Pregnant with Possibility - June 28, 2007

by bc woods"Karen, I can't see through your hair, honey." I spent a moment spitting out a few strands of hair onto my sister's back. At age nine she had become too big to comfortably sit on my lap, and had been writhing on it for the past ten minutes. Her hair kept getting stuck in my face, and obscuring my vision. I wished so many people hadn't shown up to the graduation. For a tiny class of remedial high school students, my brother's classmates sure had a lot of family.

"And you're not comfortable!" Karen complained, throwing an elbow into my stomach.

"Well, I'm sorry, but there aren't enough seats for everyone." Inside the auditorium where my brother's graduation ceremony was to take place, I was drowning in a sea of white trash. To my immediate rear, a woman with large purple plastic rectangular earrings wore sweatpants and a t-shirt. Every now and again she would push the gum in her mouth into a pocket on her tongue and blow a bubble until it popped. A young man of no more than eighteen sat in front of me, with a child on his lap. At first I had thought, like me, it might be his younger sibling, but at a graduation like this it was more likely it was his own spawn.

"Jacob got his own seat," Karen rebutted, staring at our youngest brother. He was sitting glumly in his oversized auditorium seat with his chin resting firmly in the palms of both his hands. His expression was one of a child staring out a window at a rainy-day playground.

"Well you two will just have to take turns, we didn't save enough seats for everyone."

Before she could complain again, a woman in a business suit took the microphone on stage. "Again everyone, we are not able to start the graduation until the walkways are clear of people. It's by order of the fire marshal." All around me the crowd rose up in protest, as people continued to crawl through the cramped aisles in hopes of finding an open seat.

"Unless the fire marshal has a retarded child, I'm guessing he won't be here to see," I muttered.

"What?" Karen interjected.

"Nothing, honey. She just said that if everyone sits down, Bryan can finally come out on stage." I hoped that it wouldn't take too terribly long to graduate fifty people.

My mother suddenly leaned across from her seat next to me and stared into my face. I turned my head away from her and sighed. "You're not still mad about earlier, are you?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Mom."

"You have to admit it though...with those glasses."

I closed my eyes, and turned still further away from her. "Be quiet, please," I begged.

"...and you've put on a little weight," my mother added eagerly.

"Just stop right there, Mom. I'm not going to fight with you in the middle of a graduation ceremony."

"I can't help it! You do!"

Tired of listening to her, I put my hands over Karen's ears. "No, I don't. You ought to be ashamed of yourself for even thinking something like that. That's sick."

In rebuttal, my mother slapped our nearest relative on the arm, and whispered, "Be honest, doesn't BC look like a pedophile in those glasses?" My relative stared at my mother wide-eyed in shock. My mother took this as a sign of total agreement. I bit my tongue before it could get away from me. Whenever she thought I was feeling too good about myself, or was too happy, my mother liked to use whatever means necessary to bring me back down.

Laughing cheerily, my mother wrapped her arm around my shoulder. "Oh come on, BC. Don't be angry. You do. You can't blame me for seeing what's there."

Looking flatly into her eyes, my mouth trembling in anger, I mouthed, "I hate you."

In response, my mother laughed, squeezed her arm tightly around my head, and kissed me on the cheek. I felt like I had been raped. "BC, you big dork! Of course you love me. I'm your mother!" She tilted her head back and cackled like a witch. "I'm so happy to have all of my children here, together." I craned my head back, looked at the ceiling, and prayed to God that a skylight would fall down and decapitate me. After a moment, I decided that there was no God, took out my iPod, and turned on some music like a morphine drip. Although I could no longer hear her, my mother continued to talk.

For another ten minutes, as Karen elbowed me in the ribs for the crime of not being made of goose down, and as my mother continued to spew what I assumed were insults about my physical appearance, the people standing in the aisles took their seats. The woman in the business suit took the stage again, only this time she handed the microphone to someone else. The graduation ceremony was finally starting. I breathed a sigh of relief.

The administrator of schools, Martin Michaels, said, "May I now introduce, the graduating class of 2007!" in a timid voice, that I knew from my own graduation was the loudest sound his tiny lungs were capable of producing. A stream of students poured through the back door. "Bryan!" Karen shouted.

I waved at my brother, as the rest of my family contented themselves with screaming his name at the top of their lungs. Bryan rolled his eyes, shook his head, then put his face into his hands and sighed.

