Ms. Moses

For a long time, as a young man, I was dedicated to being everything everyone wanted me to be. As I got older I learned life lessons. Those experiences helped to transform me, little by little, into the man that I am today. Going forward I am quite certain that this will be part of life that has a continuous pattern to it. It evolves the same way we do.
When I was in seventh grade I was waste high in mud most of the time. Because I was self-centered I didn't realize that most other people were waste high in mud, not just my classmates but my teachers, family, even strangers. I could see it on the face of some people although at that time there was no way to know what it was. It was about the same as a villain in a cartoon movie. If someone had a face without a warm smile on it they were angry, upset people. I used to look at my parents from the passenger seat of cars as they drove. I would ask them why they were upset. They would turn and smile. Each time they responded that they were not upset, just thinking. They would smile some more and then focus back on the road. Slowly they would lose the smile as the thoughts filled their mind again. I could only understand a limited amount about just their facial expressions. I could look at a globe and identify all the borders and different bodies of land and water. I knew about the different layers down to the core. But there was a part of the harmony of it all that I didn't have a grasp of. In most ways I still do not. Age forces you to make some choices and stick with them. To have some opinions and believe in them. It is nice. Also tricky.
I had a history class when I was in seventh grade. The teacher was named Ms. Moses. She had a scar on her face that the rumor mill attributed to a childhood dog attack. I had an interesting relationship with Ms. Moses because I had attended a camp where her and some other members of the faculty and staff of the school worked at during the summer. Therefore she was forced to show some affection for me because I had a strong reputation at camp, but at the same time my reputation at school was such that there was room for filth. She needed to be cool with me because of the friends I had made at camp. She also had to tear me down because she was weak.
The filth came during a class discussion about terrorism. I was one of the only students at the school with a Middle Eastern background. Despite the fact that the Middle Eastern side was mixed with an Irish side I still stood out enough that the keenest of racists showed me no mercy. Mostly I was oblivious, one of the advantages of an imagination. Unfortunately I was also a hot headed asshole in the making who was always ready to fight the fights I considered worthwhile. This class discussion on terrorism started out with me biting my lip hard.
I decided it was not the best move to speak up. I decided it wasn't personal at all. I paid attention as a silent observer as Ms. Moses wrote the word terrorism in the middle of her chalkboard and circled it. Then she started asking for people to raise their hands and say things that they associated with terrorism. With each new word she wrote it down on the board outside of the terrorism circle, gave it it's own circle and then connected the new circle to the original terrorism one. A bunch of standard fare flew out of the mouths of my classmates just as they dropped their hands with glee from being called on. Either because they wanted the brownie points or they understood the game or they were just trying to say something so they wouldn't be called on. Then this kid named Isaac raised his hand. He said Iran. My mom was born in Iran. Oddly enough, my Irish father had prepared me for this moment my whole life. My blood boiled. Even thinking on it now I can remember how mad I was. In a different world I would have exploded up from my desk and spun like the tasmanian devil sending the room into a swirling cyclone of fury. At that moment some kind of control came over me and overcame my bodies urge to explode. Without being called on I complained. I stated that my family was Iranian and couldn't believe this was being said in the class. An example of the hostage crisis was brought up. I went DEFCON on everyone's ass. I dropped into silence. Seemingly conceding the point. As the discussion started again I raised my hand. Ms. Moses didn't even see it coming. As she called on me I didn't even drop my hand before I calmly delivered my word, "Christianity."
I was thrown out of class. Ms. Moses had gotten offended, along with a batch of other students. They didn't want to hear about the real crusades. And they sure didn't want to hear about how similar the crusades were to what the terrorists they were currently finger pointing at were doing. I spent a while in the office, talked to the round of administration, it had become a familiar experience. I think Ms. Moses wanted to give me a yellow slip or a blue slip or something. Fortunately my mom was having none of that shit, and neither was the administration when it came down to it. Either because I was valuable as a minority percentage or because I was just valuable. That part is up for future actions and history's interpretation to decide.