Wordslinger

If You Can’t Do…

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

If you can’t do, teach.

We’ve all heard that through our lives in some context or another. The basic idea being that people who don’t have enough ability or gumption to perform an action or accomplish a task just give in to teaching others how to do it. Teaching others to be better than they are, in other words. As a teacher, of course, it is a common hope that this is exactly one of the things we are accomplishing – inspiring the next generations to aspire to rise above the things we have done and take the initiative to do wonderfully in their endeavors.

I’ve heard the old adage about teachers my whole life, honestly, and it has never really bothered me much until very recently. Of course, in addition to being a teacher I am also an author. I don’t ride the top of the best seller list, but I have 9 books on the market right now and plenty more in progress. I often hear positive feedback about my work, and I am very pleased and proud of what I have accomplished.

One of the people who has been something of an inspiration for me, the first published author I ever met, in fact, is another person I know who is proud of what they have accomplished. This person is someone I have known for more than half my life, and has encouraged me without fail in all of my endeavors. They are also the person who showed me just how damaging that statement about teachers really is.

While at an event this week I was working away preparing for a new school year, and brainstorming story ideas – double tasking as I have every year since I became a teacher. One of the authors who was at this event with me happened to be the very one I mentioned above, and they were doing their very best to sell books like the rest of us were. At one point a couple of teachers came over and started talking to this author, revealing that they are teachers and what they teach, as we do. The author in question mentioned her history in the school system and continued talking until the pair of educators left.

At this point this person, whom I’ve known to have some larger than life opinions before, turned to some of the authors there and said “I worked in the school system for 23 years, they don’t want me to tell them what I really think about teachers.” She went on to rant about how teachers are not able to write books and do anything other than teach and that one of the reasons she wrote the books she has is because teachers can’t and she wanted to show them up.

I was floored. Like I said, I’ve been writing for nearly 20 years and I’ve known this person for most if not all of that time. I’ve been teaching for five years and, ironically enough since teachers “can’t do it,” I have published more work since starting to teach than I ever did before getting my license. This author laughed her comments away and just went on about her day while I tried to fathom how someone could make comments that are so harmful and, frankly, so irrevocably stupid. 

All too often in this world we don’t think about the things that come out of our mouths before they spill over into the void and show everyone our true selves. It is easy to make a comment disparaging against someone else or downplaying their accomplishments. In fact, in former generations this sort of speech was pretty common in my area, as a lot of older people I’ve encountered have no qualms about calling each other “fat boy” or something equally tasteless. This author is one of that generation. I’m sure that goes without saying. The statement about teachers is also one that is far older than myself, and probably even older than she is, so it’s not a shock that she has heard it. 

The shock comes from someone actually expounding on it, stating that teachers “can’t write books” especially while in the presence of not just one, but two teachers, because my wife was right beside me – and another author who has a sibling that has taught for more than 20 years. It blows my mind how someone can have such an honestly simple-minded and senseless opinion. Granted, we all know what they say about opinions. They’re just like assholes, everyone’s got one. It’s often best to keep them to yourself, too. 

My point in all this is multifaceted, but it  starts with this: think about the things you put out in the world. Don’t talk trash about others just for the sake of doing it or to make yourself feel better. It definitely does not make you seem high and mighty, but it shows the world you think that you are.

Also be wary of who you listen to in this world. They might ultimately be a bigoted, small-minded person whose opinion of themselves is much more inflated than it should be.

Saying like “if you can’t, teach” might have started out seeming a funny quip about someone who maybe didn’t get where they wanted to with a chosen field, but it has not aged well.

Coming from a teacher who both teaches AND does – let old, false sayings die with the past like they should. Your accomplishments are not limited to or by your profession. How would the world react to it if the saying  “If you can’t play, coach” came back into more popular circulation? We all know how hopelessly obsessed with sports a large portion of the population is, especially in Appalachia. I dare say coaches everywhere would throw a fit and be on the defensive far more than teachers ever have been.

Talking down about anyone’s abilities based on their profession or their chosen vocation of any sort is not OK. It is not intelligent. It is not funny. Someone I’ve thought was a bit inspiring for a long time lost a lot of my respect this week, but I doubt they will care, even if they read this. Frankly, I don’t care enough to confront them about it and bring it up, either. It just isn’t worth it. What I will do, however, is continue to teach to the best of my ability and train the future generations to be better than I am while ALSO writing and publishing books and using the gift God gave me while hoping to hit that bestseller list one day. But, even if I don’t, I’ll still know – and so will others – that I both taught AND did. And that’s definitely something to be pleased with.

