RULES OF AWESOMENESS #7
ALWAYS KNOW YOUR OPPONENT’S STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES.
INFORMATION IS THE KEY TO LIFE. BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY, HOW YOU USE THAT INFORMATION TO GET YOURSELF OUT OF TROUBLE IS CRITICAL. WHEN YOU’RE BEING ATTACKED, HARNESSING THE ABILITY TO HOLD BACK PARTICULARLY DAMAGING TIDBITS OF INFO UNTIL JUST THE RIGHT MOMENT WILL BE THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN GREATNESS AND AWESOMENESS.
Do you have any idea what it’s like being told over and OVER, “You need to make an effort,” or “You’re better than that,” and, my personal favorite, “It’s always darkest before the dawn”? What does that even MEAN!? Darkest? There’s nothing dark about the spotlight of SHAME! It’s like looking into the SUN of DISAPPOINTMENT!
The next morning, my mom drove me to school again. But this time, I insisted she drop me off in the parking lot. No need for a grand entrance, considering my monumental first-day fail.
Slipping in through the side door, I made it to my locker without following any kindergartners to naptime. I was off to a good start.
Unfortunately, day two wasn’t any better than day one. Now, you’d think a kid as wildly creative and outgoing as me could never be pegged as a social outcast. Think again. Actually, it was easy—all I had to do was transfer to a school where every kid had known every other kid since they could crawl. Not many new students ever show up at Kinney Elementary. It’s a rare occurrence, like a Bigfoot sighting. Oh, forgive me, I meant to say Sasquatch.
BTW . . . have you ever watched the TV show where there’s a bunch of guys searching for Bigfoot? It is HILARIOUS! These guys must have a million bucks worth of high-tech equipment, spend hundreds of days in bug-infested forests, and they never come close to even seeing Bigfoot. Hey, fellas! Want to know why you haven’t seen him yet? BECAUSE HE DOESN’T EXIST!
How about being the son or daughter of a professional Bigfoot hunter? That’s got to be MUCH worse than being the new kid at Kinney Elementary. Just imagine the abuse those kids get:
“Hey, Jake, I saw your dad on TV. Reaaallllly cool show. He came sooooooooo close to catching that elusive Bigfoot,” says the school bully.
“Shut up, jerk! My dad’s the best dad ever,” I say. But inside, I think my dad’s losing it and needs Bigfoot therapy.
“Oookay, Jake. When your dad does find Bigfoot, can I get an autograph? Not your dad’s, of course! Bigfoot’s autograph! I need it for my collection. I already have the Abominable Snowman’s, Santa Claus’s, and the Tooth Fairy’s,” says the bully.
I pretty much walked and talked to myself the whole day. Racing to and from my new classes, I didn’t have much time to meet anyone. Lunch was the best opportunity. “Friend finding” was at the top of my list. I couldn’t face the glare of the spotlight of SHAME once again.
My strategy was simple—befriend a kid at one of the low-ranking outer tables. After that, quickly move my way up the ranks to the more-popular inner tables. I figured it should take me about a week to pull that off.
RULES OF AWESOMENESS #8
PLAN, MAN! DON’T BE A FAILURE.
LIFE IS LIKE A GAME OF CHESS: YOUR ABILITY TO PLAN, STRATEGIZE, AND SCHEME WILL SAVE YOUR KINGDOM. IN MIDDLE SCHOOL, THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE KING. IF YOU WANT IT TO BE YOU (NATURALLY YOU DO—SEE RULES OF AWESOMENESS #1), YOU BETTER PUT DOWN THE XBOX CONTROLLER AND START PLANNING YOUR ROAD MAP TO THE TOP. IF NOT, PREPARE TO BE ROUTINELY STUFFED INTO A LOCKER, AND BE READY TO ACCEPT THAT YOUR SEAT ON THE BUS WILL BE DIRECTLY BEHIND THE DRIVER.
Eyeing my first victim friend, I approached him with confidence. He looked harmless. Giving one of my best “tough guy” nods, I sat down across from him. Before he could say a word, I extended my hand for a formal introduction.
“Hey! How are you? I’m Jake!” I announced enthusiastically. It should also be noted I had an extra-giant chocolate-chip cookie in my other hand. Sliding it across the table to Friend #1, he took the bait. Never hurts to have a little insurance to make sure a plan goes smoothly. Some call it bribery . . . but not me. I call it AWESOMENESS IN ACTION!
