no one was home.

Since the door was already open, the worst case scenario was that he murdered the family that lived there and was now stealing their dogs. This was unlikely and since I was not in too much of a rush to get home I offered to help him. Plus I have a soft spot for dogs and I pass his house every day and he might have murdered me if I didn’t offer help.

As he walked up the stairs to get his dog I saw her appear from the bottom part then run up the stairs. So basically he didn’t need my help at all and the story should have ended there. Unfortunately it didn’t.

He was rather chatty, and I learned quickly that in addition to his heart condition he had a girlfriend, was looking for another girlfriend and had it narrowed down to a bartender and hairdressers, took a $60,000 paycut for his new job, and will pop an ecstasy pill once a year. Already thinking he was a scumbag, I lost faith that we would ever be friends when he asked me what I do for fun. People still have fun? I thought we just exist then die.

The man came off to me as a bit of a troublemaker. He had a steady job and apparently lots of money so he’s not a complete waste of human life. I found out way too much about his ex-girlfriends in the 30 minutes we walked together and this instability made me feel really uncomfortable. Maybe the openness hurt too as I knew I could never live up to what these girls were giving him. By the fourth Portuguese restaurant we passed I decided I would avoid this man the next time our paths crossed.

Unfortunately he was walking in the same direction as I was and on my street so he would know where I lived. I was very careful to plan ahead and passed my apartment building then three blocks later told him I was going to stop at the store, which I had already planned to do. At this point he asked me to take down his number and said we should hangout sometime. If there’s one thing you should know about me it’s that if I want to spend time with you I will give you my number. For him, I just typed it in the notes section of my phone that I never look at.

The conundrum here is odd. I don’t really make friends, nor do I hangout with the ones I have very often. Years ago I would have been thrilled to make a friend who wants to hangout with me. He lived nearby too which would be perfect. Now though, I have more years of being a piece of shit to reveal to him. When you’re 20, you only have two decades worth of being a loser. At 27, I have almost 3.

Since he apparently is loaded with money and knows everyone in fucking town, I thought more about maybe actually giving him a call. I’m afraid of where this might lead though. What if he needs me to help him move shit? Not like the good kind of moving shit where I feed him oatmeal and it opens his bowels. I mean like picking up a couch.

I can’t see this friendship going anywhere. I can’t see myself being completely open and honest with him. I’d end up making up lies and stories just to seem more sane.

The only thing I have to do now is cross the street each day on my way home to avoid passing by. Thankfully he’s sick so I could always just pretend like we never met and freak him out to the point where he thinks his meds are having weird side effects. Yeah I think I’ll do that.

Baseball Lives

As if I’m not already taking up too much of my time chasing an impossible dream, I began writing for a new website. This new task has taken away from working on other projects, but from what I have learned in the last year, writing seriously has a much bigger benefit in the long run than trying to make people laugh does. In fact, making people laugh is pretty much a waste of time. Why put so much effort into something a feather to a foot can?

Anyway, the new site I’m contributing for is called Call to the Pen. For those unfamiliar with baseball, it’s a slang term for–I’m not going to even bother. To view my articles exclusively I will redirect you to my other baseball site I write by myself and the page I have dedicated to this new site. I figure, if you are interested enough to click on one link, you will probably click on a second.

You can find what I have written so far here on this really long string of words that for some reason I thought should all be part of the link.

That’s it. Just wanted to share this little piece of nonsense.

I’m also spending New Year’s with a sexy lady.

No, not here. She’s only my number two and three.

Former Fatties

There are a lot of things I am afraid to admit to others. One thing I am never afraid to admit is that I am a former fatty. When people look at me now they cannot imagine me obese. How could this slouchy shouldered, bad postured, girly forearmed guy have once been fat? I probably bring it up way too often to people, especially new ones I meet because losing weight is indeed something to be proud of. I was on a path to die in my 30s of a heart attack or eating myself to death after seeing how far away the fridge was. As proud as anyone should be when they drop a lot of weight, some people take it to a point where it becomes annoying. We all overcome obstacles and many of us are better people later on in life because we grew up struggling. There is a line that some former fat people cross where their actions are less inspiring and more irritating than anything else.