The Age of Innocence

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 2 Comments

As another school year is slowly winding to a close, life moves back into the familiar mode of Summer (and yes, that’s Summer the holiday, not just summer the season). One of the good things about being a teacher, of course, is that we also get to enjoy some of the freedoms we can all remember from our youths – and it is a highly coveted thing. Even now I can remember the way things altered as the school year wound to a close. After all, as a kid, that’s the way life is split for you, typically. School and not school. Summer and not Summer. Play and not play. It’s just a fact of life.

The thing many of us never wanted to think about, though, is what happens when that separation is over. What life is going to look like when Summer just becomes summer, when time changes from being a split between school and not school. Apart from the days when we rested in the satisfaction of having that dichotomy we have only the nostalgia of looking back at “the good old days.” That’s where I find myself today, lunch block slowly slipping away minute by sleepy minute. I’m not alone in today’s reminiscence, though.

Outside my classroom windows there is a small lawn where the younger children in another section of our school have recently been going out to play on warmer days. Today they are out en masse, and my classroom and I have found ourselves immersed in watching their antics. From my students, between the ages of 14 and 17, myself in my mid-30s, and my school’s SSC who is older than me, we have all been drawn into their games.

Sun shining on the bright green lawn, clouds passing over just enough to provide a break for the eyes, if not the skin, the children who have been granted their momentary pre-noon freedom engaged in activities ranging from dodgeball, one-armed baseball, tag, sidewalk drawing, and their own games that seemed to combine some combination of all the above. It was just as amusing, for me, to observe the way we all reacted to their spectacle. We laughed when one of them got a win, or took a rolling tumble to avoid getting hit with the ball. Arms shot up in victory, while none of them showed the standard and dreaded playground separation tactics that plague older students. It was, in the words of our SSC, innocence.

It’s no secret that I do teach at-risk kids, that I myself could have been considered an at-risk kid based on my mother’s income and my status as a child of a single parent household. So when these students, whom many stereotypically assume are troubled and trouble-making, are taking the time to bond and enjoy life while living simultaneously through the playground games of others, it says a lot. Students, who sometimes have to live their lives on guard for themselves and their loved ones for fear of injury or worse, sitting in a classroom and talking amongst themselves while reflecting on the times they had in those playground settings truly puts things in perspective.

I see it as a highly important and therapeutic activity, in all honesty. The fact this allowed students who have to build walls in order to keep themselves safe to drop those barriers and look back on times of innocence means a lot to me as a teacher and a nostalgic person. Most, if not all, of my students know my room is a safe space anyway, and this secured that even more. I take pride in my efforts to meet my students where they are coming from in an intellectual, educational, and social-emotional standpoint. I ask them how they are doing, and they know that is not just a nicety. Seeing the way the games of others put a smile on all of our faces today, it really made me think that humanity as a whole is truly striving for the freedom of a child. The unspent innocence so many take for granted without even realizing they are doing so.

When we were children we couldn’t have imagined the way our lives would alter by the time we left school. That long-distant future was as unreal to us as waking up one day with no sun in the sky. Teaching high school seniors for four years has allowed me to see that change first-hand with others, and it’s impressive how well some handle it. Some students rise to the occasion with plans and schemes galore and provide themselves with failsafes to protect them in the event life gives them a turn for the worse. Others… Others slip on the cap and gown and venture out into the final great Summer with little more than hopes and dreams in their reserves to get them through.

Regardless of the way we approached the end of those playground days, the truth of life comes into play in just how much we allow ourselves the freedom to observe and enjoy the innocence of youth. Wherever life has taken us, it is important to remember those days of fun. The bonds of youth, of innocent life, of going outside and truly just enjoying being alive, are something none of should ever forget. The blessed simplicity of just living for the moment, not having to concern ourselves with what bills need to be paid, what stresses await us when we look through the checkbook or get back home, the idea that we are all just able to enjoy spending time with our friends or even alone is truly something to savor.

I know it isn’t always easy, but I recommend taking a moment to do just observe the life of youth. Enjoy a moment of watching children play without judgement, look at animals lounging in the sun, watch a river flow, anything that pulls you out of the stresses of life. We all deserve a moment to remember how good life should be. That’s the truth of our situations in the world. We have, most of us, forgotten that life is supposed to be enjoyable. It shouldn’t be competition and anger, stress and work, bills and class status. It should just… be. But until that’s something we can make happen, the next best thing might be to just relax. And, hey, while we’re at it, why not find a playground that’s empty and have some fun of our own?