After I had written three personal experience essays for him, completed several credits of science and English in online courses, and made an adventure poster about his life, my brother was finally graduating. His friend Zane was also graduating due to my help. I had charged Zane $50 for completing half a science credit. And here I had thought that my knowledge of all the levels of the atmosphere would never come in handy.

After my brother and his friend took their seats on stage, followed by several girls with mysterious bumps under their gowns, the woman in the business suit again took the stage. A few announcements were made about students who had received awards, before the microphone was again turned over to Martin Michaels. "Cross your fingers, Karen," I whispered.

"Why?" she whispered.

"Because I think he's going to tell the John Anderson story, and it takes forever. We have to do everything we can to stop it." After getting Karen and Jacob to cross each pair of fingers on each of their hands, I joined in. Twelve superstitious symbols were all that stood in the way of Marty Michaels and twenty minutes of absolute boredom.

"Now I know you all didn't come here to listen to some school administrator make some long and boring speech..."

"Thank God for that."

"...but there's just one story I'd like to share with all of you tonight."

I suppressed the need to scream "fuck" as loudly as I could.

"I'll admit I've made a lot of mistakes in my career working with children. Sometimes I've been prone to judge people by their past performance. Well, boy howdy do I have a story to tell you about that." Marty Michael's voice is permanently leveled at the exact pitch and volume between "I give up on hearing this" and "barely audible," in a place I like to call, "The eternal hunt for intelligible sound." Due to the strange quality of his quavering speech patterns he becomes impossible to tune out.

"John P. Anderson was the kind of student a vice principal gets to know very well in the course of the school year." Marty paused for laughter, but was greeted with a few hundred facial expressions that showed no more excitement than they would if they were watching grass grow. Having heard him recite this story no less than five times in the course of my education at Aberdeen schools, and with the same reaction, I could scarcely believe he still bothered to wait for laughter.

After a longer than necessary description of John P. Anderson's indiscretions, Marty took the story where I had heard him take it so many times before. "Well, it so happened there was another student at that school named 'John T. Anderson.' These two boys couldn't have been more different. John T. Anderson was an all-American athlete, on the honor roll, very involved in school committees." Emphasizing the disparity in characters between "John T. Anderson" and "John P. Anderson" as strongly as he emphasized their middle initials, for no less than three solid minutes, Marty was finally satisfied that we understood the two men were not the same person.

"Brandon, I'm bored," Karen whined.

Scratching her head sympathetically, I whispered, "I know, honey. I'm sorry."

Marty suddenly said, "Instead of John T. Anderson, the secretary heard John P. Anderson," which I knew now meant the introduction of the characters was over, and the story was finally beginning.

I decided to amend my apology to Karen. "I'm so, so sorry, honey."

Rather than introducing the main thrust of the story with a few well-rehearsed lines that would have let the humor of the situation hit all at once, Marty chose to drag on the scenario for whole paragraphs, letting all humor that might have been in the story die a slow painful death. "Well you see, there was a conference every summer we could send children with leadership potential to. Every year we were allowed to send ten students. That weekend all the kids showed up to get on the bus, and there comes not John T. Anderson, but John P. Anderson, not with a suitcase, but with a garbage sack full of clothes."

"Never saw it coming," I said to no one in particular.

"Well you can bet how I felt about that." Marty put both his hands on his hips and huffed in mock exasperation. Several people blinked at him. It was the strongest reaction he had yet received. "I was worried about my career. I was worried about him damaging the school. I was worried about him assaulting other students at the conference. I was just worried silly, to be honest." From a person with the ability to use inflection to convey emotion the words might actually have resonated.

"I got a call that weekend, and boy howdy was I worried. I said, 'Let me stop you right there. Whatever he did, we'll pay for it. If he hurt someone or cut someone, just send us the bill.' " Marty again paused for the audience reaction. I believe someone in the back row may have popped their jaw while yawning.

"Well the man on the phone, if you can believe this..." even at its lowest setting in the stand, the microphone looked twice as thick and ten times as ferocious as Marty. "...the gentleman on the other end of the line had called to tell me that John P. Anderson had been elected 'Best Potential Leader' by all the students at the conference. Which just goes to show you... that you can't judge a book by its cover." Unaccustomed to the prolonged silence at the microphone, several people awoke from pleasant naps to see Marty Michaels expecting a thunderous applause that never came. After a few more uncomfortable silent moments, Marty finally gave control of the microphone to someone else, an expression of complete defeat on his unimpressive brows.