1) Remind You About It

Every once in a while is fine. When I say every once in a while too I mean it should happen once unsolicited with each person and thereafter should only come up in conversation when it’s related. Some former fat people seem to bring up their weightloss all of the time. I like to live by the theory that I may have been the person to lose the weight, but I was also the idiot who never could figure out how to put down a box of donuts. It’s like saving someone from a fire you started. There’s far less to be proud about.

2) Show You Pictures

I know more than six people who carry around, either in their wallets or on their phones, pictures of themselves when they were fat. I probably know eight people in total so that’s a pretty high percentage. There are approximately two pictures that exist of me from age 13-16, at my highest weight. The rest of those few pictures were destroyed because I don’t want to be reminded of how great eating a ton of food is, something those pictures might do. If people don’t believe me that I used to be fat then that’s their fault for having trust issues. If they must be convinced I’m sure there’s a stretchmark somewhere on my body that can act as some hard proof, or in my stomach’s case, mushy proof.

3) Act As If They Are Really Good-Looking Now

Most people will lose weight and become better looking, especially when it’s a large amount that needed to come off. While they may look better, they still don’t always look good. This happened to me when I first lost weight. I assumed I was a “stud muffin express” when really I was just a smaller version of my former self. Former fat people need to be reminded that life doesn’t end after they drop the weight. We need to remind them that there is still work to be done and not to get too cocky. They are still the same boring person they were 100 pounds ago.

4) Let Their Insecurities Hinder Your Life

Living a healthy life is great. When your lifestyle affects those around you, like you can only go to certain restaurants because you still have issues being around food, it becomes a problem. There is no way ice cream can ever be in my apartment without me emptying it out within the first hour it gets there. I know that, but I never disallow others to eat ice cream around me. The worst part is when the former fat person either must go to a certain restaurant or their schedule doesn’t work with yours because it’s during their fasted cardio session or whatever dumb fad they are into that week. Insecurities should never change the lives of others. This makes people not like you and then the made-up fears in your head will be true.

5) Offering You Advice

One former fat kid in my high school tried giving me the advice that I should never eat potatoes unless I eat meat with it too. This was terrible advice because first of all I didn’t ask for it and second of all I would never ask him for advice about anything because as a person he was below average. There is an art to reading people and whether or not they are too afraid to ask for help, which many are and will probe you to do so. Offering forceful advice out of the blue almost always is met with a negative reaction. People will ask how you lost the weight and that’s when you go into your giant explanation and share your story like it’s an episode of Oprah.

If you are someone who lost a lot of weight be proud and be modest. Nobody likes a showoff. Keep bragging about your accomplishments and you will eventually become the people you hated most.

(Everybody’s favorite former fatty, Steve Bartman)

Smart Alecs

Is Alec Baldwin smart? I hope so. His name is perfect as it matches the term Smart Alec or in more correct terms–Smart aleck.

I’m pretty sure Mr. Baldwin is dumb. If he had brains he would have eaten his brother Stephen for sustenance.

I like being a Smart Alec. In fact, it bothers me whenever I’m not. Sometimes I’m thrust into (no, not by Bill Cosby) a situation where I have to be more mature or respectful. I’m also stuck with a mini-brain aneurysm that causes me to respond less like I really think.

Name one thing worse than thinking of a funny smart ass response when it’s already too late. If you said 9/11 then okay you win. You may have even said Bill Cosby and again you win. But for me personally nothing is more painful than a delayed honest smarty pants response.

Walking through the filthy subway today toward my train, I spotted a girl that looked like a more attractive Maggie Gyllenhaal. To be fair, I describe my poop the same way; a more attractive Maggie Gyllenhaal. Bill Cosby knows what I’m talking about. Even he wouldn’t touch her.

This girl stood out because she was seemingly stuck and not in a rush. I on the other hand had a shit brewing in my tummy and a train to release my gas on. I made the mistake of making eye contact, the folly of all men. I noticed her clipboard too and knew she was trouble.

Nobody carries clipboards except for gym coaches and nuns interested in smacking you with them. It’s the flat wooden object of agenda driven assholes and the only thing on earth more likely to rape you other than Bill Cosby.

“I have one quick question for you,” she said.

For me? A question only I could answer? She said for me. This was no question anyone could help her with. This was knowledge that could only be passed from me to her.

“Yeah,” I cleverly remarked while displaying my extensive vocabulary and general kindness to all of those in need.