Superstition

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 2 Comments

I do want to say no to this, but to be honest, it’s hard to be Appalachian and not hold some superstition. Growing up in this area you hear a lot of wives’ tales about why things work the way they do, what this event or happenstance might mean, or how changes in the weather can effect the seasons ahead (can anyone say “mythology” and the origin of storytelling?). Hearing those things, you also can’t help but notice that some it does kind of make sense. For instance, there is a saying that if you see a bee/hornet/wasp nest built high off the ground in a tree or on a structure it means there will be a bad winter. The idea is that insects know that bad weather is coming and try to build high enough to stay out of the snow.

I noticed late into Fall and early into Winter there were several nests/hives built high in the trees on my drive to and from work, and made note of the myth. This winter we had some decent snows – nothing like the 3 footer we had about ten years ago, but a decent amount. You can see how there are some elements of potential truth to things like that, I hope.

Knowing there are truths to some of the superstitions in these mountains is not exactly a bad thing, either. Seeing the leaves turn upside down in the summer typically means there will be rain soon, so that can give you an indication you should seek shelter soon. Likewise, the color of the sky in the morning or at night can give you an amateur meteorologist’s view of the day’s weather (Red sky at night, sailors delight vs. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning) and let you plan a little.

On the other side of this, there was a wives’ tale I heard growing up that said if you hear a Screech Owl (one of my personal favorite sounds in the mountains) at night while in the bed you should tie a knot in your bedclothes or someone you know will die. Needless to say, I don’t have any reason to necessarily believe this is true, but when I heard that lonely, warbling screech last year I was sure to tie that knot. In other word, I may be superstitious at times but, with some things, it’s better to be safe than sorry, right?

Daily writing prompt
Are you superstitious?
View all responses

Coming to Terms

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

I went to the visitation service for my biological father last night. I’m not at all sure what I expected to happen there, but it was certainly not the way things went. Or maybe it was.

For those of you who don’t know, I was raised in a single parent household because my father made his own choices. Those choices did not involve me. Through the years I have made an abundance of attempts to reach out to him and create some sort of relationship, against the advice and better judgement of pretty much everyone around me. For a little while at one point it worked. When I was 12 I convinced my mother to take me to his adoptive parents house and ask about him. This resulted in his nephew taking us directly to his house and we began forming what I hoped would be a real friendship, if nothing else.

It may have lasted a year. During that time we went to a few movies, ate a couple of meals. he bought me an action figure or two and I paid for at least one of those movies with saved allowance. Of course, toward the end of this period of time as we were driving him back to his home he asked to stop at a convenience store and borrowed money from me for a beer. I probably should have known.

Not long after that the contact stopped. Again, his choice, not mine. He stopped answering calls and letters. Faded into the distance again with no explanation or excuses.

For five years I didn’t know if he was alive or dead until we received a letter from the state that he had been summoned to court for back child support. The state’s choice. Not ours. So, at the age of 17, I convinced my mother to go with me to the courthouse and see if he showed. Surprisingly he did. He was told to pay, said he would, walked out the door with barely a glance in my direction, but I followed. I shouted for him and watched as he thought about walking on and getting in the car as if he hadn’t heard me.

But he stopped. He turned around and came back with his shark-toothed grin and made me feel like he was happy to see me. More empty promises of future contact, blank apologies for a lack of communication, and we went our separate ways.

I never heard from him again.

For nearly 18 years I went without a single word from him. Nearly as long without any word about him, save the mention of him given by his brother after the man found me online. I could have had a child of my own in that time, and watched them grow to be the age I had been the last time I laid eyes on the man who contributed to my DNA. I know damn well I would have treated that child a lot better than I had ever been treated.

Several times during those 18 years I attempted contact again, including one shameful time when I went to his house and knocked on his door. As I looked at the window I saw him looking back out at me before the woman he lived with opened the door and told me he wasn’t there.

I told myself that was it. I had done more than enough. But, it didn’t stop me from sending some last ditch letters. Or from making a phone call after my grandmother passed. A phone call that asked me to leave a message on a voicemail that had his name on it. I told him I wanted nothing from him, no money, no goods, I just wanted to speak to him. Even once.

I won’t even pretend I was surprised when the call wasn’t returned. Or that the next time I tried the number it had been disconnected/my number was blocked.