Karen slept peacefully against my chest. Jacob was nestled against the armrest nearest my elbow. "Wake up guys, he's gone now." I smiled at the stage. It looked like they were about to read names.

"Here at this school, we like to stress the importance of the individual. So, the students are going to be introduced by their advisors," announced the lady in the business suit. I now understood that she was the principal of my brother's remedial high school.

I had assumed that each teacher would call out the names of their students, and then hand them their diploma. I was wrong. Included with each student's name, was a brief three minute biography. Multiplying that value by fifty meant that it was going to take over two-and-a-half hours to graduate the entire class.

Their biographies were like insane Ad-Lib games using the same template. "Billy is a good boy, although we all know he's had his fair share of trouble... Robert's mother left when he was six, uprooting his moral center... so it was no surprise when Beth had her first child at the age of fifteen... Bobby excels in our welding courses, and has earned the respect of his peers... but Raylene has come through it all and now has a job at the local Wal-Mart... we wish him all the best." While the rest of the audience applauded, I found myself wishing for some kind of tranquilizer gun that could shoot birth control.

Most disheartening was the adviser who was charged with all the pregnant girls in the high school. Comprising over two-thirds of all the female student body, her group was by far the largest of graduating students. One girl, partially retarded, was loudly applauded when it was announced that she was "the proud mother of three." I figured that based upon their gender, the world had just had some combination of three strippers and criminals added to its population. Under the sound of the applause, I turned my little sister to face me.

"Don't listen to this applause Karen. Those are bad girls up there. Bad girls. Don't be like them." I shook my finger for emphasis. While recognizing that sometimes perfectly good people become pregnant at young ages, I did not feel it was necessary to share this belief with my sister. She looked incredibly confused.

"What are you talking about, BC?"

"Just please don't have kids until you're thirty, honey," I begged.

"You're weird."

Upon hearing the adviser announce that, through bureaucratic oversight, "Rebecca actually doesn't have any children," I applauded as loudly as I could, until my palms felt like they were about to bruise. I even emitted a few "whoos" and cries of, "You go, girl!" until I realized that no one else was cheering, and several people were staring at me. Rebecca seemed to be rather appreciative.

"BC, what are you doing?" my mother whispered, incredulously.

"Being the applause of reason," I replied, figuring if my mother was incredulous and offended by my applause, that I had to be on the right track in terms of morality.

"You're so judgmental," she sneered.

Mouthing, "I hate you" one more time, I applauded ferociously when Bryan's adviser took the stage.

Distracted by the sudden sight of my brother, as usual my mother provided an insightful comment to wrap up the moment, "Oh my God, Bryan is sooo tall." I ignored her, and pointed at the stage, for Karen and Jacob to see.

"Do you see, guys? Do you see Bryan?" The children clapped furiously.

Bryan stood on stage, his full height only made taller by his black gown looming over the other students. His arms were crossed, and he had an aura that carried the distinct impression of annoyance as his biography was being read. Of all the students who graduated that day, he was the only one to be visibly muttering beneath his breath.

As he had explained to me earlier in the day, he wondered why he even had to go. "I don't see what all this fuss is about. It's not even like I graduated from a real school."

Posted by BC Woods at 12:00 AM

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UGH! Graduation times 100! Thanks for making me feel the agony of it!

Posted by: Marisa at June 28, 2007 12:51 AM

Ouch, that graduation story brought back painful memories of my own high school graduation in 1997 -- I was valedictorian of about 120 (was 300 when we started), where 80 of the students were special-ed or teen parents. Of the 40 that weren't, about a dozen of us went on to college and the rest, well, turned into reproduction machines. I still have nightmares of being stuck in a graduation ceremony of long-winded babbling about the joys of teen parenthood instead of acknowledging the students who beat the odds and are doing something besides getting into trouble or being bunnies. Even with the socio-economic stuff I've been learning, I'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around why anyone would even want to have kids before 30 or 35!

As usual, excellently told story even if it made me shudder at the nightmare called high school (and to a lesser extent, middle school) graduation! I still have yet to find a story to beat your last one with the police patrol -- something about your description of the troll really made it stand out!

Posted by: RecurveHawk at June 28, 2007 02:19 AM

great story. i felt the same as your brother for my own graduation from a "real school". atleast this was short compared to ours.

Posted by: Pseudo Jew at June 28, 2007 02:51 AM

A tranq gun full of birth control...classic. Although, since they were already knocked up, maybe a time machine and a tranq gun? In my school if a girl got impregnated she was expelled...interesting.

