Cool Confusion

The thick wedge of cake dared me to take it out of my desk. I didn’t care about eating the dry mass of vanilla crumbs, but I did care about making my friends laugh, and well, being cool. While the teacher yammered on about grade nine social studies, I slowly placed the cake on my desk. After enough people had noticed, I cupped the cake in my hands, lifted it to my face, and nibbled the prohibited treat. Snickers and stares were my fuel. I lifted the cake higher and chomped bigger. Laughter was my reward. “Put that away,” said the teacher.

Crumbs sprayed past my lips as I coughed out “okay.” I shoved the rest of the cake into my mouth like a defiant chipmunk. The teacher pointed to the door and I relished the feeling of every eye on my back as I left the room. Totally cool.

As I made my way to the office, I felt like a celebrity. The detention would be worth it. It would be the icing on my cool cake. But I didn’t get a detention. Much worse. I was sentenced to two days of solitary confinement, aka, an in-school suspension. I put the time to good use, though. My friend had just been telling me about her mom’s new book, The Joy of Sex.

On the first morning of my imprisonment, I heard a knock at the small office window. I opened it, and my friend thrust the book into my hands. I felt pretty cool. The Joy of Sex A Gourmet Guide to Lovemaking was mine to behold for two whole days. I was mesmerized by the secrets within, and a little repulsed. The book recommended not shaving legs or armpits, as the natural state of the body is a wonderful thing, and that one should not wear deodorant because nobody wants a mouth full of aluminum. That confused me, still does.

By the second day, I was tired of studying. I needed to create. I couldn’t draw. I couldn’t paint. But I could write. With an eye on The Joy of Sex and an ear to the teachers’ boisterous staff room, I was inspired. This was a cool idea. My friends would be impressed. I think the story was basically about how a student slipped Spanish Fly to all the teachers and the sexual jamboree that ensued. Of course, I named certain teachers applying specific techniques from the book. I remember laughing out loud as I wrote it. My friends would be shocked, and they would love it. I was the coolest. I could hardly wait to show it to them.

I had a great two days in solitary confinement. But when the final bell rang I shoved the book into my bag and ran to freedom. Walking home with my friends, I dug in my pocket for the story. It wasn’t there. I rifled through every pocket I had, over and over again. I dumped my bag and flipped futilely through the pages of The Joy of Sex. Shit.

That evening, the phone rang. My mom had to meet the principal the next day. They showed her the story, and there was some talk about getting me counseling. I imagine what she must have felt like, reading that in front of the principal. Humiliating my mother was not cool.

Years later we could laugh about it, and many years later I am learning what it really means to be cool. I used to think it was about defying authority. Now I know it’s about defying fear. The fear of being different, the fear of being yourself, and the fear of failure. Some people say that the Bible says to “fear not” 365 times. Maybe I was reading the wrong book.

Be cool my friends, and by the way, I usually do shave my legs and wear deodorant.