That time it really was over. I stopped trying. I won’t pretend I hadn’t thought about trying again, but I hadn’t. I had no clue if the man was alive or dead, if he had other children, if he thought about me. I knew nothing. Until I got the message last week that he was actually dead.

If you haven’t lost a parent, I’m glad. It has been something of a whirlwind for me, and nothing like the standard I’m sure. In talking to friends who have reached out, I do realize how many of us have a non-standard (read non-glamorous, non-Hollywood, non-cookie-cutter) relationship with our parents, so I definitely know many of you will know what I mean. A parent who has been nothing but a repeated disappointment, who you truly had no relationship with despite your best efforts, suddenly passing, is still quite a shock.

As I said, I went to the service last night. A more than two hour drive from where I work and nearly the same back to my house. To say I was nervous is an understatement. I have always hated funeral homes and hospitals, and this made that even worse. But I went. I’ve asked myself why it was important that I do so, and others have wondered the same, and I think the full truth is exactly what I said from the start. This is the only time I have had full control over the way this relationship ended. I never got to say my goodbyes. I never got to be the one to really choose how things would progress, or whether they would progress.

Sure, I had decided to stop trying to reach out, but that was really tantamount to deciding to stop pounding a closed door and let my bloodied knuckles heal. It was already sealed. I merely gave in to the choice of others. No, this time I was the one who had the final say. So I went to the service. It took a while to work up the gumption to walk in, but I did it. Amanda and I were 2 of the 7 people there for the man who had isolated himself from his flesh and blood. I will never be able to thank her enough for putting herself through that for me, for supporting me in what she knew was a lost cause. Having her by my side was the only thing that kept me from losing my grip, as it so often is.

When I went to the casket he looked so different from the man I remember, the man who I have maybe three pictures of, that I was worried we were in the wrong chapel. But it was him. His mother was there. My grandmother. Whom I hadn’t seen in probably 25 or more years. She had to subtly walk to the sign-in book to see if I was who she thought I was, but she came up to me and spoke. Told me she knew the effort I had put in, but chalked it up with the true Appalachian “you know how he was.”

No, ma’am. I do not know how he was. He made sure of that. You all made sure of that. I know next to nothing about the man. Even the things my own mother can tell me about the father of her child is little more than three decade old facts. How much of that changed? How much different was the stranger in that box who made sure I never had a chance to know any version of him from the 22 year old she had once cared for? I have no idea. And, given the likelihood those who have chosen not to reach out in the past will continue on that trend, I may never know.

Not once did my grandmother ask about me, my life, my wellbeing. Would it matter to her? No. Just shrugging off the way her son had behaved the same way he shrugged off his own child. I can’t pretend I’m not upset by it all, but I finally am at a point where I can truly say I did everything I possibly could. I will be able to go to sleep tonight and every night knowing I never closed the door on my father, though I likely should have. At the end of the day I was able to say goodbye on my own terms, something that feels as close to satisfaction regarding the matter that I may ever get.

Confusion and Grief

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 3 Comments

Last night, I found out my biological father died this week. No way to sugarcoat that information, really. I hadn’t spoken to the man in nearly 18 years, not for lack of trying. I sought him out time and time again, wanting to have a relationship with him, no matter how small it was. I put myself out there and gave it my all to try and be a son to a man who didn’t want to be my father. I’ve never gotten to share my accomplishments, my sadnesses, my truths, and myself with the man whose DNA I share. I might never have even known he was gone because of these decisions on his part.

I am forever grateful to the cousin who made sure I knew, also. A lifetime of potential memories gone. A lifetime spent wondering why I wasn’t good enough, if there was something wrong with me, if I would ever even know why he wanted nothing to do with me. Now I guess I will never know the answers.

I think that is the strangest part of the whole thing for me. I have thought about going to the last place I knew he lived and seeking him out, or pushing harder to find the relatives on that side of the family that are still alive (which, according to his obituary – in which my name is not even correct, I might add – is nearly everyone except his father), but ultimately have chosen against it. For the last few years, I honestly didn’t even know if he was still alive, with Covid running rampant as it did. Until his brother found me on Facebook last year and at least confirmed that much for me, that is.

Even until I got the obituary and saw the face of the man I barely remember looking back at me, some part of me said my cousin must be mistaken. But there it was. The first line in the obituary read that he died with his daughter by his side. A daughter I’ve never met. Not a biological sibling, I know now, but nonetheless, someone who mattered enough to him for him to raise. To stick by. To live for. Someone I never even knew existed. Did she know about me?

