I spoke to the students of White Brook Middle School today. They’re in Easthampton, about 15 miles from my house. I was a little apprehensive, because I knew there were over 600 kids. Individually, a middle school kid is no match for a guy like me. But 600 of them in a swarm? Savage. That would give anyone pause for thought. What if they turned?
But most kids like me, I reasoned. I squared up my shoulders and trudged inside on a rainy January morning. As soon as I got there, the auditorium filled. Sam, the 13-year-old who’d invited me, did the introductions. And then it was time.
I remembered the advice of Dick Buesing, my speech teacher so long ago. Blow your nose, and spit out your cigar, he said. Talk slow and loud and clear. Keep one eye on the crowd, and the other one on the door. And never forget the crowd is like a pack of feral dogs. They can smell fear, and they’ll tear you to pieces.
Good advice for anyone speaking in public. Would I survive the day?
First, I talked with the fifth and sixth graders. I read them the tale of petting Chuckie from the book, and I told them the story of testing holes with my little brother. I talked about life in the music world, and how I learned about Asperger’s. I showed them how the conditions they thought were disabilities could actually turn out to be gifts later in life.
When the time came for questions, they weren’t shy. At least 50 hands went up, all at once. “We’re going to be democratic about this,” I said. “The first kid to show me a ten dollar bill gets his question answered.” Their enthusiasm made me sorry I’d left the cash register home. I took a full 20 minutes to answer their questions, but it wasn’t enough. When the period ended, there were still 20+ kids with their hands in the air.
Many of the questions were practical in nature. How did you dig a five foot deep hole? What’s a post hole digger? Why didn’t your brother’s neck break when you put him in the hole upside down? What did he do to get even?
There was talk of cats, and pranks, and drunken parents. Why didn’t I use drugs? They wondered.
Some questions were universal: What did you do about bullies? Did people call me names too? Did I get into fights often? What did my teachers think of me? Did life get better when I got older?
I had a short break, and then the auditorium filled with seventh and eighth graders. They were bigger, scruffier, and a tougher looking bunch by far. But I knew I could handle anything they threw my way. “I’ve got eggs under this podium,” I said, “And I know how to use them.”
I told them about growing up, my tricks and pranks, and how I learned to fit in. I told them about my first job, collecting the trash. Like the younger kids before, they seemed captivated. And they too were full of questions. Bullies and name calling came up right away, and to my surprise, several kids rose to the microphone and announced that they had indeed bullied others. I was amazed that we’d created an atmosphere where they’d feel comfortable saying such a thing.
Will the principal have the bullies shot after I leave, I wondered? But at the end of the day, they got on the buses and rode home.
I had brought my friend Bob Jeffway along, and I pointed him out to both groups. The bigger kids were thinking of getting boyfriends and girlfriends, and I knew they feared geeks like us would never be able to attract mates. I was particularly pleased to show off Celeste, Bob’s mate, as an example of girls geeks attract. And I know the students were pleased too, seeing what happened to us as we got older.
We talked a long time, and once again, the period ended too soon. I spent lunch with a group of kids. I ate the same food as the other inmates, and pronounced it tasty. After that, I cruised around the school and dropped in on three classes, where we talked some more. It seemed like minutes and the day had ended. I’d been there all day.
Before I left, they gave me this gift basket they’d made:
I had a wonderful time, thanks to all the students and staff at White Brook Middle School.