|You heard me, DC. Bring her back.|
A Bad Idea (With Arsenal and Lightning Lad)“This was a bad idea.”A Bad Idea (With Arsenal and Lightning Lad) by JudeDeluca
“Yeah, this was a bad idea. You shouldn’t have done it.”
“I shouldn’t have done it?! You shouldn’t have done it!”
“No way! I thought of it first!”
“You did not! My wife’s a mind reader so I know you didn’t think of this first!”
“Oh please, like you’d get her to stoop so low.”
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring… because all of the commotion was currently coming from the top of the house, specifically the chimney, as two red-clad figures were currently struggling to free themselves from the top of the chimney.
Roy Harper (Arsenal) of the Teen Titans, and Garth Ranzz (Lightning Lad) of the Legion of Super-Heroes, were crammed inside a small, redbrick chimney, with both of their top halves sticking out and fruitlessly struggling to free themselves from their soot-stained prison.
“You already saw I
Too Many RobinsOctober 31st, 200XToo Many Robins by JudeDeluca
Halloween, a time of year sugar rushes and getting the bejezes scared out of you are not only time honored traditions but mandatory regulations. Across the United States, children and those who remain young at heart are preparing for the spooktastic celebrations that come once a year (at least according to those uptight calendar corporation buttheads) by dressing up as whatever, or whomever, they so please, collect candy, and/or attend parties.
Nearly every home is adorned with jack-o-lanterns, cut outs of witches, ghosts, goblins, and vampires, fake blood is drenched and dried across walls, and adults stand by with heaping helpings of different kinds of candy to tantalize the pallets of the young (the cool ones in any event).
“Hurry up Daddy!”
“I’m coming Lian but these bags are heavy!”
Roy Harper tried to keep up with his young daughter Lian, who was carrying a half-full bag of candy and assorted treats while her
When I was in middle school, during the sixth grade, on the bus ride home three boys who may have just been one or two years older than me, grabbed me by the head and shoved my face into their crotch regions. I remember that I was terrified and crying, begging for someone to help and reaching out for someone to help me, but everyone else just went on laughing and the bus driver didn’t do anything to help. When they were done, and I was huddled and crying, they looked at me as if they didn’t realize what they did. I think they were scared, or grossed out by me. At my stop, I got off the bus and went to my grandpa who was waiting to pick me up. I told my grandpa what happened, and then my parents. The next day, at school, I picked out the three boys who assaulted me and they were brought to the principal’s office. They were threatened with expulsion if anything like that ever happened again, and that was the end of it. I didn’t speak to any counselors or the like. My parents have told me they didn’t know how I reacted to this, and that they trusted the principal.
I was picked on well throughout middle school, and looking back I was an obvious target. I was weird. I talked about cartoons and anime and movies no one else knew or cared about, I didn’t like the same shows or music as anyone else, I wasn’t on any sports teams, I actively wore Lip Smackers and used to apply it using the bus mirror, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I was also the youngest in my class. I started middle school when I was 10. I shared a bus with high school students, and I used to try to sit in the back because I liked the back, except it was where the high school students were supposed to sit. I tried to ignore them most days. On the day after the first Walkathon I participated in, which was during 6th grade, there was one incident where some of the high schoolers tried to put me in the overhead compartment on the school bus. I remember crying, and, I also remember as I was walking home from the bus stop I had lost the gym shorts I was carrying with me. That was the only part I mentioned to my mother.
After that, let’s see, middle school was just a blur of unpleasantness for me. I didn’t really have any friends I was truly close with and could hang out with on a regular basis, and like I said I wasn’t on any teams or clubs. Everybody was an asshole and I started acting like an asshole myself. I started making rude comments (I made a particularly nasty remark once to this one kid whom I was friends with in one sense, though I did try to apologize) and acting rude when I wasn’t trying to get people to like me. I still used to bring in movies for the classes to watch and show them the things I liked, but when I got mad I got really mad.
They used to have high school students tutor us. The guy who was with me told me to go back to class after one day I just sat down in the library and ripped paper out of another kid’s notebook because I didn’t have anything to write on. In 7th Grade, I was suspended for the rest of the day because I said something racist in a fit of anger. It happened after lunch, when we were all supposed to head back to class and the students were doing “Next one into the classroom is gay.” I was next. But, I remember the kid I specifically aimed this at had peeked on me when I was using one of the bathroom stalls. One time, I drew some offensive doodles of my parents on brother on a test because I was mad at them that morning. I had to see the guidance counselor and they called my parents. In 8th grade, I nearly strangled a boy who was looking at the books on my desk without my permission. In 8th grade things must’ve really gotten bad because one day my mom got in the mail a package that was full of hand written notes from my teachers about my terrible grades and attitude in class. Before that, there are two incidents I clearly remember from that year. The day before Thanksgiving break we went to a pep rally in the school gym, and I had to sit at the very top of the bleachers. I was completely terrified at how high up we were and for so long. When we got back to class I screamed at another kid about how I had to put something back in my locker before we were supposed to sit down, I was that shaken up. Another time, after receiving a bad grade on a math test, I remember I tore it up in my teacher’s face and started crying because of how completely and utterly stupid I felt.