Did he ever mention me? Could she hold the answers to why she got a father figure out of him and I never did? Do I even want to ask?

Those questions and more have been flooding my mind for the last 16 or so hours, and I am no closer to deciding if they are even worth asking. I have a whole side of my family whom I know nothing about. My father’s obituary said he loved God, loved to cook, was a great dad. Two out three ain’t bad… we have those in common at least. Is there anything else we share?

There is a service for Scotty Wayne Osbourne on Monday. A time for those who knew him to grieve him, to say goodbye to him, to pay their respects for a man they now have to build a life without. Do I fit that mold? I know next to nothing about him. I only know life without him in it. But I’ve never gotten to say goodbye. I never knew I would have to. Until it was too late. Just like this time.

Erosion of Free Speech

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Good morning, all. Of course, in the states, one of the most talked about issues right now is the ban of Tik Tok. While I’m the first to admit I was slow to the game, and I definitely didn’t utilize to the full potential I could have for my writing and business ventures, I did enjoy the app. Fortunately, I was not one of the thousands, if not millions, who used the app so successfully they were able to start making their living as content creators and no longer need a day job. I will say that I know some of my posting drove people to my books and my events – because they told me so.

Since I started using the app to promote my writing and my travels, I have had numerous encounters with people who found me and my work through the app. At one of my events I had a young man who left his job early one day, telling his boss he was sick, just so he could come to the book store I was at and meet me and buy some of my books. Another time I was out in a local store and met someone who frequently interacted with my videos and we were able to make a face to face connection. These are just a couple of examples in my own personal life that came about because of the freedom this app allowed.

Of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t also mention the hours of laughing and simple entertainment I have gotten from the hilarious content there, as well as the bands I have discovered (one of whom, Definitely Maybe, has even graciously allowed me to use their work and their name in a book of mine) because of the platform. This is all a drop in the hat to international connections made because of a simple video platform.

I mention because I want to emphasize that the app was more than just a silly place people could go learn dances or recipes. It allowed homebound individuals to catch glimpses of faraway places they might not ever be able to go. It allowed readers to connect with their favorite authors, genres, or other readers to discuss books in an easy to use way that offered real time discussion rather than short messages back and forth. It gave truly free speech to a number of people who might otherwise be too timid or worried to speak to people outside their home. Introverts thrived on Tik Tok.

In order to truly understand s to have this platform taken down, you have to be able to look beyond the surface and the lies that politicians and nay-sayers have been spreading. There little to no “data breaching” happening on this platform. As long as this country still orders mass amounts of goods from Shein and Temu, those will always be a much bigger threat than Tik Tok. No, the threat was not to data or citizens. The threat was to the lies we are told every day. The threat was to the control the U.S government wants to maintain over its citizens and the information they receive.

Therein lies the true issue. As long as people across the world have the chance to speak their mind to others without interference from the Powers That Be, we will always be a threat to them. Of course, Agent Orange is pretending that he is going to save the day, despite being the one who started the whole issue 5 years ago, but is he? Will anyone offer the same brand of freedom and connection without limitations? Sure there were issues with the app. There are always issues with new things. But even I witnessed the growth it experienced. Growth that now doesn’t stand for much. 

The point I’m making is that, with this ban, goes the first in what could be a long line of changes toward information sharing and free voices in this country. What will be next in the list of things that keeps us from connecting with like-minded people both in and outside this country. If you want to see some possibilities, you can always grab a copy of “1984” or even “The Handmaid’s Tale.” Oh, wait… those are banned books. Books that the local and federal governments have deemed in some ways dangerous or damaging to the minds of learning individuals. Coincidence? I think not….

Everyone Should Know

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Frankly, the biggest piece of knowledge I would share with anyone and everyone I possibly could, is that YOU MATTER. In today’s world that is a message that is not shared enough. From parents/guardians who are hands-off (or hands-on in the worst way) to an educational system that tends to forget about if not outright shun those who might not be riding the top of the honor roll, this world is too quick to pick favorites. As a child of a single mother from a small town in the Appalachian Mountains, I had a foundation of care, but I knew tons of people who did not. I’m not saying things were perfect, by any means, and I could tell some stories, but there are many who had it worse. Now, as a teacher of largely at risk students, I see those kids who do not have that foundation. When children are raised in an environment where they are treated like an afterthought or a burden they cease to believe they matter. I could write and speak for hours on this, but the toughest person you know is likely that way because they have had to be. I try to approach all of my students from a place of understanding and care, because everyone deserves to know they matter. If you are having a tough day, a tough life, or if you are feeling like you have been shoved aside, please know for sure; YOU MATTER.

