I Wanna Break The Law



It’s 6:30 am Sunday morning.

I am on the road.  The light is red. I look left. I look right. There is not another mobile car in sight.

I can’t be the only parent who has been awakened by rambunctious children.

And where are the fishermen? Or Dunkin Donut makers?

Nope, the road is empty.

Next. I’m on a highway. It is three lanes, it is smooth, and it is flat. And empty. I know the speed limit. I’ve traveled the road many times before. 50 miles per hour.

But I want more

Go Speed Racer. Go Speed Racer Go Speed Racer, Go!

Why should I be constricted?

I ache to smash through the speed limit.

I want to break the law.

Be a rebel.

I wanna be anarchy.

While the lyric is from the Sex Pistols, the feeling is all mine.

Confines and limitations. Restrictions and restraints.

QUESTION: Would it be so terrible if I ignored traffic lights, stop signs, and speed limits on an early morning empty road? Really, what would be so terrible about that?

This qualifies as derring-do in a life of sedation. The life of a parent. The life of a government employee.

So, what do you say?

Don’t tell me that you other responsible parents haven’t felt this before.  You want to do what you want to do.

You have your roles at home and at work. You fill them dutifully and gracefully.  Yet sometimes, there’s that voice inside of you. Maybe it whispers or shouts.

But it speaks, and you hear it.

Would it be so bad to listen?  Go ahead: Break the speed limit, buy the fanciful useless clothing, or eat the whole cake.

The next day will still come.

You’ll pick up the dry cleaning, help the kids with their homework, balance your checkbook. You will play the role of responsible adult.

But now for a moment. At least.

I want to break the law.

Image Courtesy of: Google Images: Stop Sign

Help Me Bob Marley

Courtesy of Flickr

Courtesy of Flickr

I am sitting in my living room and a feeling of calm is upon me. My heart rate is so slow that a doctor would worry if his/her stethoscope is broken.

It’s working just fine doc.

This tranquil feeling is far from the standard of this gotta, go, gotta, go, gotta go, go, go guy. I need to get to this place more often.

So, what has he me in Bob Marley everything is gonna be all right mode (By the way, I listened to Three Little Birds a few times while writing this.)?

Continue reading


Incomplete. There is work to be done. Where are you going? The job isn’t finished!
Are you the type who hates leaving things in the middle? The job can’t wait. The chore must be completed.
For a long time, I have been the “I’ll take a break when the work is done” sort of person. I could count on one hand the amount of books I started but did not complete. I took my lunch as late as possible because I did not feel comfortable eating when there was work to be done.
Break – who needs a break? I took pride in this. I puffed my chest out – I am productive. I fully believed that this is what adults were supposed to do. If you acted differently, you were soft or just were not fortunate enough to have my constitution.
If you have the junior Freud in you, ….

THIS IS PART OF A GUEST POST, to read the rest of INCOMPLETE, follow the hyperlink:  Madhouse Guest Post

Go Ahead: Dunk-a-Teacher

My Elementary School.

My Elementary School.

Ten cents will get you a hotdog or a hamburger! You heard me right. No, I have not gone into the culinary business.

A vivid memory I have from elementary school (Joseph J. Greenberg – in Northeast Philadelphia) was the annual June Fair. It was the best day of the school year. I emailed my oldest friend MG to ask him about his memories of the June Fair. Firstly, he said “I used to look forward to the June Fair all year long.”

Like me however, one of his vivid memories of the fair is that at the end of the day, the burgers and hot dogs would go on sale. He and I did our utmost to make sure no food was wasted. I remember saving my money till the end knowing this sale was coming while MG remembers downing six burgers, never happier that our bus was one of the last ones to leave the school.

Now of course, it was not only about food, there were different stations, carnival type games, a jumper, etc. It was always a drag going back into class when the bell signaled recess had ended. I got in trouble every year pretending I did not hear the bell.

I bring this memory up as it came to mind recently. This year, the school I work at had its first ever field day.  They had various sporting activities, an obstacle course, dancing/DJ, and a dunk tank. There were no classes that day, and each staff member had to volunteer or be assigned to assist in some way.

Guess who volunteered for the dunk tank? Well, I was encouraged, but it did not take much. It would be my revenge. I would be rude and disrespectful and suffer few consequences. Revenge was going to be sweet.

Here are some of my favorite quips:

You are even worse at this than writing essays.

I could have brought a book up here.

No wonder the softball team didn’t make the playoffs

I know why you can’t throw straight – you’re from Jamaica. Go play soccer.

We all laughed. I laughed when they sunk me, and the students laughed at the comments.

When I got out of the tank, I wandered around and talked to students and watched others participate in the various activities. I noticed something: there were smiles everywhere.

Students lined up awaiting their chance to drop me.

Students lined up awaiting their chance to drop me.

Locked in and ready. Go ahead - make my day!

Locked in and ready. Go ahead – make my day!






I think one day long after the students graduate, they will look back on high school and recall Field Day as one of those cherished memories. Now, I need to make my way back to the June Fair. I could go for a 10-cent hot dog.

BR comes to work and is ready to teach my class. No, we don't have a smartboard in my classroom.

BR comes to work and is ready to teach my class. No, we don’t have a smartboard in my classroom.

12th graders happy to be done with high school.

12th graders happy to be done with high school.