Giving a far less “tough” nod, Friend #1 slowly raised his hands from his lap. He quickly placed a pile of green yarn and giant needle thingies on the table. I was stunned. What’s he DOING? I’ve seen this stuff before, but NEVER in school. I got an immediate flashback to my grandmother’s house. Is this guy knitting? COME ON!!!!
Yes, he was indeed KNITTING! Knitting Boy quickly scooped up his equipment and got back to work without saying a word. All I heard was the clicking and clacking of the knitting needles. Knitting Boy was in the ZONE! The yarn sped through his needles like bullets through a machine gun. Whatever he was making, he was following the directions from a magazine placed next to his half-eaten sandwich.
Creative Knitting for Your Pet might be a best-selling magazine in the knitting community, BUT it was probably not a smart choice to read during elementary-school lunch.
Knitting Boy didn’t seem to notice me staring at him. Maybe he noticed my jaw smacking the floor? But I had no time to get to the bottom of all this knitting business, because my sister’s future husband, Jason Jackson, immediately joined us.
“My man, Jake! What are you doing?” screamed Jason as he walked up and kicked Knitting Boy’s left sneaker. “You definitely don’t want to be eating lunch with old Norm here.
“Right, NORM?” Jason crowed loud enough to be heard by everyone. “You’re an old lady trapped in a wimp’s body!”
“Be careful, Jason. If you’re not nice to me, I won’t knit you that scarf you asked for,” Norm replied.
“You’re such a geek!” Jason screamed as he turned and walked toward the popular kids’ table.
“There goes your scarf. Care to lose those mittens, too? You silly kitten!” Norm laughed.
Wow! You go, Knitting Boy. Way to flip the script on Jason.
Although I had a newfound respect for Norm, I was still not going to sit with him. Though, considering Maryland is much colder than Florida, I could have really used a new scarf!
AND no way was I going to hang around with Jason the Jerk, either. My quest for a friend continued . . .
I took my parents’ advice and gave my new school “time.” Time to get used to the kids. Time to get settled in. Time to make friends and bring my unique form of AWESOMENESS to this Bumpkinville, USA.
After three months of “time,” I was definitely ready to say I absolutely HATED my new school—and MARYLAND!
It was time to say adios and get the Big Guy to move back to sunny, FRIENDLY Florida.
I’m no quitter! BUT . . . you have no idea how bad it was. To have popularity suddenly ripped from my hands was hard to take. I was THE MAN in Florida. In Maryland, my popularity fell off a cliff and sank to the bottom of the ocean. I had to do all my group projects with girls, and I didn’t have anyone to sit with on the bus.
I only had one semifriend. His name was Nick, and he occasionally sat with me at lunch. When I could stand him. Which wasn’t often.
I called him Positive Boy. Here’s a typical conversation between us:
“Grand greetings, Jake! How are you on this most wonderful of days?” asks Positive Boy.
“Dude, it’s raining outside! We also have a math test next period. So, I’m doing AWFUL!” I say in my most annoyed tone.
“I know! I studied all night. Super ready to ace the test. We’ll both do fantastic! It’s all good in the gifted-and-talented hood!” says Nick.
“Lacrosse is canceled, which means my mom will make me practice the piano tonight—which I HATE,” I say.
“At least the trees and grass are getting life-sustaining H2O—which reminds me, my mom packed some extra cookies,” says Positive Boy.
“Cool. I’ll trade you a granola bar for the cookies,” I offer.
“Trade? You keep that granola bar. Remember, Jake, it’s always darkest before the d
awn,” says Nick as he gives me a big bag of cookies.
NO!!!! Not him, too. I really need to find out what this whole “dark/dawn” thing is all about. Who talks like this?
I don’t think you understand the severity of my situation! I was less popular than Knitting Boy. Since his confrontation with Jason, he actually had a few friends. CRAZY! Didn’t they see him KNITTING? Was I the only one with eyes? Man, Maryland was WACK! But before you suggest I take up knitting, need I remind you of my natural AWESOMENESS?
Unfortunately, it’s taking a bit longer than usual to kick in. Was it me? Maybe I was trying too hard? Or not hard enough? This was a REAL problem. I’m Jake Ali Mathews; this doesn’t happen to me. I had sailed into the uncharted waters of the Sea of Self-Doubt. WHY!!???