There are people out there who genuinely care. I am one of them. You are all always invited to reach out to me in any way you can. For those who feel they have no other options, the end does not have to come. Do not ever think your time should be over. For those feeling the worst extremes, remember to dial 988 on any phone. It is an emergency number. It is free. They care, just like I do. Reach out.

Daily writing prompt
What’s something you believe everyone should know.
View all responses

Stephen King’s Rage

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

As a lifelong fan of Stephen King, it is my mission to read everything the man has published, naturally. I’ve been on that track for quite a while, but the main book that has eluded me for much of that time is the one book King himself doesn’t want the world to experience. Given today’s climate and the subject of the book itself I had been understanding of that idea, since he is (some would say ironically) a huge supporter of human rights and simply being a good person. I still have not been able to purchase a copy of this book for myself, but I did get my hands on a copy so I could finally read the forbidden tale, and I have to say…. I think the world deserves to read it.

Woah, a teacher not wanting to see a book that, at it’s base description, is about a school shooting taken off the shelf? Polarizing, right? Keep in mind, also, that I am an author and a literature lover who has an extreme hatred of censorship as a whole, but kind of. Like I said, at its base description, Rage is about a school shooting. More specifically, about the shooter himself. But there is so much more to it than that.

Charlie Decker reacts to life the way he has, in part, because he has been consistently let down and crapped on by everyone he is supposed to be able to rely on. Being a teacher at two different alternative education centers I have seen this phenomenon more than I ever thought possible in such a small community. More often than not kids are being let down by everyone they know. They are being abused, disrespected, and not being given the love and guidance that is a parent’s obligation. Which is exactly what Charlie Decker dealt with.

While Decker did have his moments of abuse and neglect, he was also very obviously suffering from not only the social pressures of being a teenager, but I heartily believe he was suffering from mental illness as well. Charlie kills two teachers in the school a couple of weeks after striking another with a wrench, causing him considerable damage. There is no doubt he was a school shooter, and before the term was used in conventional conversation. His crimes, however, were small in comparison to even some of the smallest of real world attacks in this country. So how does that influence, or even potentially motivate others to take up the gun? During the late 80’s and 90’s there were multiple students who acted on feelings of anger and hatred and performed atrocious acts of school violence that were either openly attributed to the reading of King’s book or associated with it through mere familiarity.

I can completely understand being an author who has to deal with that and having to make the difficult decision to pull your work because of it. I fully support King’s decision to remove his book based on the idea that it was harmful to others, if only because it was associated with those who made poor decisions based on their own hurt. One of the bigger things in the book that I noticed, however, was the deeper meaning I associated with it. That, of course, is one of my favorite things about literature. We can all read the same words, but they speak to us all differently. The individual interpretation of works of art can not only be different from person to person, but one person going back to a familiar work might resonate with it differently based on maturity and changes of life and attitude. I can’t honestly say what I would have thought of Rage if I had read it ten or even 20 years years ago, but I do know that now it speaks to me in a very specific way.

The book itself, to me, is not just about the fact that Charlie comes into the school with a gun and uses it. It is about the fact that he poses no real threat to his classmates. He sits down and speaks to them. What’s more – they listen. Each and every student in that room understands Charlie – save one, of course. Decker is a boy who has been dealt a crappy hand, and he doesn’t make great choices. But he is real. He is relatable. Once he sits down and really levels with his classmates many of them open back up in the same way. We learn that all of their lives are not only connected, but that many of them have judged or been judged by their peers based on public or personal opinion. Several of them discuss their own hardships and come to understand Charlie’s point of view and why he has done what he has done. If they can’t agree with his decision to shoot their teachers they can at least see that he has enough hardship in life that it has taken him through avenues that are not totally unfamiliar to them.

I think that is the most important thing to look at for this book. These students bonded with the shooter in their midst because each and every one of them have been through some of the same horrible situations. It goes to show that everyone in the book itself is an example of how we can all react differently to any stimulus. That, in my opinion, is the real genius of the book. King presented us with a story that, yes, can be taken as offensive due to Charlie’s actions. But what book can’t? King has been through an extensive list of people, creatures, dimensions, and aliens intelligences that have massacred people in enough ways to supply the writers of even Game of Thrones with some new ideas, and we still return to his work. Because he gets it. He’s real. he gives us the honest truth about the world and the crappy humans that inhabit it.