“Where do you think our drinking water comes from?” she asked while having a vagina.

I didn’t pause. Thankfully I was cold and in a rush. If I had time or she looked better, less like a white girl in college, I may have entertained her longer and eventually said something horrific as I tend to do in situations like these (conversations).

I thought about it briefly then said, “Uhh the sink.”

I said it in such a way too like she didn’t have some money raising pitch to give me. I answered as if she was really curious and wanted to know the answer. I sounded so sure of myself. I didn’t even inflect it like I had any doubt. There was no question mark at the end of my response.

“Thank you have a nice day,” she said as I continued walking without missing a step.

So was I right? Does the water we drink come from the sink? Or are we really just drinking the tears of women Bill Cosby knows?

Tomorrow’s Plans

Bad skin, colon cancer, depression, frugality, blue eyes, and procrastination all run in my family. I have them all, except maybe the colon cancer. The cheapness that runs through my blood prevents me from ever paying health insurance. Procrastination is the problem my bloodline has that I would like to focus on here. It seems like every day I put off important things that I promise myself I will begin the next day, these are those things.

1) Get Healthier:

Diet and exercise are the life force of showoffs. I eat pretty well and I exercise regularly. One look in the mirror though and I clearly could be working harder at it. It seems like every few weeks I setup a new diet and exercise program that will turn my body from looking like a melted candy bar to looking like a melted candy bar that was thrown into the freezer to be less messy. My biggest enemy is looking at the price of salad at the grocery store. I’m not made of money. If I was made of money I would spend my days lying on the ground then running away from people whenever they tried to pick me up as a practical joke. Right now I may not have the body I wish I had. There’s always reincarnation.

2) Do Laundry:

As a bachelor (I hate that word, it feels like a nice way of saying “suspected serial killer”) I can pretty much do whatever I want, including not doing laundry as much as I should. Years ago my mother called me while she was drunk and told me how she was proud that I wasn’t smelly like other boys my age. At first it didn’t mean much, but now I’m proud she noticed I kept clean clothes. My biggest enemy when it comes to doing laundry is carrying my sack of dirty clothes down three flights of stairs. It’s much easier to just cover myself in deodorant to mask the smell.

3) Pay Bills:

I always pay my bills on time. Once I didn’t and I felt awful. I felt like I let my Internet provider down. Paying bills doesn’t take very long. The hardest part about it is realizing you have to pay 95% of your earnings just to have a normal lifestyle. My biggest enemy when it comes to paying bills is finding my checkbook. They should make a rule that if you cannot find the checkbook you shouldn’t have to pay. I would like that a lot.

4) Fulfill My Life Dreams:

My biggest lifelong dream would be to write a film that gets produced. I have written many films. I have written many television pilots. Write. Write. Write. That is my life right now. There still seems like there has to be something else I could do. Track down someone famous and harass them? Take a hostage? Beg? I’m running out of ideas. I can improve my craft all I want, but it’s not going to lead to success. My biggest enemy when it comes to fulfilling my dreams is that there are a lot of other people with the same dreams. By my estimation, there are at least five other people who dream of being a screenwriter. At least I don’t want to be an actor. I would have to contend with the ten people trying to do that.

5) Get A Job That Pays Well:

Full disclosure, the most amount of money I have ever made in a year was a little over $20,000. I’m not even sure if it was before or after taxes. I could never imagine a life where I am earning more than that. I am so set in my ways at living frivolously that if someone handed me a million bucks I would most likely spend it on finally getting new underwear, on sale of course. Until my dreams are fulfilled, I need to work a job that pays well enough for me to survive. My biggest enemy when it comes to getting a job that pays well is that I’m not a criminal. I am convinced that there is no other way to earn a lot of money other than killing someone for the mafia.

6) See A Doctor:

It has been years since I last went for a doctor’s appointment of any kind. I might have a plethora of diseases. The only things I really should probably get checked out are my left hip, my left knee, my left foot, and the cyst that has been on my back for three weeks that for the first week made it impossible to lie on my back because the pain was unbearable. My biggest enemy here is that I don’t have health insurance. It would probably cost me two month’s salary just to find out what’s wrong with me, not even the cost to fix it. I need that two month’s salary for when I plan to get married to someone with health insurance for the health insurance. Seriously, my body really hurts. And as I said earlier, I may have colon cancer.