Without trying at my old school, I was a solid seven or eight on the popularity scale. That was WITHOUT trying. Factor in my academic success—I was in all advanced classes—and my ranking was through the roof, even with the burden of being brilliant. You know, the expectations . . . the pressures . . . the ability to read minds. Ha-ha! That’s a joke. Just making sure you’re paying attention.
Like I said, under normal circumstances, I’m a solid seven or eight in popularity rank. Considering I’ve been to four elementary schools, I know what I’m talking about. Basically, every school has a ranking system. Start with the athletes, pretty girls, and rich kids, who mostly all rank between eight and ten.
The troublemakers, clowns, and cooler smart kids rank five through seven. As you start working your way down toward the bottom of the food chain, you’ll find the brainiacs, freakazoids, lone wolves, and those with a passion for their grandmothers’ hobbies.
Every so often, you’ll encounter a kid that doesn’t fit into any group. For some inexplicable reason, that kid is ranked off the charts in popularity. At Kinney Elementary, there was only one student like this—remember Camo Kid? I saw him on the first day of school. Well, come to find out, everyone at school knew him as WILD BOY. I’d say his popularity rank was a twelve. His fear rank was a twenty!
Wild Boy certainly lived up to his name. He wasn’t much bigger than most kids in school, but he had huge muscles and slicked-back hair. He looked like a mini bodybuilder. Maybe he really should have been in high school? I doubt anyone would dare ask.
Also, he loved wearing tank tops. Even in the middle of winter. It could be twenty degrees outside with a foot of snow on the ground, and Wild Boy would STILL wear his camouflage pants and tank top.
Did I mention his tattoo? YUP! That’s right! You heard it here first—sixth-grader gets tattoo. And not just any tattoo. Wild Boy’s shoulder tattoo says BORN TO RAISE HELL. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried. Is that even legal?
The rumor around school was that Wild Boy did the tattoo himself. That would make him INSANE! Thank you, Dad, for moving me to Maryland! I do so love it here . . .
RULES OF AWESOMENESS #9
TATTOOS ON A TWELVE-YEAR-OLD ARE A REALLY BAD IDEA.
A TATTOO IS PERMANENT! AS IN FOREVER! WHEN I WAS SIX YEARS OLD, I LOVED BUZZ LIGHTYEAR. NOW THAT I’M TWELVE, I’D LOOK REALLY STUPID ROCKING A GIANT BUZZ TAT ON MY ARM. “TO INFINITY AND HUMILIATION!”
Once word got back to the principal about Wild Boy’s tattoo, you’d think he’d robbed a bank—which I definitely saw in his future. The police were called, and Wild Boy’s father had to come to school for a “meeting.” Can you say Father of the Year!?
My class was outside playing four square when Wild Boy’s father arrived. He screeched across the parking lot in his jacked-up pickup truck. Let’s just say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the crazy tree!
It was crystal clear where Wild Boy got his style sense. After Wild Dad illegally parked across two handicapped spots, he exited his vehicle dressed in head-to-toe camo. Flicking his cigarette to the ground before strolling through the front door, Wild Dad didn’t look too happy.
The next day, Wild Boy returned to school as if nothing happened. Apparently, because Wild Boy gave himself the tattoo, his parents weren’t guilty of anything . . . besides not monitoring their son’s behavior!
I can’t wait to get a look at Mrs. Wild Boy. Hey, Mom, I have a new friend for you!
Slowly but surely, life for me at Kinney Elementary improved. Starting with a popularity rank of zero, I knew things could only go up. After four long and painful months, I’d say I had reached a ranking of two, thanks to a lot of cookies and my intense studying of the Baltimore Ravens. For my football homework, I discovered the school’s library technician, Mrs. Turlington, to be an unlikely expert.
After I first arrived and didn’t have much luck making friends, I’d hide out in the library at lunch. Anything was better than sitting alone on LOSER ISLAND or listening to Positive Boy.
I think Mrs. T. figured out I was having a hard time, and she took pity on me. She’s so COOL! She gave me all the Ravens’ press guides and game programs, and even e-mailed me the team’s weekly injury report. I eventually found out that she and her husband were season-ticket holders. Real Ravens fanatics. And, YES, I hate to say it, they were FACE PAINTERS!!! NO!!!!!!!!!
