This is a Bombtrack

I was about to watch a very early morning hockey game last weekend.  French and I were sipping a cup of coffee, topped up with just a dash of Canadian Club, up in the chilly stands of the local arena.

French pulled out an earphone splitter jack and plugged in his headphones.  He told me to plug mine in as well.  French had made a mix for the game.

He waited for the exact moment for the kids to step out on to the ice and start skating their warm-up.  When the first kid touched the ice the words: "bring that shit out" nailed me.  French continued the audio assault with a crazy mix of Rage Against the Machine hits and a smattering of P.O.D.

It was sweet when my son scored on a massive slap shot during the ripping power chords of Bombtrack.

When the game wrapped up and the kids were shaking hands French said: "that is pretty much the only time rap-rock is acceptable".

38 years old

Phone rang early ... real early.  All I could hear on the other end was the sound of 38 Years Old by the Tragically Hip.  The line "never kissed a girl" was sung with massive gusto.

This was followed by whoops and hollers from Sweaty, Pancake and Bruce Fish.  The song ended and French said: "happy birthday yah fucker".

They had stayed up till 4 am just to "get me".

I was up giving Gunnar a bottle  - jokes on them.  Good lads though...good lads.

Lock Down

There is a series of codes, forms, and protocols that swing into effect in case the school gets threatened.  The trend seems to be to throw a mountain of bureaucracy at the threat to vanquish it.  In fact, tomorrow we have a Lock Down Drill.  French deals with these "threats" in his own way.

A young guy in his early twenties came in to our computer lab a while back.  This intruder was soaking wet with sweat, his hair was long and stuck to his face; the worst part was that his knuckles were bleeding.  He came in, sat down at a computer and started to check his email.  He acted like this was the most normal thing in the world; very casual.

This young fella had been spotted coming in and had taken off from the admin team.  The school went into full lock down: doors locked, windows covered, huddle in the corner...police on their way.  French stepped up.

French went right up to the guy and asked to speak to him in the hall.  They talked like they were old buds.  French handed him a handkerchief for his bloody hands and walked him to the back door.  The intruder left the building and French locked the door behind him.

Once a school is in lock down it is a long process to get it off that designation.  As we waited for the official all clear French regaled everyone with "the story" (even though it was "all clear").  Everyone asked: "What did you do?"  He answered each question the same way: "I talked to him".

The lock down and police sweep continued for three hours.  I like French's direct method better.


Posted to this fine site: Imperfect Prose

The Rules

French has been in a lot of trouble in his days.  I've been there as an observer, witness, participant; in those fist swinging moments.  I've waved to French as he waves back from the back of a cop car, but he has stayed out of trouble for the longest stint I can remember.

He still looks the rebel: sleeved, punkish hair, cowboy boots, and he sticks a cigarette behind his ear and ducks out for a butt as the bell rings at school.

I asked him - what gives? - How come he has kept it on the level the last few months?  He replied "the rules".  He continued:  "When I see trouble brewing I follow them religiously".

THE RULES

1.  Look surprised.
2.  Deny everything.
3.  Seem sincere.

I asked: "Those are the rules of life?"

French said: "No those rules are totally fucked for life, but they are to be followed at all times at work".

Fair Enough.

The Alan Doyle Story

French finally made it up to the staffroom this week. He had been hiding out most days in the basement. French had found a little unknown nook to sneak a quick pull from his Benson and Hedges, but that day he felt social.

The teacher ladies were talking about seeing Robin Hood - it had just come out on DVD. French piped up how he knew Alan Doyle, also of Great Big Sea, who played a role in that film.

As usual, French's story got a little gritty. He told the story of the time that he had partied with Alan at the Edmonton Folk festival. Doyle had needed to "hang a piss", but he was holding two pitchers of beer. French held the beers. The grateful Doyle invited us to "party". French and I partied with the rest of the boys from the band and a couple of lads from Blue Rodeo. French did not spare any of the debauched details.

When he finished the story every teacher had left the room. He turned to me and with his big grin said: "I guess they don't like Canadian music".

Notebook Poems - Two Sides of French

These are a couple of poems from French's notebook.

One

little fashion risk taker
boots, heels, skirts, flair
loving and hating the stares
so deeply fragile
beautiful, but breaking
in front of the class

Two

blood in tiny splatters
a red mist
a fight unfaded
jumped and suckered in '92
tides turned
heads faces pulped

evidence blackened
above the urinal
years later

Teacher's New Year

Just got off the phone with French. He is a little nervous about tomorrow. All teachers get a little nervous on Labour Day. This truly is the teacher's New Year. Forget about January 1st.

French has bit more weighing on him than the average teacher; coming back as a teacher, at the same school, after being off with a year's suspension. It was about a year ago when he took off in a hot air balloon and started a year of adventures. I've tried to comment on most of them in this blog.

It was pretty boring without him around last year, so I'm looking forward to being his colleague again.

Back to the phone call: French asked me to go out for lunch tomorrow. I said "Sure." Even though I had already packed a lunch. He was glad that I agreed because his fridge was pretty bare. He only a had a beer, some salsa, a bag of rotten oranges and a bottle of pre-mixed Margarita. A new year, but the same old French.