That’s actually why I’m typing this, math. Math has never been my best subject. The trend was that everything was easier for me to understand in the beginning of the school year but, as it went on, things got harder to follow, especially trigonometry which I have NEVER been able to grasp no matter how many times it was covered. I also have to consider what assholes my classmates were throughout 6 to 12th grade. But, another trend started to develop. Whenever I would have difficulty understanding a subject or have difficulty during a test or an exam, I’d get really nervous and start to think I was a complete idiot. I’d think “I CAN’T DO THIS” over and over again and it’d get so bad I’d almost start to cry. I think sometimes I did. This was especially prevalent in the 10th Grade when I was in Salesian High School, which was also a fucking nightmare. One time during math class I stayed behind longer than everyone else because I was having difficulty finishing a math exam. One day in Italian class when we had a substitute and had to work on an assignment, which I think was near a holiday break, everyone was acting like idiots and screaming so loud I couldn’t concentrate on finishing the work and I had to explain through tears to the substitute why I hadn’t finished. The worst was Chemistry. My teacher was nice but immediately early in the school year my mind just wasn’t able to get the subject, and I got depressed. I felt an idiot every class and during every lab and I started saying things like I wished I was dead. I spent most of 10th Grade in and out of the guidance counselor’s office, and one day my mom had to bring me to a psychiatric hospital to talk with someone.
I’ve been bitter about middle school and high school for years and my parents know it to the point that I come across as a broken record, but initially it was for these reasons: that I didn’t want to go to an all boys Catholic school for middle school or high school, that I hated wearing those awful uniforms to the point that I refuse to wear belts and long sleeve shirts make me feel uncomfortable, and that the kids were assholes. I hadn’t been really thinking about what happened on the school bus until I started talking about it with my therapist last summer, and looking back I realize that incident may have been the reason for my anger issues and poor performance. And, part of me still resents my parents for not doing anything about it even though I talked with them about it last summer. I think part of me’s always going to hate them for this. And the more I’ve been thinking about this, the more I think of why I kept actually insisting on staying in Mt. Saint Michael. I used to think it would have a bad mark on my college applications when I was older, but I don’t remember my parents ever trying to sit down and explain to me that wasn’t true. They never brought me to talk to anyone or seemed to really notice there was something wrong with me. All they ever really saw was when the school called concerning my poor behavior. Not like my brother. When my brother got harassed for most of sixth grade, he got to transfer schools, and when he got bad grades in class, he got to go to Sylvan. He didn’t get a Catholic education like me, he got public school and then Art & Design for high school, which also really helped because he came out much earlier than I did. I don’t think my parents ever really saw how badly this affected me beyond my surface complaints about the uniforms and usual crap so I guess they just didn’t take me seriously.
But now, I’m trying to think about where this fear of failure has stemmed from. The reason why is because this previous Tuesday was my first math class in six years, and I was terrified and felt like I was going to throw up through most of it. I got that feeling again, that I’m a failure and I couldn’t do this. I’d been trying to talk about it for a while with my therapist, initially because of how I handled my Spanish class last semester (I got a B+ at the end), but Tuesday it felt like middle and high school all over again. Thursday wasn’t as bad but it was still there. I’m not denying part of it was because I haven’t been to a math class in years and I was rusty, but, I just want to know where this comes from. Why I jump to the worst conclusion and freeze up, and I don’t know if what happened on the bus might be a part of it. Or, it might be something from elementary school. I remember how mad my parents, especially my mom, used to get when I got bad grades. She was ballistic in 5th grade when I tried to fake her signature on a bad math test.
Part of me’s afraid that someday I’ll end up poor and homeless, and die on the streets. Part of me’s afraid that I will mess up so bad that I won’t be able to fix it and be mocked and hurt for it. Part of me’s afraid of just letting everyone down and a big part of me is just ashamed for being a stupid failure, that I can’t be like the other students in my class. Maybe it’s just that by failing I won’t be able to leave this system, that I won’t finally be done with school and have a chance to be my own person completely. I’ve been trying to overcome this last part and take pride in the accomplishments I have made, but that fear is still there and I want to know why.
Or maybe it’s because grades and those stupid little honor certificates were all I really had in middle and high school. Like I said, I wasn’t on any teams or clubs. Well, in 10th grade I tried the track team, but we weren’t allowed to finish our last race because of a computer mix up so I didn’t participate. And the literary magazine never went anywhere because no one ever really did any work.
Or, maybe I’m just a neurotic asshole who’s looking to find a source so I don’t have to admit I’m a lazy asshole. I’m I just mixing my concerns up for the sake of being a drama queen?
All I know is I just, I want to stop caring about this shit. I want to stop obsessing about stupid middle and high school and get on with my fucking life. I want to stop being scared of failing, because this fear is just going to ensure I’m gonna fail if I don’t fucking participate. I just, I don’t know how to stop it from affecting me.