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"my
prosaic jesus" ...or "Brown like
Shit" by
david sherwood
Barely
above a toddler he walked to school. Alone this
time, it was his second week of kindergarten. His
older sister had walked him to school the previous
week, but now he was on his own. Scuffling and
meandering down the street, throwing chestnuts,
lost in his own world. But the closer he got to
the school, the more his gait straightened, and
slower his steps went. Like the pathway to Oz this
was both a place to pursue…and a place to
fear.
There
is a terror, a foretaste of both adulthood and
hell that is found in those moments when we find
ourselves really alone. Alone and facing the
unknown.
He
walked up the cold cement steps, and through the
huge oak doors. The biggest doors he had ever seen
in his life, doors to a castle, doors that seemed
to be the opposite of the doors of home. Doors
that lead into fear, competitiveness, failure and
the unknown. That’s not how all kids walk
through those doors…but it’s how he did.
Old
marble floors, down the dank hallway, and then
into his classroom full of strangers. He hangs up
his little backpack and coat and takes a dutiful
seat at a community table.
Someday
he will walk into an office with a briefcase, hang
up his trench coat, and go to his cubicle [veal
fattening pen?] and take a dutiful seat in front
of a computer.
And
someplace in the middle of a lesson, while the
teacher is babbling on about something…he craps
his pants. He knew he had to go, he just didn’t
know how to ask…how to interrupt the
teacher…what the social rules were…and so,
unable to hold it any longer he just wiggles
around trying desperately to stop his unwilling
body and then IT happens.
IT
will happen the rest of his life, in different
situations that seem out of control, and although
he may not have the same bodily reaction…the
effect and feelings will be the same.
When
failing a spouse; when being screamed at by a
boss; when we can’t pay the bills; when we are
flunking out of school…we just shit
ourselves.
Life
isn’t blue like Jazz-it’s brown like
shit.
Finally
there is some lull in the teaching and everyone is
sent to play. The little ones scurry about like
mice grabbing shiny toys as quick as they can and
guarding them with fierce malice and screams of
panicked injustice. Chaos scrambling across the
room in bedlam and insanity. The volume and visual
images increase and blur for those poor
teachers.
I
hope they took their Zoloft today.
The
boy sees his opportunity and darts across the room
and unseen into the bathroom which is located at
the end of the large playroom. Looking quickly
fore and aft he sneaks in. He pulls down his
pants, and examines the damage…it’s pretty
bad. And in pulling down his pants and shorts he
now has crap on his socks as well.
What
to do?
He
takes off his shoes and kicks them over to the
corner. He carefully slips off his pants, trying
to not make things any worse. He then removes his
underwear…but where to put it? There is a trash
can…but no…they would discover that…what to
do, he wonders and starts panicking. But then,
then there is inspiration. He will flush it down
the toilet…then nobody will ever know. Ha! He
says to himself in triumphant logical and reason.
Well pleased with this idea he puts his soiled
shorts in the toilet, along with his socks, and
all the toilet paper it takes to clean himself up.
He pulls his jeans back up…commando style
Sear’s toughskins…brown…thank God. He puts
his sneakers back on, checks himself over and
smiles and winks in the small mirror. It’s cool.
His heart stops racing and he breathes
easier.
He
cracks the door open, nobody has noticed his
daring deed. He is safe. He rushes back to the
toilet and grabs the handle, pulling it hard, and
runs out the door for his life.
He
skids into the corner…safe!
On
the other side of the room he is there, oblivious
and triumphant with a wry smile on his face…now
lost in dreams of the fire truck in his hands.
Tom, Nat, and the Z brothers are there as well
playing obliviously with their toys.
Then
suddenly.
Something
is wrong. There is an explosion. The teacher is
running over to the bathroom. Everything stops,
everything slows down…frame by frame…everybody
looks around. And then all eyes look towards the
bathroom, and a hushed silence lingers in the air
like dread and doom before death…the lull or eye
of the storm…
Across
the room a black death is creeping on the floor. A
puddle of brown and yellow is sloshing
forward…searching and creeping…pointing and
running towards him.
The
teacher is now completely unraveling. She is
screaming through an intercom. Janitors fill the
room like a swat team…marines…commando’s.
