Tom and the Sex-crazed High School Teachers

Special Sex Ed

Ms. Groo was a chubby special education teacher in her thirties when Tom was in high school. Most of the 2000 pupils on campus knew her simply because she taught the “retards,” as the crasser kids called them. Tom befriended a couple of these lower IQed students. He would see them walking home from school alone and would pull up along side them on his bicycle and walk and talk for a while. Some of those kids had interesting views of the world and some came from very strange families.

Anyway, back to Ms. Groo. Tom knew very little about her, but admired a teacher that would spend her day trying to drill life skills into students who required extreme patience. That is until one day--she wasn't at the school anymore. Tom soon learned that she had been fired from the school district for allegedly having sex with one of her special students.

Arrogant Charisma

The high school had a couple of theater teachers while Tom attended. One of them was Mr. Showmaker, a thirty-year old, clean cut, well-built man who had acted in some television prior to becoming a schoolteacher. He was handsome and several of the girls giggled when they gossiped about him.

Mr. Showmaker took charge of an after school martial arts club for students to work out and train with him. Tom decided to join. The club was supposed to be a place where martial arts students of different disciplines could show each other moves. Mr. Showmaker quickly changed that and made it more into a showcase for his abilities. One day, Mr. Showmaker, decked out in his karate gi, told the club members that he was very annoyed that a woman he knew who was a black belt had let her boyfriend beat her because she did not have the will to fight.

“Having a belt will do you no good if you do not know how to face a combative situation,” he said, “So, I’m going to have each of you spar with me, and you’ll learn. I don’t want anyone that I train with to be like that black belt woman.”

Tom did not like this. He came to martial arts club because he thought that the Oriental art was fascinating, not because he wanted to fight with a teacher. Tom and one of his friends often sparred for sport in his friend's back yard on a mat made out of carpets. Tom had also fought plenty of bullies throughout his public school days and it seemed to him that Showmaker was just trying to show off. Tom knew it was supposed to be only a sparring match, but he knew that he would very likely injure Showmaker in the process, and perhaps Showmaker, who was much stronger and more skilled, would then thrash him. Showmaker had the air of someone you did not mess with. An assault on his ego could result in physical harm. Tom regretted joining the club and this would be the last day he would go. He even considered leaving then and there.

Tom had never had Showmaker as a teacher, but his parents had run into him once while at the school for an Orchestra concert that Tom had performed in on the theater stage. Showmaker talked to Tom’s prim and proper mother about something, and almost said the word “sh*t,” but caught himself at the last minute. Tom had been standing nearby and his mother later commented on this.

“Mr. Showmaker almost said a bad word,” she said, “I could tell.”

Now, as Tom sat awaiting his turn to spar with the man, he recalled this conversation. It seemed to 16-year-old Tom that Showmaker had a hard time controlling himself. He recalled another time when Mr. Showmaker and Tom’s Orchestra teacher, Mr. Wirrin, started yelling at each other during class. Mr. Showmaker went into the room where the Orchestra was rehearsing and started complaining that Mr. Wirrin had left chairs and stands on Showmaker's stage after a rehearsal. He was very rude to Mr. Wirrin in front of Mr. Wirrin’s students. When he left the classroom, Mr. Wirrin turned to his Orchestra students and shook his head, “What a jerk,” he mumbled.

So, Tom sparred, or rather he blocked everything that Showmaker threw and decided to be defensive rather than aggressive. Often when he fought bullies, Tom liked to wear them down by defending. Many bullies had more powerful muscles that could seriously injure Tom if fists landed on his face, but Tom had endurance on his side and could literally be the last one able to stand. Unlike many bullies, Tom had extensive martial arts training both from classes and from drill instruction from his ex marine father. Over and over again, bullies would throw all of their conviction into the first few moments but rarely had the stamina or patience to beat someone who cooly defended and stuck only when opportunity presented. Mr. Showmaker criticized Tom for not now engaging him.

“You can’t be afraid to hit me. Don’t be like that woman and just stand there and take it.”

Tom replied, “That friend of yours, she survived, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I intend to survive too. I may not have struck you, but none of your strikes are getting me.” Tom knew that Showmaker was just waiting for Tom to throw a punch that would end him in an arm bar on the ground, a move that would have made the other’s awe at Showmaker’s prowess. Tom had just watched Showmaker throw one of the other club members to the ground moments before.

When Showmaker realized that sparring scrawny Tom was not going to end in his glory, he told Tom to take a seat so he could then demonstrate some moves.

Tom did not go back to the club. He believed that the teacher had a streak of narcissism in him that was difficult to respect. Several months later, he went to see the student stage production that Showmaker had worked on with his students. The main star, a sixteen-year-old, did not perform that evening. An ambulance came to the school and she was taken away. With that distraction, the play was awful. Tom learned the next day that she had had a nervous breakdown because Showmaker had allegedly been having sex with her, and that, coupled with her pending debut in front of her parents and classmates, had been too much for her to handle that night. Showmaker was forced to resign in disgrace shortly thereafter.