Posted by: Captain Canada at June 28, 2007 03:26 AM

Hey BC,

Typo: "honor roll."

Also, "One girl, partially retarded, was loudly applauded when it was announced that she was "the proud mother of three.""... this scares the ever-living crap out of me. Remind me again why you haven't fled for civilization on the other side of the mountains?

BC: Where's the typo? And as for the mountains, I don't like to run up hill.

Posted by: Charles at June 28, 2007 04:08 AM

One in 3 girls in my graduating class had a baby/were pregnant.
If only I had gotten knocked up...I could have been one of the cool girls.

Posted by: Annie at June 28, 2007 04:32 AM

Haha, Marty reminds me of one of my teachers... He took 3 entire minutes repeating the correct way to pronounce "Adobe".

You're a great storyteller by the way.

Posted by: Gordon at June 28, 2007 07:21 AM

I think, like most Americans, Charles is used to seeing Honor Roll, rather than Honor Role. Great story, and do you really look like a pedophile?

BC: No I do not. At all.

Posted by: Sod at June 28, 2007 10:58 AM

Wow, those words your mom said to you are really mean. Has she actually studied the physical traits of a typical paedophile? And stereotyping is just wrong. =.= Gee, I'm sure your mom loves you in her own way but how does she show it?

BC: I don't try to figure her out anymore.

Posted by: Claire at June 28, 2007 01:20 PM

What do you call this backwards world that you live in? Have you ever thought about reasoning with your mother? Because to be quite honest she sounds like a lunatic (who tells their son that he looks like a pedophile?) and telling her that you hate her probably doesn't help matters. Ever just ignore her? Hard I'm sure...

BC: She also told me once that listening to John Maher makes her want to cum. Also, she has HPV.

Posted by: TS at June 28, 2007 01:35 PM

When questioning one of the local professors on the Role/Roll issue regarding well behaved students, he affirmed to be that it was "Roll", as the Dean kept the written list rolled up somewhere near his desk.

BC: I'm trying to fix it. The system wouldn't let me when I tried. I'm working on it again right now.

Posted by: Dru at June 28, 2007 02:01 PM

I remember my Harbor High Graduation. It was every bit as painfull as you described. Every bit as white trash. My class of 33 had at least 15 women who were either pregos or already mothers. That doesn't include the guys who have kids(to include myself).I'd say at least 27 kids in my class were parents. The longer I stay out of Aberdeen, the better I become.

Posted by: Anonymous at June 28, 2007 02:57 PM

BC: Aberdeen representin'!

Posted by: Anonymous at June 28, 2007 02:57 PM

Role does refer to people of a certain status. There's also some etymology that refers to Role being from the french "rolle" which also meant a list (Role call anyone?) Basically, roll's definition contains role's, and alot more (roll over, roll a pastry). Which is why when people refer to a list, they call it a role.

Also, what's HPV?

BC: Thank you for the etymological information.

To those of you who catch occasional typos, my apologies. My training is mostly in mathematics and science. It wasn't until recently that I decided I wanted to write more than do research (my childhood dream was to be a writer.) In fact, I am so dorky that when people say "role" or any of its phonetic equilvalents I immediately think of Rolle's theorem rather than any sort of actual "role" or "roll."

Posted by: Sod at June 28, 2007 09:01 PM

Haha man that brings back memories of my own graduation in 04, I also went to an "alternative education center." But alas, my family fell into the "sea of white trash" catagory so I really cant sympathyze with you, I Should totally mail you some pictures though, crying babies and mullets everywhere.

Posted by: Chris at June 28, 2007 10:41 PM

Thanks for writing these. Reading your stories is very emotionally cathartic.

"You look like a pedophile" Jesus fucking Christ.

Posted by: Dillon at June 28, 2007 11:25 PM

Fuck graduation ceremonies, you totally lucked out with only 50 students. I hated my own graduation, went to my younger sisters only to smoke cigarettes in front of my old school, managed to go to my brothers but only bc my sister and I got really stoned before and showed up late. We looked like complete idiots and were scolded repeatedly for acting like idiots by our dear mother. This year I came down with a flu or something so I missed my youngest sisters. Also, your mom sounds wonderful, calling your own son a pedophile is so loving. I cant believe you haven't lost it and beat the shit out of most of your family. So, next graduaton you're forced to attend, I suggest getting sick the night before and sparing yourself. I wouldn't ever hit my own mother, today atleast, but your mom is another story. I doubt you look like a pedophile. Lastly, pregnant high school chicks is the new black, their children will be pregnant by age 12 tops. Saddd. Great story. Bottom line, I'd rather go to a funeral than sit through that graduation shit. Take it easy. B.C, the world's greatest big brother.