Plungers, snakes, mop bucks, wet-vacs…a whirl
and swirl of activity while the children are
herded into a corner of fear and stunned amusement
and amazement.
And
then it is done. And everyone leaves. Only a small
glistening on the floor where whence the terror
came from, slowly evaporating like a morning mist
over a lake.
The
teacher is in the hall, hushed whispering with the
men.
She
returns as Gestapo...Sunday School
teacher….Boss…Spouse… We sit in our little
chairs again. And then she speaks.
“Children…someone had an accident in the
bathroom. Someone flushed their underwear and
socks down the toilet and it backed up…giggles
erupt…it’s not funny children, this is not how
we behave in school…hushed alarm…I know it was
an accident…but who here did this…I really
need to know…
A
pin could drop
And
we were all smart enough to know you can’t
confess
And
how stupid was she to expect someone to humiliate
themselves and brand themselves for life in her
little classroom
We
all looked at each other…her…the floor
And
the little guy waited for the strip search of
underwear and socks. He wanted to cry, but held it
in this time, resolute and stoic…the seeds of
manhood germinating in him…
Finally
after an eternal silence she said “ok children,
if nobody will talk to me, you can just sit in
your chairs and think about it till recess. And if
someone wants to talk to me in private you can
just come up to the desk [in front of
everyone…the peer firing squad]. Tom, Nat, and
the Z brothers…along with Pete just waited...
eternally…and then went to recess finally. There
they all were in the playground fishing around for
turn on the swings, and slides, and distractions
from learning.
The
rest of the day was long…very long.
And
then it was over, and he walked through the huge
doors and down the cold stairs and started to walk
home.
And
when he got home, he didn’t go in. Surely mom
knew how much he had failed…surely she would
figure it out…those eyes, those eyes would see
through him.
He
darted into the garage, and by the back tire he
sat down and started bawling. The frantic and
overwhelming tears of childhood. He curled up next
to the tire and cried…and cried…and
cried.
Till
finally a voice tracked him down. Mom’s voice.
“Petey….honey…where are you” it was clear
with a slight wavering fear lilting in it. Third
time…forth time…fifth time… “I’m in the
garage mommy” he gurgled and mumbled out as a
whisper….“I’m in the garage mommy” his
voice rising up and out…..
“I’m
in the garage mommy!”…..he finally shrieked
and stood up wiping his face and trying to be
brave.
The
big garage door slid slowly open…and light
streamed into the darkness. He stood their in the
light, it washed over him with sheer terror,
standing as brave as he knew how he awaited his
fate…like a toy soldier before a real
tank.
Her
face was angry at first. But when she saw him,
with his crumpled face and tear-stained eyes she
rushed forward with a face drawn with worry.
What
happened, honey…are you hurt…what
happened…are you ok. She was now searching him,
looking for blood, wounds, marks…but they were
all unseen…unfound
He
just fell into her arms…silently
And
she held him…silently
Finally,
when his knuckles were no longer digging into her
back with terror he spoke. “I’m ok
mommy…I…I…had a bad day.”
What
happened honey, did someone hurt you…
i……i…..i
just had a bad day.
She
sits there with him in the half black and half
light of the garage. She measures it…will she
push it…will she wait…will she accuse…what
will she do.
He
sits there in the darkness…does she
know…should he tell…what are some good
lies…will I get caught…what will she do.
And
she decides he is frantic enough, and besides she
has to leave for work in 20 minutes. So she smiles
and carries him inside for some cookies, and plops
him in front of the TV. She decides…she will go
to work and call her husband later to talk to
him…and she will ask tomorrow…
And
she goes to work…and forgets about all of
it…forever.
And
he sits in front of the TV…and remembers it…
forever.
And
he learns.
Hide…lie…watch
TV…distract yourself from your emotions…never
let them know your failures…never face the
inquisition….never confess…
They
will try to find out…they want to know what you
did wrong…humiliation will follow if you tell…
Never
fail…never make mistakes…be perfect…
And
that is a lot for a little kid to learn in one
day. A strange rite-of-passage ala-shit. It would
become the template of his life, that one
terrifying day in kindergarten…a template for
manhood…a template for his religion someday.
