I Am The Boyfriend - Riff & Rhyme, a Guest Post

Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention please/Let me introduce myself before I bring you to your knees/Today I am the Master of these Ceremonies/Thrilling and delighting like the flying trapeze...

We interrupt your regularly scheduled blogging to bring you this special bulletin and extra- special-guest-hosted-edition of Hum Drum Plum. That’s right bloggeroos...wait, is that too familiar? I feel like that’s Lizzy’s word; we haven’t even been formally introduced. Well, not directly. This is more of a blogger-ruse - allow me to explain. Lizzy has been called away to familial duties, so I have stepped in to keep the streak alive. You, dear reader, know me simply as Boyfriend. Yes, that Boyfriend. The one who dragged our host out to the country so I could help transform teenagers into the leaders of tomorrow. But I digress. I am here, as I said, to blog - so blog I will.

Need to find some willpower, apply it to the task/Realise that clarity’s not bottled or comes in a glass/I need to take a shot; of one kind not another/Face my demons head on instead of trying to run for cover/I need to pay attention to these lines I wrote/You can try to drown your sorrows - but the little bastards float...

I’ve only officially been teaching for five terms. Fifteen months, not counting holidays; a drop in the ocean in terms of how long some have been doing it, and only 1.25 of my own 29 years on the planet. But in that time, I have already evolved to be twice or three times the educator I was when I started (Ding! Level 2 Educator Class: +5 to discipline, +10 to effective planning, +10 to emotional fragility and substance abuse) and would happily admit that I have learnt as much from my charges as they hopefully have from me.

In terms of employment, I’ve been a lot of things in my time - actor/writer/director/producer/ rapper, customer service assistant (or Customer Service Ass. as my paycheck pointed out), rug salesman, kitchenhand and noodle dispenser, learning support teacher aide and confectionary retailer, among others. But even at this early stage of the game, an argument could be made for teacher being one of the roles that has had the most impact on me; definitely top two or three.

Lights on-off, eyes can’t adjust/Day-light, dark-bright, pain arcs and thrusts/ Wallowing or dealing if you feel you must/But always at the back of your mind - dust to dust/Ash to ash, back to back where it began/Washed up victim of a complex scam/Twist and turned, taut and tied, stoked and fired/Last page of legal documents reveal they lied...

By impact, I mean emotionally and mentally. It’s like nothing else I’ve done. I could easily while away the hours regaling you with tales of how hard I’ve worked over those five terms, the hours I’ve put in, the unpaid overtime that makes up the vast majority of those hours (and which more than justify the extra handful of weeks holiday we get per year - I’m not even going to start on that with you dear reader, as this is our first time together and I don’t want it to get ugly. Suffice to say, until you do it, you can’t really fathom what goes on) and the extra miles I have gone to and am expected to go to in the course of my job.

I could tell you about all the wonderful things - the connections I have made with staff, students and the community, the contributions I’ve been able to make through extra- curricular events like musicals and fundraisers, and the simply indescribable feeling of knowing that you’ve helped a child “get” something, or helped shaped their life or future in some way, however infinitesimal. I could tell you about all the less-than-wonderful things - the kids who have gone out of their way to make trouble or bully people, the classes that I hated, the times I felt tiny and alone, the disrespect and the moments of stomach- clenching, all-encompassing doubt.

I want to tell these kids when they step through that doorway/That if I could I’d take them and look over them always/And everything about them is amazing in all ways/ And even if they're changing all their parts that the core stays/But this time is a raw stage/And words can be misunderstood and easily cause rage/More maze - that's whats up ahead to navigate/They don't need a preacher, just a teacher who can captivate/Maybe one who helps them see that they don't always have to hate/They could learn they've got a choice and got a voice and master fate...