BC: I'm working on getting some pictures up right now. Welll... as in I'm trying to locate some pictures and a scanner. Then I'll pass them on to my editor and see what he thinks. Just thought I'd clarify that no: I do not look like a pedophile.

Posted by: Syd at June 29, 2007 12:38 PM

This is one of the BEST stories I've read so far! I love that you applauded for the girl with no illegitimate children. YOU ROCK!!! I have wanted to do this sooooo many times. I was at a party with my fiance the other day for his cousin who is a relatively young mother. But there were like hoards of hood rats everywhere either pregnant or on the prowl for another "baby daddy"! I just wanted to scream Close your legs you WHORES!! Any ways I think you are awesome!

BC: Thanks, Mel. I'd rather just sterilize these people until they're thirty. Can you imagine the utopia we'd be living in if no one had kids until 30?

Posted by: Mel at June 29, 2007 12:43 PM

First off, your mom's a cow for saying what she did. I think you're adorable. And if I weren't married I might have fantasized about pinching your tushie.

Second, I'm glad to see that I'm not the only one that gets ecstatic over minor aged girls NOT being pregnant.

Posted by: Amber at July 1, 2007 12:09 PM

HEy you need to get off your lazy ass and find a job instead of writing about past memories all day this is from kathleen and her co worker at ocean spray.

P.S. Get your book and ride the ocean spray wave.

BC: Hey David... long time no see. Did you want me to write about the time that dog nutted all over your leg or something?

Posted by: dmoe at July 2, 2007 11:13 AM

I had my graduation last year, and the only vaguely white-trash thing that happened was some girls went up on stage wearing leggings. They are going to be so embarrassed when they get out the photos to show to their kids... if they've grown a brain by then. Said girls were Asian, BTW, and my old school's pretty damn expensive.

I'm not planning on having kids until my mid-to-late '20s. Mum had my older brother when she was 37.

Posted by: GLC at July 2, 2007 07:32 PM

High School preggo's are retarded. But the girl was calling people who are pregnant outside of marriage before 30 need's to get over her little christian crusade. I'm 24 and pregnant, and no I'm not married and feel no need to be. The only people i get rude comments from are bible thumpers. And I'm from a small town in KY and my graduating class on had 3 mothers in and nobody was pregnant at the time. There was close to 250 in my class. Infact I got thru 4 years of college in 2 1/2. The only time I heard illegitimate and whore in the same sentence is from hollier than thou christians. Maybe some people should open their legs and they'd be happier.

Posted by: Cricket at July 7, 2007 04:24 PM

Actually Cricket I am not in the least a bibble thumper. I am just tired of 15 year old kids getting pregnant, having welfare babies and dragging down our economy. This has nothing to do with God.

BC: Let's be nice guys.

Posted by: Mel at July 13, 2007 01:37 PM

My HS graduation, oh boy. 400+ students, and an idiot of a namecaller that read each name, in varying decrees of mispronunciation, four or five times. And, as a member of the Student Gov't(don't laugh), I had to sit on stage and look coherent, while the camera is trained upon the podium and us poor bastards behind it. I should've asked for the four hours of my life back.

Posted by: Rj at July 21, 2007 07:52 PM

Dear BC:

Although it may seem humorus to you to write incredulous information about your loving family, I hope your readers know that you are truly full of BS. FOr years we all watched Tom Green make a fool of his parents (himself). I think it is time you grew up and moved on. John Mayer never made your mother cum and she does not have HPV and she definately is not a whore. You could fill a counselors office time feeling sorry for yourself, but then what have you done to be proud of lately??????????????

BC: Mom, you really ought not to leave your e-mail address with these comments.

Posted by: bcsmom at July 22, 2007 05:35 PM

Was that last comment really from your mom? Does she really think she's been a good mother to you?

BC: Yes and yes.

Posted by: V at August 5, 2007 03:14 PM

Have you seen that Kevin Bacon flick where he plays a pedophile recently released from prison? I can't get rid of the mental image of that movie, with Shrek in the lead role. I think it could make big bucks.

Posted by: Alex at September 14, 2007 04:43 PM

I just read this 1 week after I skipped my own graduation ceremony. Thanks for reminding me what school is all about.

Posted by: Greg at November 10, 2007 04:16 PM