Like I said, I respect his decision to want Rage off the shelves. No creator wants to think of their work contributing in any way to something and horrendous as an act of domestic terrorism and violence. But the strength and openness in the book are among the best pieces of helpful literature I’ve seen in a long time. As a review, I have to say that I highly recommend the book. Charlie Decker is to the world of the misunderstood and abused what Holden Caulfield is to the disenfranchised youth of the world. Any student familiar with the feelings of anger and neglect associated with an abusive, addicted, or absent parental figure can gain some real insight on how not to act based on Charlie’s tale. Until the world, this country in particular, comes to the realization that violence is not the solution to their problems, I think books like Rage both do and do not have a place in popular culture. Think of it like Schrodinger’s cat. A kid who never opens that book might still walk into the school with a gun and do horrible things. But the student who reads the book and truly makes an effort to understand it may have a chance to think about his or her actions a little longer. They could see the results of Charlie’s ordeal and understand they just have to hold on a little longer, just power through for a little more time. It could be the difference in another act of violence, or a true act of peace and restraint based on knowledge.

“Peace sells, but who’s buyin’?” -Megadeth

A Nefarious Encounter

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

I recently got to sit down and watch the movie “Nefarious” for the first time. I’ve had it on my radar for a while and, as a fan of Sean Patrick Flanery, I knew I had to watch it. Now, like I’ve said approximately 8.2 million times before, I am traditionally not a fan of possession films, so I was a little wary of that going in. I knew, of course, the basic premise – that one of the main characters of the film claims to be a demon possessing a host body – but I risked it. And, boy am I glad I did. Talk about a thinker. In order for me to really discuss this movie the way I want to, I’m going to have to go ahead and say there may well be spoilers here, so if you haven’t watched the movie, go ahead and consider giving it a watch before reading on!

From the start, I was invested in the film and the subtle psychological tweaks the demon Nefariamus is able to make to the everyday life of those he uses. Just seeing that soft opening of the doctor adjusting his license before leaving his office and then seeing him go past the window… It honestly took me a second to make sure I saw what I thought I did. That really kind of set me up for the rest of the film. I had to know what was going on from there.

The basic premise of the movie, before I go on, is that a psychiatrist is called in to assess the mental status of a man awaiting the death penalty. The doctor has a handful of hours to talk with accused serial killer Edward Brady and determine if he is sane enough to be executed by the state. Simple enough, right? Well sure, until the inmate in question begins the conversation by saying he is actually a demon possessing Brady’s body (and the kicker from there is that he WANTS to be executed). From there the film takes several twists and turns and pushes the audience through countless instances of turmoil while we see Brady being mentally and emotionally put through the ringer – but is it really because of a demon, or is it a severe case of Dissociative Identity Disorder? That’s the thing to figure out.

Flanery’s acting skills are among the top in my opinion, and this role was one of the best of his I’ve seen. The facial tics and the manner of speaking he gives to both Nefarious and to Brady are awesome. I’m sure it’s not exactly easy to play multiple characters in the same frame, to literally code switch to a completely different personality and mannerism within the span of a few seconds, but he did it flawlessly.

The very nature of the movie was so back and forth and uncertain at times I felt like I was not only watching an amazing performance on film, but that Brady himself may well have been casting that charm over the good doctor as well. To say Brady/Nefarious was the best case of an unreliable narrator I’ve seen in a long time is an understatement. Returning to Flanery’s acting for a moment, though, I have rarely felt legitimately bad for a character like this before. The sometimes subtle, sometimes egregious things Brady goes through lend a lot of credibility to the idea that he is actually possessed – but also that the alternate identity within him could just show such an extreme hatred for the original identity that it would torture itself just to make him feel that same pain. Flanery’s portrayal of a man on the literal verge of mental and emotional break is something everyone needs to see, though. I would honestly put this movie on a list of films aspiring actors should watch in order to learn the craft and hone their emotions on camera/stage.

While a bit spoiler heavy, I won’t completely divulge the ending here. You’ll have to tune in for that (the movie is currently on Tubi and Peacock) and make your own conclusions. I do have to say, though, I came through the movie viewing from the perspective of a believer and a religious mindset and came to one conclusion. After speaking with a friend of mine who is of a different mindset I realized the multitude of interpretations one can come to here. Like I have said before, I am not one for possession films, but part of the genius of this movie is that you really have to pay attention and decide for yourself if that is even what’s happening here.