As I’m sure you’ve guessed already though, I’m not going to describe these things to you. I’ve decided for today to focus on one thing that has become a real struggling point for me recently, as this written medium provides me with an outlet through which to best phrase some things that may otherwise come out awkwardly or be misconstrued. I teach Drama, and in these classes, I try to build an environment that values safety and respect, where people can try and fail and experiment and improve. And in these Drama classes, more often than not, there are more females than males.

I wish I could tell some of female students that they’re beautiful and I have love for them.

Now before you freak out, just listen - not that I’m in love with them, or any silly rubbish like that. I just want these girls to be told by someone who’s not their family that they’re pretty and loved and can be whatever they want to be. I have caught wind lately of how many students, particularly female, are self-harming and suffer from depression and self- esteem issues. Now, I’m not suggesting that one gesture of encouragement from some teacher is going to solve any of that, or that every girl’s confidence and problems are linked to how they look or are dependent on being thought of as attractive. Not even a little. And I’m not suggesting that one male teacher knows all there is to know about the minds of these girls, or that he knows best, or anything at all. But for the last little while, I have just wanted to express my helplessness and swell of emotion that comes from hearing their stories or seeing their faces.

I hear how they are treated by boys. I hear how they are treated by other girls. I hear how their parents or siblings treat them. And it fucking tears me up inside to know I can do so little to protect or help them, and I just want to be able to tell them: “You are beautiful. You are young, and so full of life and promise and potential. If you can hang in there, if you can realise how many people around you love and appreciate you, even when they may not always be good at showing it, then you’ll see it gets better, and that these school days do not need to dreaded or feared. If that boy treats you like that, you don’t really want to be with him anyway. Its ok to wait to have sex, and its ok to want to have sex. Don’t ever, ever let anyone make you feel ashamed about wanting (or not wanting) to explore your body or your sexuality; wanting to do those things does not and will not ever make you a ‘slut,’ nor does the opposite make you ‘frigid’ or a prude. I promise if you are brave, and take chances with making new friends instead of being stuck in negative cliques, that good things will happen. I promise that you are pretty, and have worth, and that you are capable of loving and worthy of being loved. The world will always have dickheaded people and shit days in it - but those days never last, and those people will fade away. You can do anything and be anyone.”

“I cannot fight right now. I cannot rage, or roar, or do the things my soul yearns to do. But I stand - know this. And tomorrow is, they say, another day. Well, good. Tomorrow then. Or the day after. Or the morning after that. I will rage. And I will roar. I will.”

This is of course, the iceberg tip of an issue. One could talk for days on the way we are conditioned to treat males and females, and the way they are conditioned to see each other, and how that means that arguably boys too often are not educated enough in their teenage years to see girls as people, or how it means that women are told how to avoid rape instead of men being told not to rape. Lizzy has some great and interesting ideas and opinions on this topic, so I’ll leave future musings up to her. I’m no expert. I’m not even an experienced teacher yet. What I am, is someone who feels deeply, and who wants to help turn these kids, regardless of gender, race or ability, into capable, thoughtful citizens of the world who dream large and live larger. I want them to be better than I am.

Thankyou for letting me riff and rhyme for you today, dear reader. I remain your humble servant.

Love, Boyfriend. 

Your guide to being that wanker who has their life sorted or some shit

Everybody stop looking so happy, I'm trying to eat this watermelon in peace

Namaste precious ones and welcome to another vegan-friendly, chakra-aligned, 100% recyclable blog post.

Sorry… I’m so sorry, but I’ve been visiting a lot of websites where that sort of language is abundant lately. WHY have I been frequenting such disturbing places, you ask? Well because I’ve kind of accidentally become one of those people. OK NO NOT EXACTLY. I’m deeply not spiritual, so you’re not about to find me converted, chanting to the sun god under a tree, but I have been trying a few things lately that have made me “that guy.”

I’ve been eating free-range meat and making gluten free bread, I’ve been going to bed early (sometimes) and flossing my teeth daily. I did yoga 12 days out of the last 14 and just today managed to touch my toes like it was no big deal. I’ve been participating in Meat Free Week and am feeling all those benefits vegetarians are always telling you about (like not being bloated and losing fat and generally feeling amazing).