7) Unpack:

I have lived in my apartment for seven full months and I still haven’t fully unpacked. In fact, when I moved for the first time back in 2008 I have kept certain things in boxes. I have so many baseball cards, little knick knacks, and papers that need to be sorted or dropped from towering heights onto enemies. My biggest enemy when it comes to unpacking is that there’s no point to it. When I need my autographed Emilio Estevez picture to impress a lady I will search for it.

8) Get A Girlfriend:

Behind every great man is an even greater woman. Sometimes this great woman makes him great and other times she eventually destroys him. I am not actively seeking a female as much as others might be. At the same time, I am keeping my eyes open for potential suitors. Most of all I think it would be nice to have a female around to unpack my things for me and maybe do some laundry. My biggest enemy with this is my personality. I’m not exactly the most forthcoming and adventurous man out there. I am also not an alcoholic nor am I famous. How am I ever going to find a girl?

9) Buy Shampoo:

A month ago I got tired of shampooing my hair so I shaved my head. Actually that’s not fully true. I also shaved my head for a potential radio gig. I didn’t get the gig. Now I’m left looking like a threat to others. I don’t so much put-off buying shampoo as much as I keep forgetting to. So really, the thing I need to do tomorrow is make a list of everything I have to do. First I need a pen and some paper. Doing things is so annoying.

10) Do More Today:

The best thing I can do to improve my life is to start right now. I need to stop waiting until tomorrow to do them. Of course though, improving my life wasn’t on the list of things to do. Maybe it will be on tomorrow’s list of things I have to do the following day. I will find out soon enough.

(If this is how the day after tomorrow is going to turn out I guess I shouldn’t bother doing anything at all)

Parents Ruining Lives

Did you have bad parents? If so maybe you’ll enjoy this piece I wrote about the 10 things parents do to ruin their kids’ lives.

10 Things Parents do to Ruin Their Children’s Lives

Whenever someone wins an award they normally thank God, their parents, and Harvey Weinstein. I’m going to skip over the first and last because I am no expert on either of those guys. Let’s instead focus on parents, more specifically how they can ruin their children’s lives. By the time a person becomes an adult they usually have an opinion on their parents, whether or not mommy and/or daddy ruined their chances at happiness. There are many ways parents can ruin their children’s lives. Here are ten of them.

1) Divorce:

My parents are divorced. I wouldn’t say it ruined my life, but it surely never helped me sleep at night. The saddest fact about it was that their divorce took seven years to complete. For two fatalistic people, they sure did plan to die before finishing the paperwork. The lengthy divorce was more a matter of procrastination than dividing up assets, which may delay the divorce process in wealthier families. For some kids though, divorce can destroy them. They will feel unloved by one or both parents and some may even think it was partly their fault. I was one of the lucky few kids who always knew my parents loved me, even if their divorce proved to me that love is painful.

2) Selling the family house:

When you buy a house and have kids it’s an obligation to keep that house forever. You should die in that house, or at least in the driveway or after falling from the roof into the neighbor’s yard. Not having a home to retreat back to whenever things go wrong in life is an unsettling feeling for me. I like to go with the Metallica attitude of “where I lay my head is home” to ease my fears. Times are tough so I understand why some parents, mine included, will sell a house. Understanding why someone does something still doesn’t mean it isn’t ruining someone’s life. Where am I supposed to keep the things I no longer want, but am too sentimental to throw in the trash.

3) Missing important life events:

A good parent to me is someone who does whatever they can to not disappoint their child, within reason of course. My older sister will still bring up the fact that when she was younger our parents missed seeing her in a baton twirling competition or whatever you call their “games.” My sister gave up her dream of turning into a professional baton twirler because of this. I was not alive yet, but if I had to guess my parents most likely had a scheduling conflict between the competition and a nearby bar’s happy hour.

4) Abuse:

Child abuse is never a good thing to do. That may seem like a “needless to say” statement, but unfortunately it’s not. I know mentioning child abuse completely ruined any fun you had reading this. I still felt I couldn’t ignore it completely. Then again, not attending your daughter’s baton twirling competition is pretty abusive so call this redundancy to the previous item on my list.