Tom and the Sociopath Bully

Some bullies have an aura around them that says they are tough and will not be broken. Generally, schoolyard bullies enjoy the power and esteem of harassing a person who will not stand up to them; however, there exist a class of bullies that do not fear opposition. If you beat this type to a pulp, they will just come after you with a knife or a gun later, so it is best to avoid tangling with them.

Thomas sat back in his office chair. As a criminal defense attorney in Sin City, he had no shortage of clients. Unlike many other criminal defense attorneys who wanted money and did not care whom they represented, Thomas always sought innocent people to represent. First time offenders or people who were truly not guilty of the crime charged kept his client base small and exclusive. Yet he was busy because he found that it was often harder work to represent the innocent than the guilty.

Thomas decided long ago that he did not want to represent sociopaths. Even though sociopaths could be repeat business, they have a tendency to lie to get their way and resort to violence when they do not get their way, or just for the hell of it. Thomas did not need to worry about this element when innocent people required justice. Besides, good people paid their legal fees with honest money.

After his ten-year high school reunion, Thomas thought about those who did not attend. One in particular, John, was a bully that followed Tom through twelve years of public schooling, and every several years they had a run in. John was a stocky kid who was probably beaten at home by abusive parents and did not care about pain. He also hung with a rough crowd and seemed to enjoy violence for the sake of violence, and not for another reason. Thomas thought about some of the fights he and his brothers had against John and his gang.

In fifth grade, Tommy and his twin third grade brothers rode their bicycles home from elementary school together. John and a gang of five fifth graders saw them and started to chase, calling them every imaginative name they could muster with their limited four-letter vocabularies. Tommy’s dad, Noland, happened to drive down the street toward them in his truck and stopped.

“What’s going on?” he yelled across the street.

Tommy crossed as the five fifth graders pulled up behind his brothers, “They are chasing us. They want to beat us up.”

“Go tell them you’ll fight them, then,” Noland said. Noland always believed that standing up to bullies would make them leave you alone. But, he did not know John. To Noland, John just looked like another little fifth grader. He did not see the monster in the child.

Tommy walked back over to his brothers and faced the gang, which outnumbered and out-sized them, “I’ll take you all on!” he shouted angrily.

Over the next several minutes, the three brothers and the five fifth graders tussled. Fifth graders would pick up the younger boys and throw them down. Finally, a school crossing guard and some parents from down the street pulled up and threatened to call the police and the school, which effectively ended the melee.

Tommy and his brothers rode toward home and John and his gang followed. Noland stopped John and Tommy on the side of the street to figure out what happened while the other boys rode on.

“They called my mother a f*cking whore,” John lied without blinking.

“What!” Noland’s face contorted with fury. He set his beer can on his seat, reached out, and slapped Tommy across the face. “Get home! I’ll deal with you when I get there!”

Tommy rode home in tears. His own father did not let him speak to defend himself. Noland had just undermined the whole effort in fighting the bullies. John now knew that he could harass Tommy and Tommy would not even have the support of his own father. When Noland arrived home, his three sons endured hours of Marine corps punishment, including “dirty doubles” and other physical exercises, picking up cigarette butts along the street, and instructions on how to fight well into the evening. Tommy remembers the stench of alcohol, as this was a few years before his father gave up his addiction.

Over the next several years, Tommy avoided John in every way he could, but sometimes it was unavoidable. When Tommy had to take a bus to school in sixth and seventh grade, John knew where to find Tommy. One day in eighth grade, Tommy had just exited the bus on his way home and John, with his teenage friends in their car, chased him. Tommy ran through private yards and jumped fences. When he thought he was in the clear, he continued on foot down the road toward home, only to have John pull up near him.

John got out of the car and ran over to Tommy, who stood burdened with a violin and a book bag. Tommy was out of breath from the running and jumping he had just done. Adrenalin coursed through his veins, telling him to flee and hide instead of stand and fight.

To Tommy’s later shame, he stood there as John pushed him up against a wall, “Please, leave me alone,” Tommy struggled saying, “I have asthma, and you could kill me.” Tommy did not have asthma, but he did not want to fight this kid who had teen-aged friends and who already had Tommy’s father on his side. The adrenalin seemed to flood into his stomach, his arms felt heavy.

“You’re a weak, girly piece of sh*t,” John slapped Tommy across the face. Tommy just stood there, holding his violin. “You’re not worth it,” John punched Tommy in the stomach and then sauntered back to the car.

Tommy never told another person of this humiliating experience.

A few years later, Tom and his brothers were walking up a neighborhood street toward Frenchman Mountain with a friend. They planned to hike to the top and look down on Las Vegas. On the way, John and a couple of other kids spotted them and John decided to have some fun. He told a kid who was riding a kick scooter to run into Tom’s brother’s ankles.

“Go ahead, they won’t do anything,” Tom could hear John tell the other kid.

Tom was now fifteen and fed up. He, his brothers, and his friend outnumbered the three bullies. As the scooter was about to hit his brother’s ankle, Tom swung around and punched the kid in the face. Over the next fifteen minutes, the boys fought. Tom would punch and block in the normal boxing style. The other kid obviously did not know how to fight, and dove at Tom several times like a football tackle. On one of the tackles, Tom grabbed the kid’s shoulders and threw him to the ground with jujitsu, then sat on his stomach while pinning his arms.