The next step in being that wanker who has their life sorted or some shit is to start converting others to the cause. I haven’t begun my campaign in full yet (I’m thinking leaflets, going door-to-door and a full page ad in the Dalby Herald) but I’ve made a small start. While recently trying to convince my Internet friends of the joy of my gluten free bread, I managed to drop the entire thing on the floor. Turns out dirt improves the taste a little, actually. Would recommend.

As a blogger with literally tens of readers, I feel the only right thing to do is to use my platform and influence to convert as many of you as possible to my new, wanky way of being. So here are my tips:

Find a yoga video online. There are exactly one bajillion on youtube and some of them are actually really good. What’s the number one excuse for not doing healthy/fitness/stretchy things? Time and money. OK that’s two reasons. But they tie for first place or something. You can cut out travel time by doing it on your lounge room floor, and given that I *know* you’re already paying for an internet connection, it’s not going to cost you anything. I would recommend Sean Vigue… his videos are kind of hilarious and also good.

Follow the #smoothieclub hashtag on instagram. It’s a club my friends and I accidentally started. To be in the club make a smoothie and then take a wanky photo of it. Tag it appropriately. YOU’RE DOING GREAT.

Floss your goddamn teeth; it’s not even that hard. I have no idea why I haven’t done it before now.

Do Meat Free Monday, or choose a day of the week not to eat meat on. I made a vegetable lasagne the other day and blew my own mind with deliciousness.

Go for walks, learn a new skill, get a hobby. I’m knitting a scarf for no reason at the moment, what are YOU doing with your life?

Grow vegetables in increasingly bizarre places, like under the sink and in the gap between your washing machine and the tub.

This bread. Holy shit you guys, eat this bread.

Go to bed. What are you doing up? Sheesh, seriously.

Finally, and most importantly, be sure to document every single one of these activities in brilliant sepia tones on instagram, twitter, and google plus (I’m assuming you deleted facebook because it was too commercial for you). Better yet, write a blog about it, you wanker.

Epipha-map

Self Portrait - Lizzy King, 2013

Sometimes we change our minds slowly; we learn gently, and subconsciously, we may never even realise that our opinions have grown. Other times, realisation comes like a clap of thunder. We might be reading something, or sleeping, or talking with someone, and then suddenly, BAM – the light bulb cliché, the explosion of knowledge. I like to think that those moments are a good way to map our development as humans. So here’s my epipha-map.

Epiphany Number 1: not all families are the same.

In grade 1 or 2 I went to my first sleep over at a friend’s house. I remember my mum telling me I had to wear knickers to bed. I never wore knickers with my pyjamas (secretly, I probably didn’t start doing so till I was a teenager) and I remember being quite weirded out by this change in my sleeping attire. But that wasn’t the epiphany. Sitting at the dinner table with this nuclear family of four, it occurred to my small brain that it was actually probably a bit weird that I called my dad Tony and that he did most of the cooking. And I remember not liking my friend’s dad because he had a moustache and liked his lawn more than he seemed to like his family. My mum did all the garden work, and I actually sort of had it in my head that mums were outside people in my world and dads were really good at making cheesy cauliflower. And in that moment I realised that not everyone was like us (awesome).

Epiphany Number 2: Fractions and decimals are the same thing.

I was quite a clever kid. I was good at most subjects at school without even really trying. I was a very good reader, I liked writing and science things the best, but I also was pretty good at maths too. Until I was about 10. And then suddenly, maths got hard. I struggled intensely with anything that combined letters and numbers: 3 + x = 7?! How can an x be in there?! Xs are for words, not maths. The whole thing baffled and upset me. In particular, I could not cope with fractions. I got my head around decimals ok, but spent hours freaking out about fractions. And then my mum spent a day baking with me. We measured things out with measuring cups, and she patiently explained how 1/4 + 1/4 could equal 1/2. And I got it. I was happy. The next day at school we were working on some maths problems and I had a little “oh!” moment as I realised that 0.25 + 0.25 = 0.5 as well. They were the same thing. All this time, they were the same bloody thing. I felt like a genius idiot.

