| Vacationland Chapter 1, Page 1 On the last day of my first year as a high school English teacher � when all the final exams had been handed in and most of the students had gone, those with licenses roaring out of the parking lot, heavy on the gas and the horn, giddy with the freedom and expectations of summer vacation � I pulled off my tie, unbuttoned my button-down (revealing a wildly colored U2 tour shirt) and pulled on a pair of baggy blue corduroy shorts; then I grabbed my guitar and joined a fellow teacher with a few of his freshmen students in his classroom, and we rocked out for several hours. The sound wafting from the windows on that warm June afternoon did not wake the dead, for there was a cemetery abutting the building and when I stole a peek outside I saw no signs of life stirring; however, it was good fortune to have such serene neighbors, for anyone cognizant and subject to that racket would have called either 911, to notify the authorities of what sounded like rioting and looting in the school, or the Animal Rescue League, to report what appeared to be the strange shrieking cries of some poor beast in agony. I was revved. I had made it through an entire school year and, despite some setbacks and many mistakes, I was still in a single piece (as far as I could tell) and the school wanted me back for the following year. That was not the case for all of my co-workers. Some were not asked to come back. Then there were others who chose not to return. One of them was Jason, whose class we were in that day. Despite the dozen years that I had on him, and the cultural gap that separated our upbringings, he and I had developed a friendship during the course of the year. He would not be returning to St. Dymphna High School; he would be off to Stanford in the fall, to further his aspirations at law school. Jason was quite good with his keyboard. We were all impressed, but the kids wanted to hear stuff that they knew and, despite the fact the he was the Gen-Xer, I knew how to play a couple Nirvana songs on my black acoustic/electric Yamaha, as well as a few other numbers that were familiar to them via the local �alternative� station. So I kicked into �Dammit,� �Flagpole Sitta,� and �Closing Time� and I had the students at the mike belting out the lyrics. I have never been a very good guitar player (I know about a dozen chords and I cannot read music), but I can figure out some of the simpler rock tunes. I try to make up for my lack of talent with enthusiasm and I strummed those chords as I usually do, with impassioned vengeance, breaking a pair of picks that day. One time, completing a song with a leap and landing on the final strum, I theatrically tossed one of the plastic picks into the air and onto the floor. One of the girls, the quietest of those in attendance that day, reached down and picked it up. �I am going to keep this,� she said, as if it were some talisman which had come from a Biblical prophet or tribal shaman and would bring great luck in the future, instead of a brown piece of plastic with a chip in it. She placed it in the pocket of her jeans. �It�s a memory from today.� �Someday you�ll look at it and try to remember where it�s from,� I said, smiling, �and you�ll have no clue.� The five kids there that afternoon were freshmen; all had been students in Jason�s Honors English class. One of the girls had brought her aqua colored bass with her that day, though she didn�t bother to play it much. Andrew, however, stole the show. That he was a huge Beatles fan, like myself, I had already known; however, I was impressed that he seemed to be able to play every bit of every Fab Four tune, either on his Strat or on Jason�s keyboard. During the waning days of the term, with my seniors done for the year, I occasionally sat in on Jason�s Honors class; even participating if there was some type of class activity. Teaching all seniors, I barely knew the freshmen and this was a good way to start to put names to the faces. In the last week, I made an offhand remark to Jay that I�d like to teach one of his class periods. I guess I was half-serious, but I knew how much he liked the Honors group, and I knew he was starting to feel bummed that he may never see them again, so I wanted to see his reaction. �Well, I have nothing planned for Wednesday�What would you teach?� he said. I thought for a moment and answered with the only subject that I could stand up in front of a group and talk about -- off the cuff, spewing out facts, no preparation necessary -- for 47 minutes: �The Beatles.� �The Beatles?� he turned to me with a puzzled look on his face, but then shrugged his shoulders and said, �OK.� And so it was that I walked into the freshman Honors English class two days later with a pile of compact discs, a portable CD player from the school library and a brain full of information and opinion regarding the famous Liverpudlian quartet. As I delivered my lesson, I was shocked to see myself in one of the seats, looking back. It was actually a student who reminded me of myself twenty years earlier. Andrew answered all the questions I�d let him (after the first few, I wouldn�t call on him any more), nodded his head at some of the points I made (�The Beatles are not just a rock and roll band; they are a cultural phenomenon� and �If the group progressed no further than the typical early Beatles boy/girl kind of songs, then we would remember them for Beatlemania; however, their music evolved and became more complex and meaningful. The Beatles created the concept of rock and roll as art.�), and mouthed the words to the songs that I played. After class, Andrew came up front and Jason introduced us. I told him how I was a Beatles freak in high school and how I had actually written my senior thesis on the them. He laughed. We tried to stump each other with some quick Beatles trivia, but it was a draw. He knew his stuff. And then he hustled off to his next class. I knew that Jason played keyboard and when I found out that Andrew played guitar, I brought up the idea of having a jam session. It was probably a couple days after the Beatles class and I was sitting in with the freshmen again. Andrew liked the idea and said that one of the girls in class played bass. I told him to invite her and whoever else he wanted and that the last day of finals would be a perfect time to rock the school. He and Jason agreed. |