Most of the seniors are in Maui on a class trip. They did leave me a gift before they hopped on the plane, though. Two weeks ago, I filled a white board with “Things Darren (an senior in my AP class) would say on a retreat.” Darren is my TA, a great student, and also notoriously sarcastic and intellectual. A retreat is the last place he would ever willingly choose to be. Many of the statements I – and later his classmates – wrote on the board were dripping with hyperbole, but aside from a few comments, Darren approved of every single one.
During Spring Break, some of the students on financial aid were assigned to come to school to help clean the campus. This gave them access to my classroom. I will give them credit for doing a decent job of cleaning my sty of a room. In addition, though, they bombed one white board with “Things Higa Would Say,” and it has been growing ever since. I erased some of the things I felt weren’t accurate, and I do have to praise them for not using any profanity. When I look over the board, I cannot object. These are all things I say fairly frequently. I have learned that I end a lot of my statements with “guys,” as in C’mon, guys. Maybe that will change when I teach girls next year, but I doubt it. It is what it is and I am who I am.
Some of the baseball players absolutely nailed me. The only things missing are “LET IT TRAVEL!” and “HANDS FIRST, RIP THE BARREL THROUGH!” and “MAKE THE _____________ (insert expletive of your choice) ADJUSTMENT!” Grandpa Higa was a yeller. Coach Al was a yeller. I haven’t done any studies, but it’s probably genetic. A few weeks ago, a former co-worker who now runs ScoringLive met up with me after a game. “I knew you were here,” he said. “I could hear you.” Compliments don’t come any better than that. It’s exactly how I knew where to find my dad if I arrived at one of his games after its start. I would just listen for the voice of my father shouting things like “BACK!” (as a first base coach). Considering the gut, the haircut, and the yelling, I’ve become my father. Also, Lynnette is my mom minus the OCD, so I basically married my mom. I am not a believer in predestination, but damn it, it’s really hard when some things look, smell, and taste like destiny. Screw you, John Calvin!
I am going to skip practice today because I have to renew my license. I had the thought to do it over Spring Break, but I totally forgot. Those last three words apply to a shockingly high amount of situations in my life. Anyway, I ironed a shirt for this. I picked out an outfit which brings out my double chin. I’m so ready to commit to this picture for the next 6 years (is that what it is?) of my life. Am I going to add an inch or two to my height? Absolutely. Am I going to leave off a couple twenty pounds? You bet your ass. I don’t want to smile. I really don’t, but considering my personality, I know I’m going to at least smirk. That’s my default face setting. Contempt. Yeah, that’s it.
I’ve packed a few slices of pizza for lunch today, but I’m not going to eat them. Since I’ll be home for dinner and it’s Thursday, I’ll be able to make Sushi Bay with Lynnette’s parents tonight. YES. To quote Aaron Lewis of Staind, It’s been a while! I want my hunger to be raging tonight when I get to that conveyor belt. Besides, despite taking my dairy digestive supplement, the pizza has already done a number on my stomach. I hit up the school bathroom in the morning and when I unfurled a length of toilet paper, a B-52 roach came flying out with it. It bounced off my bare thigh before landing on the tile and scurrying toward my feet. I lifted my legs Dumb and Dumber-style and the roach darted to the back of the stall, coming to rest in the corner behind the toilet. I finished my business with my head turned, looking over my shoulder. The first rule of taking a dump with a roach in the stall is DON’T LOSE SIGHT OF THE ROACH. You’re welcome. Also, I want to make it clear: at no point during this ordeal did I scream. I did swear at the roach, but it was in a decidedly masculine tone.