Epiphany Number 3: Belief isn’t fact.

On school camp, some of the girls were reading out horoscopes from a magazine and asked me what mine was. I went on a small rant about the ridiculousness of the belief that somehow rocks in space could tell us anything about our little mundane lives. Basically, I killed the fun. My atheist friend looked up from the magazine and said, “you know Lizzy, the way you feel about horoscopes, that’s the way I feel about Christianity”. I was pretty pissed and stomped off, I guess not because she’d said it, but because she’d called me out. I was religious at the time, but that moment was one of the first times I deigned to consider other people’s beliefs as in any way legitimate. Not that I suddenly thought horoscopes made any sense (they make none, to be clear), but in that one sentence, my friend had made me realise that all belief is kind of ridiculous, and it doesn’t hurt to be a little bit respectful. (If you’re reading this, Hilde, I give you permission to gloat).

Epiphany Number 4: I’m not a Catholic.

On the subject of religion, I started doubting and questioning my faith around the age of 16. At the end of the school year I went overseas with my choir, and we sang in amazing places across Europe. We sang a church service in a Catholic cathedral and it was one of the most beautiful places I’d ever seen. We were told that only those who were Catholic were allowed to leave the singing to take Communion. So I dramatically stepped out from my 75 fellow singers, along with 3 or so other students and walked the length of the cathedral to get my bread and wine in the fanciest setting possible. And swallowing it was like swallowing chalk and acid. As I walked back to place I realised I’d done it to be different, to be interesting, for fun and I vowed never to take Communion again unless I was sure it was what I wanted. I’ve not touched it to this day.

Epiphany Number 5: Pride and Prejudice.

The themes are in the fucking title. Right there, on the goddamn cover.

Epiphany Number 6: It’s not them it’s me.

In 2009 I got quite sad. And anxious. And stressed. I was depressed at the end of high school too, but this was a whole new ball game. I sort of felt like I wasn’t allowed to call myself depressed because I knew people who’d battled depression for years, and mine came on quite suddenly. In the space of a few weeks I went from being pretty happy and ok to locking myself in my room, not eating, hurting myself, being in a constant state of panic. I probably would not have sort help had it not been for the paranoia. I had an overwhelming sensation that people, all people, everywhere, were looking at me. I knew, logically, that they couldn’t be, but empirically, evidence that I was seeing with my own eyes was that they were. So I went to a psychologist. It was three or so weeks before I got the courage to tell her people were looking at me and she said, “have you considered, Lizzy, it’s that you are looking at them?” No I had not considered this, I admitted. She told me to practise not making eye contact for a whole day, and see if this fixed the problem. I walked out of her office and up the street and instantly realised I was making eye contact with people. So I stopped. It was excessively difficult, I had been the one freaking other people out all along. I genuinely skipped home with happiness. While the battle for my happiness took a lot more than a quick fix realisation, this epiphany helped me so much, that I honestly don’t know how I would have survived without it.

Epiphany Number 7: I can’t run out of inspiration.

Almost every time I sit down to write a blog, I don’t know what I’m going to write about. And it’s becoming a problematic fear. I won’t go near my computer for hours, I’ll dawdle and procrastinate and ask people what I should say and read a book and hope it’ll go away. And then every time, without fail, I’ll open a word document with a blank mind and suddenly find something to write about. Like just now, when I had an epiphany about epiphanies, and started telling you about it. There’s always going to be stuff in my brain and as long as people keep reading (and even if they don’t), I’m going to keep writing it down.

Ever had an epiphany? Tell me about it via comment, facebook, twitter, carrier pigeon.