respect and ruckus

1.

I usually dislike people who:
-volunteer
-work with children
-work with old people
-consider themselves an “activist”

I harbor these negative feelings because all of the above activities seem to have a hidden, built in guilt clause. For some reason when somebody tells you they’re a camp counselor or organizing a Darfur rally something clicks in your head and you feel like you have to tell them what a great person they are. Over time this obligatory respect reflex has mutated into more of a bitterness and angry stare reflex.

As a regular bus rider I hate spring break. All those fucking kids and their hemp wearing “group leaders” really piss me off. However during my regular commute this week I made a strange decision. Instead of ignoring the little odor and noise factories by escaping into an iPod oasis, I watched them. This kid with glasses was having a thumb war with his counselor. They looked as if they were having some genuine fun and the Asian kid seated next to the glasses kid kept outstretching his thumb, yearning to participate. The counselor was this big Persian guy with carefully trimmed facial hair, the type I would usually dismiss to bumping into me on Granville street and beating me up for un-popping his Lacoste polo. But he was wearing a grin, looking like he actually enjoyed his job.

Boggled as I was, I found that odd feeling creeping around in my stomach. I respected this camp counselor. He was doing a great job with these kids, making a real connection. It would be very hard for me to cope with those kids and this is probably why I respected him.

2.

When we were younger and bored-er we used to fuck around. Every adolescent goes through fucking around stages, the degrees of which vary. Some kids throw water-balloons and other kids drag bags of leaves onto the road and proceed throw eggs at the cars when they stop. The clique I ran with back then were on the latter end of that spectrum.

We used to call it ruckusing or ravaging. We egged houses, went sticking, bagging, nicky nicky nine dooring and whatever demonic schemes our 15 year old minds would hatch. Whole nights were made out of doing this shit. “Hey lets ruckus tonight man, nothing better to do”. It was fun and thrilling,

The other night I was drunk and surly, upset over a superficial but valid reason. I decided to unleash my anger upon anything in sight; mailboxes, cones, a construction site, cars. The extent of my wrath wasn’t too severe but I would still classify it as ruckus. The damage total was probably less than $50, if that. Thing was, I felt foolish and immature after, not giddy and excited. This is how I know I am now an adult.