Everything I never needed to know I learned in
kindergarten.
A
template of lies
Because
we all shit ourselves. But we must become like
little children and let our Mom clean it up. We
must confess before the one who will not attack us
with humiliation and shame…but will overwhelm us
with grace and hope…and love. We must believe
that even when the toilet stops-up and we are
caught…that there is someone there to restore us
when we have failed. Someone who will still
believe in us when we have failed. Somehow who
will smell out what we did…point our nose
towards it…but then tell us they still believe
in us. A lot of us still need toilet-training of
some sort or another.
And
we all fail, and always will.
And
we need somebody to help us confess safely.
Someone to help us open up, and let it
out…someone to tell the children what life is
really like in this cold dark world of templates
and torture…someone to show the children what
this life can be like when it is filled with
compassion, restoration, grace, hope, mercy, and
redemption…mostly redemption.
What
would life have been like if he had told her? And
what would life have been like if he found out
about love and mercy? Who knows, he would have to
wait another 10 years before someone would show
him that path; and by then the other template had
been so deeply rooted that it would take a
lifetime to repair it. But now when he shits
himself he has somewhere to go…and someone who
makes things right. Someone who is faithful and
just to forgive us and clean us up when we
crap.
John’s
slant with a flourish of poetic, linguistic, and
comparative editing and interpretation: Pete, Tom,
Nat, the Z brothers, and two other interns were
hanging out together. Pete told them all “screw
this…. "I'm going fishing." Everybody
said, "We're there man." They went out,
got a couple 6-packs, some cigars… and got in
the boat. They caught nothing that night besides a
hangover. When the sun came up, Jay was standing
on the fog soaked beach, but they didn't recognize
him red-eyes and hung-over as they were; like
vampires caught in the stinging shine of the sun
with headaches pounding in their heads. Jay yelled
to them: "Good morning! Did you losers catch
anything for breakfast?" They answered,
"No." And waived a certain finger in his
direction. He then shouted, "Throw the net
off the right side of the boat and see what
happens." The hair on the back of their necks
stood up, and a cold chill raced down their
spine….they had heard those words
before…echoing words…. when they were
fisherman….before the dream….before the
nightmare….before the execution. Without a word
they did what he said. All of a sudden there were
so many fish in it, they weren't strong enough to
pull it in. Then Johnny said to Peter, "Holy
Shit…it’s Jay!" When Pete realized who it
was , he threw on some clothes, for he was
stripped for work, and dove into the sea. The
other guys came in by boat for they weren't far
from land, a hundred yards or so, pulling along
the net full of fish. When they got out of the
boat, they saw a campfire laid out, with fish and
bread cooking on it.
Awhile
later
After
breakfast, Jay said to Peter, "Pete, do you
love me more than these guys?" "Yes, Big
guy, you know I love you." And Jay said,
"Feed my people." And Pete saw in his
mind another campfire a few days ago when he had
denied Jay in public. He then asked a second time,
"Pete, do you love me?" "Yes, Sir,
you know I love you." Jay said, "Lead my
people." And Pete saw in his mind his running
down the street in tears, and his abandonment of
the vision and heading back into his old way of
life…leading the guys out here for a night of
beer and bad fishing. Then he said it a third
time: "Pete, do you love me?" Peter was
upset that he asked for the third time, wondering
if Jay was reading his mind or knowing what he was
feeling, "Do you love me?" so he
answered with great tears dripping down his face,
"Dude, you know everything there is to know.
You've got to know that I love you." Jay
said, "Feed my people. And Pete just stood
their like a total failure crying. Jay then said
“I'm telling you the very truth now: I still
believe in you. You abandoned and denied me, and I
still believe in you. You failed and shit all over
yourself and I still believe in you. Life is going
to take you places, and some of them will be hard
as hell, some you won’t want to go down. But you
won’t screw it up, you’ll nail it when it
happens…I know what will happen. And I still
believe in you. You’ll never get it perfect but
I will always be there for you”
Pete
didn’t get it…in fact he babbled on about
other people, trying to escape the scorching grace
of the moment. Jay was pissed…but let it go. But
later…much later…he got it. So did I. Do you?
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