5) Giving life to the kid:

Nobody asks to be born. For some kids the worst thing you can do to ruin their lives is to give them the life. Whatever plain we exist on before we enter this world is probably a lot more peaceful. So I guess the lesson to be learned with this one is to not even have kids. Sorry for ruining your time-killing plans for the next power outage.

6) Having more kids:

Children can be incredibly jealous creatures. That’s actually not fair. All people can be incredibly jealous creatures. Introducing a new child into the picture can create dire consequences. I’m no expert when it comes to being a parent. I have had every virtual pet I have ever owned die on me. For further information on how having more kids can ruin your kid’s life, please see the first Rugrats movie. Those kids almost get eaten by wolves because the parents decided to have another kid.

7) Behaving childish:

I have often wondered at what age or life event most or all of a person’s childish behavior should be placed behind them. I still have no answer. The only reasonable moment I can think of is when you become a parent. After you are a mother or father it’s time to accept responsibility for your mistakes more than ever before. Behaving like a child sets a bad example for your kids and it will create a cycle of idiots in your bloodline. There are enough of those already.

8) Providing poor guidance:

Schools may have guidance counselors, but it’s really the parent’s job to guide kids through life. The best advice I ever received from a guidance counselor was to start seeing a therapist. Thanks passing the buck lady. Parents need to make an effort to provide their children with a healthy and happy lifestyle. Letting your kid balloon up in weight is terrible, something that specifically happened to me. What my parents could have done differently was not reward me with food. A good report card meant a trip to Dairy Queen. I was a really smart kid too, one who always got good grades because I loved my ice cream. Where did it get me? By the time I was in high school I was overweight, depressed, and a B student. I would have been better off forced into a daily exercise program, which would then lead to receiving a college scholarship.

9) Not being supportive:

The absolute best thing anyone can do for another human being is to support them. Where do you think calling a male friend “bra” comes from? It’s from the support they give each other. Especially at a young age, you should let your kids know they can do anything. Society will beat them down enough over time where they will think more realistically the older they get and realize that Weekend Shift Manager isn’t as heartbreaking of a career choice as a few other things.

10) Forcing anything into their lives:

New beaus following a divorce, activities they don’t want to participate in, a religion they do not believe, or anything else within reason should not be forced onto anyone. Of course at a certain age your child may develop a fetish where being forced to do things they “dislike” is something they pay cash to a strange lady on the street for, but that’s unrelated to this and completely goes in another direction. Kids are smarter than we give them credit for. Encourage them to do something rather than nothing, just never force them into a situation where they are uncomfortable every moment of an extracurricular activity. My entire life is an uncomfortable moment. There will be plenty for your kids throughout their lives, don’t go adding to it.

Difference Making Teachers

School is back in session and I thought this would be a decent time to re-post something I wrote for Yahoo about my favorite teacher of all-time and how she completely destroyed my hope of ever having a positive adult female influence in my life.

I only had a small handful of teachers who had a positive impact on me. In elementary school, there was my kindergarten teacher Mrs. Trani, a woman who always praised me and how well-behaved I was. Mrs. Trani insisted there was something special about me. In fourth grade there was Mrs. Hartbauer, a woman who was similar to Mrs. Trani and actually took an active interest in my life. Mrs. Hartbauer also insisted that there was something special about me. It was not until high school when I would have another teacher attempt to make a positive difference in my life. This woman was my 10th-grade English teacher, Mrs. Hill.

Tenth grade was the pinnacle of awkwardness for me and I think that was why Mrs. Hill tried to help me so much. My quiet demeanor and obvious social flaws made me an easy target to get walked over by other students. Mrs. Hill wanted to do whatever she could to limit the torment from life I would inevitably receive.

The English class I took with Mrs. Hill started off normal. It may have been after a field trip where she noticed I was sitting by myself that Mrs. Hill began paying closer attention to everything I did.

The first assignment Mrs. Hill took special interest in me was a brief one about what we wanted to do when we grew up. I forget specifically what I said, but it was something about comedic writing. Mrs. Hill stopped me on my way out of class and asked if I had heard of a local comedy club. I told her I had never heard of it and figured she was nothing more than a senile old woman asking strange questions. Mrs. Hill was in her mid-50s so it wasn’t such a preposterous proposition for me to believe. The next day, Mrs. Hill came in with a phone number for me to contact the comedy club about getting on stage. At the time I had no interest in ever doing stand-up comedy, so when she asked if I called, I told her the phone rang and nobody ever picked up. Two years later I actually did do stand-up comedy for the first time, possibly subconsciously thanks to Mrs. Hill.