Because I am a completist at heart, once I realized the book that is mentioned in the movie is actually where the idea came from, I had to read it. The book, A Nefarious Plot, is a fairly fast read, and it can be fairly eye opening. The point of the book is to expose the horrible things humans, particularly Americans, do to one another and to humanity in general, especially from a religious point of view. It is written as though being a manuscript from the demon Nefarious and portends to explain basically how screwed up humans are and how far from God America has fallen. It is, for lack of a better term, religious propaganda, but I can also see the benefit of someone with a non-religious or alternately religious mindset reading it as well. It really does make you think about how crappy people can be to one another, regardless of politics or religion as a whole.

Anyway, if you can’t tell, I highly recommend at least watching the movie Nefarious. It will seriously put you through a mental ringer. Sean Patrick Flanery – you are amazing. No other way to put it. If you have watched the movie or if you decide to watch it based on my recommendation I would LOVE to know what you think. Be sure to comment and let me know!

A Legend Passes

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

*This image is not my property or my design. All credit goes to the originator.*

Today is a hard day for nerds the world over, to be certain. Last night we got the news that the one and only James Earl Jones passed into the great beyond. It took me a bit to really process that information. This man has made impressions on so many humans across the span of the last 9 decades it’s not even possible to fathom. Looking back over my own life, there are fingerprints of his influence in every single stage of my development as a human, a nerd, an educator, and more. Jones has done so many phenomenal things, and lent his voice to two of the greatest characters in cinematic history. In this instance I’m talking not only about Darth Vader, but also the mighty king Mufasa.

I can remember from the earliest days of my childhood being wildly obsessed with the Lion King. I had posters, books, toys, a birthday cake, an entire dish set (out of which I still have the bowl) and even cassette tapes of the soundtrack – complete with James Earl Jones voice tracks. To this day I am still wildly in love with the story and message behind this film, not in small part because of the power James Earl Jones instilled through his performance.

To mention the Lion King, I also have to mention The Sandlot. Although his part was small it was still huge. Portraying a figure of startling demeanor but admirable kindness, James Earl Jones yet again was a huge part of my life in this film. Being one of my comfort films growing up, I couldn’t count the times I watched this movie alongside my mother and even my grandmother.

There is no way to ever quantify, in all of the ways I can possibly discuss it, just how much Star Wars means to me, though. I knew of the films and of Jones’s voice in the part of Lord Vader long before I watched the movies, but my first encounter with the films was in 7th grade. I had an art teacher who let me borrow her anniversary edition VHS tapes and I huddled up in my room that weekend and devoured them. Never had I seen anything so visually and mentally stunning. References that I had heard (some of which I knew already) made sense. The culture, the worlds, the LIFE inside of this universe awakened me to even bigger fandoms and more nerdy tendencies than I had ever envisioned. Keep in mind, by this time I was already obsessed with both Wolverine and Spiderman as well as The Lord of the Rings, but this was a presence like nothing I could remember.

Hearing James Earl Jones as Darth Vader, striking down the rebel forces and throwing his weight around with the force was nothing short of astounding. Granted, I know the figure inside that cloak was David Prowse, and I wouldn’t dream of taking the magnitude of that away from him, but the voice of Vader is the thing that has always made me mesmerized by the character. As someone who loves music and sounds, the baritone rumble of that powerful Sith remains to this day one of the most thrilling things to hear throughout these films for me.

I know, of course, that Jones has an abundance of other works, including one amazing film where he and Robert Duvall are half-brothers trying to make peace after a sudden death, the three I’ve mentioned are the ones where he will always live for me. I have Darth Vader figures, games, shirts, memorabilia and more, and there is nothing that will ever scream Star Wars to me as much as Darth Vader (coming out just a hair ahead of Chewy and Yoda, naturally). The world took a huge hit when we lost our Princess in 2016, but now we have also lost our deviant father. Even the Jedi mourned the loss of Vader, and I have no qualms about admitting how much it hurts to know that voice will never speak fresh words on this earth again.

To nerds everywhere, I encourage you to be openly obsessive about the things that bring you joy. Embrace the characters that make you happy. Don’t ever be ashamed of that. I’ve always loved being a nerd, and now I am more proud of that than ever. Today is a day of mourning for us all, so I say to remember the words of Mufasa and always “remember who you are.” Let us raise our lightsabers today in honor of one who paved the way for so many of us and who will NEVER be forgotten. Rest in Peace, James Earl Jones.

MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU. ALWAYS.