Even though face painters are the scariest of all crazy fans in the world of sports, Mrs. T. is still the most chill lady at Kinney Elementary. She armed me with mad Ravens knowledge, and before I knew it, I was talking about Ray Lewis and Joe Flacco, and questioning Coach Harbaugh’s play calling every Monday morning on the bus.
Being buddies with Mrs. T. also meant she would hook me up with new books and passwords to all the latest and coolest websites. I became one of her “testers.” If I liked something, the rest of the students would get it. This also helped me meet new kids, as everyone wanted to “borrow” my top-secret clearance.
I was truly on a popularity roll. Nowhere near Florida levels, but at least I had cleansed myself of the dreaded “new kid” stench that had lingered far too long.
With my confidence booming, it was time for a bold move. I had lots of acquaintances, but no real friends. Wild Boy didn’t look like he had any friends, either. Perfect. It was time for AWESOMENESS to be formally introduced to CRAZY!
Wild Boy never played four square or basketball at recess, just mostly walked among the narrow line of trees at the edge of the parking lot. Not enough space to hunt for anything cool like elk or elephants, but it looked like he was always looking for something. One afternoon I made the mistake of venturing over and introducing myself.
“What’s up? Looking for snakes?” I asked in my coolest, deepest voice.
Wild Boy was shocked. Was there some rule he wasn’t to be disturbed?
With a heavy sigh AND an EYE ROLL, he turned to look at me. YES, he EYE ROLLED ME. Didn’t he know I had THE ONLY password to BigIQkids.com’s secret game page? Apparently NOT!
“Ants,” he replied, shaking his head and trying to ignore me.
“Fantastic! I LOVE ants! Mind if I help? Did you know some ants can lift up to fifty times their own body weight?” I said.
“Really?” replied Wild Boy. “That’s an unbelievable coincidence. So can I!”
Suddenly, I felt my feet leave the ground as I was scooped into the air and flung over the crazy ant collector’s shoulder. Three or four giant steps later, I found myself awkwardly sitting in the nearest garbage can. With my knees inches from my face, I quickly realized I had reached a new low. HELP!
RULES OF AWESOMENESS #10
KNOW WHEN TO WALK AWAY.
NOBODY LIKES DEFEAT, BUT IN YOUR CLIMB TO THE TOP, THERE WILL BE SETBACKS. DON’T LET PRIDE OR EGO WRITE A CHECK YOUR OWN PHYSICAL AND MENTAL ABILITIES CAN’T CASH. NECK BRACES ARE NOT COOL!
It took a while to wiggle out of the can. Nobody came to help me—everyone was too busy pointing and laughing. Off to the library I went. I needed to escape the Kinney version of the spotlight of SHAME.
Walking into
the media center, I saw Mrs. T. at her desk. She sensed a problem right away.
“Hi, Jake. Shouldn’t you be at recess?” asked Mrs. T.
“Technically, yes. But, I don’t know, sitting in a garbage can isn’t my idea of fun and relaxation,” I said.
“What?! Garbage can? Why were you sitting in a garbage can?” asked Mrs. T.
“Not by choice. Wild Boy didn’t want to share his ants,” I answered, still brushing off candy wrappers and dust from my time in the can.
“You mean Michael? He did that to you? Don’t worry, he’s harmless. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. Actually, he is a very nice young man,” said Mrs. T.
As I said, I hold Mrs. T. in the highest regard, BUT . . . come on, NICE!?
“Mrs. T.!!!!!! With all due respect . . . Wild Boy is a bully and a MANIAC! He shouldn’t be allowed to prowl the grounds and hallways of this fine academic institution. With that kid around, we are ALL in grave danger!” I said in total disbelief.
“Nooooooooo . . . you’re wrong. He’s just misunderstood. You’d be surprised. He’s very polite, smart, thoughtful, and extremely disciplined. Do you know he trains four to five hours every day?” said Mrs. T.
“Trains? Trains at what? Assault and battery?” I said.
Mrs. T. looked clearly annoyed. “Nope . . . at this!” she said as she slowly reached into her drawer and slid a magazine across her desk to me.
On the cover of Martial Arts America was the kid who had just gently placed me in a garbage can. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
Turns out MASTER Wild Boy is no JOKE. In the under-thirteen national rankings for Tang Soo Do, the Wild One is number one!
Just Jake #1 Page 4