For the rest of the year Mrs. Hill and I continued to have a very strange relationship, not one that ends with her in an orange jumpsuit. We bonded over the fact that I lied to her about having been to Buffalo. I owned a Buffalo Bills t-shirt for some reason and since Mrs. Hill was born in Buffalo, we became friends who would talk about different places in Buffalo, none of which I had ever heard of.

One of the final assignments we had that year was an oral report. The goal of the report was to teach our classmates how to do something. Lacking self-esteem in my bloodstream, I had no clue what I could have taught my classmates. The most beautiful girl in school sat two seats behind me. What did I know that she didn’t?

Mrs. Hill asked me what I would be doing my report on. I told her I had no idea and she suggested I do one of the examples, how to make a BLT sandwich. As a fat kid I took offense to this. I didn’t tell her I was offended though. Instead I said it would be tough to get the materials needed. My parents had separated a year earlier and even though my dad was around a lot less, I could have easily asked him to get me the ingredients for a BLT sandwich.

Of course as our relationship was, I lied to Mrs. Hill. I told her that my parents would not buy those foods for me. I think at that time Mrs. Hill believed I came from an abusive home where I was given a box of crackers to eat each day to survive on. Mrs. Hill was kind enough to offer to actually buy me the ingredients I needed. I told her not to because I have always been someone not to ask for favors. If Mrs. Hill had gotten me the necessary foods I might owe her something. I would be expected to help her move a dead body somewhere down the line.

I ended up doing my report on how to get rid of a stuffy nose. It was actually pretty good and a lot different from the others. Mrs. Hill had a big smile on her face during my report. Even better, the prettiest girl in school was leaning forward against her desk, unable to take her eyes off me throughout. She was amazed that sniffing salt water could clear out your nasal passages. For a few minutes, I had earned her attention.

My favorite thing about Mrs. Hill was how much she encouraged me to continue with my writing. My ninth grade English teacher Mr. Kane told me I was good, but Mrs. Hill practically begged me to join the school newspaper. I had no interest writing stories praising the corrupt high school government or doing coverage on how the cafeteria tater tots were no longer poisonous. Her encouragement of me meant a lot and I was lucky to have her as a teacher.

Unfortunately the story doesn’t stop there. The next time I would interact with Mrs. Hill would be two years later in twelfth grade. My English teacher that year was out sick so they had Mrs. Hill come in and babysit us for forty minutes. I had not seen her in quite some time and I knew she would be a little curious how my life had been going. I looked drastically different by then, having dropped a ton of weight, but I was still clearly me. Mrs. Hill would have so many positive things to say to me. She would have herself to partly thank.

An assignment was given to us and since it was late in the year and most of the class had committed to going to the local community college, we had little reason to care about our GPAs. Instead of doing our work for the day we goofed off. Mrs. Hill thought she would authoritatively walk around the room in hopes it would get us to do our work.

I was seated in the second seat closest to the door. Only a girl with the last name Adams came before my name, Tim Boyle, alphabetically. Mrs. Hill made her way across the classroom and over to me with her familiar friendly smile. We made eye contact and her smile grew even larger.

“Are you finished with your work, John?”

There was no mistaking it. She was looking directly at me. My favorite teacher had just called me the wrong name.

My eyes puffed out. My bottom lip dropped. For a few seconds my heart stopped beating then spun around in a circle. My name wasn’t John. In fact, it never has been. I have always been a Tim, Timothy, or Timmy; among other more insensitive nicknames.

“My name’s not John,” I said a little disappointed.

Mrs. Hill’s mind crossed over itself. Then she remembered who I was, “Matthew?” she questioned.

I shook my head. This guessing game would have gone on forever. Mrs. Hill, the one teacher in high school who made a positive difference in my life, forgot who I was even after two guesses. She walked away to the next aisle, never to interact with me ever again.

Out of all the things Mrs. Hill taught me, the most important was that nobody cares about us as much as we may think they do. Thanks for the terrible revelation.