“Give up!” Tom demanded.

“No way!” the kids retorted.

Tom then punched the kid in the face again so that his head bounced off the cement of the driveway they fell onto. “Give up!”

“No.”

Tom bounced the kid’s head off the cement a few more times. “I could kill you, you know.” Tom stated coolly.

“I don’t care,” the kid said. Apparently, the kid wanted to save face in front of John--the instigator, the ringleader.

Tom hit him a few more times, “Concussions can be serious--give up!”

“No!”

“Ok, let’s call it even. Neither has to give up, let’s just walk away.”

“I’ll get you off of me and then you’re done!” was the weak response.

Tom slammed the kid in the head a couple more times. The old man who lived in the home whose property they were on came out and threatened to call the police if they didn’t get off his property.

“Call the police!” Tom yelled, but the old man mumbled, "snotty brat" and ignored Tom.

“I’m letting you up, now. We can walk away from this with all of our teeth. I haven’t knocked any of yours out yet, but if I get you down like this again, you’ll need to see a dentist.”

Once up, the stubborn boy wanted to keep fighting. “You’re bleeding,” Tom pointed out, “and you probably don’t have a headache yet, but you will. I can block what you throw all day long. You’ve barely touched me. Let’s just call it a truce.”

The kid reluctantly decided to take the advice.

The crowd of neighborhood kids that had come to audience the fight disbanded as Tom and Co. continued their hike. John and his beaten bully went the other way.

That had been the last incident that Thomas can remember involving John. Thomas gazed at his computer monitor and decided to type John’s name into the criminal database to learn whether John ever had been incarcerated. Sure enough, John had a long rap sheet and was currently in prison for twelve years. John had assaulted several people with a weapon and also committed armed robbery.

“John was a sociopath as a kid, and he is to this day,” Thomas thought, “Nope, not the kind of client I would represent. The amygdala is just a little too small to be helped. The public defenders can have that joy.”

Tom and the After School Spit in the Eye

Ms. James was a beautiful “Careers” teacher, perhaps in her mid-twenties when Tom took the class as a requirement for eleventh grade. This was one of the few classes where Tom had to spend time with average and below-average students because all of his other classes were designated “Honors” or “Distinguished Scholar” for students that had college in mind. Tom never liked the required classes that contained students with mixed motivations about school because he felt bored, unchallenged, and frustrated with the clowns that caused problems. These classes included Driver’s Ed, PE, Careers, and Health. One reason Tom took Naval Junior ROTC in high school was to avoid the morons in PE.

At the desk next to Tom sat Woran, a stocky teen with a scar on his forehead. Tom and Woran had gone to the same schools for many years but rarely had classes together, so Tom knew almost nothing of Woran. As Ms. James spoke about résumés, Woran started talking loud enough for his neighbors to hear:

“I’m going to f*ck that hot b*tch after class.”

Tom glanced over at Woran, but held his breath.

“She gonna get it long and hard.”

Woran was bobbing his head with a smirk and was obviously referencing Ms. James. As he was about to speak again, Tom leaned across the aisle and said, “Be quiet!”

“Boy you gonna get it!” Woran threatened.

Ms. James then called across the classroom, “Something you two need to say?”

Tom and Woran said nothing.

Tom went the rest of the day without thinking about the incident. After school, he strapped his violin to the back of his bicycle, adjusted his backpack over his shoulders, and headed for home.

At about the mile mark, a car of teenagers veered up next to him, and drove to keep pace alongside Tom’s bicycle. He heard someone from the backseat shout, that’s him. Tom saw that it was Woran. The teen in the passenger seat shouted, “Faggot!” and hurled spit which landed in Tom’s eye.

Tom quickly considered his options. There were five boys in the car, two in the front, three in the back. The only one he recognized was Woran. The street was vacant except for them. Should he drop his bike and run? Should he stop and throw his bike at the car and fight? This looked like a gang, and so they very likely had weapons. Was it worth losing his teeth or his life? Was it worth killing one of them?

Tom swiveled his bike around and up onto the side walk. He sped around a corner onto a street in a residential neighborhood. The car flipped and followed him. At 15 miles per hour, the car drove two feet behind him, threatening to run him over if he stopped or fell. Tom headed for a house, drove up the driveway, dropped his bike, ran up to the front door, and knocked and rang the bell furiously. A woman answered, without opening.

“Please, call the police. I’m being attacked by a gang. This is Tom.”

The car of boys left while Tom waited an hour for the police to arrive and escort him home. Tom was so upset that he stormed down the hallway to his room, ripped off his jacket while yelling at his parents that he needed a car, and swung the jacket with the intent of it landing in his bedroom. Instead, the jacket snagged the overhead light fixture in the hallway and shattered it. That night, as he took out his violin to practice, he found that it was completely out of tune from the violent bike ride. He was lucky. The violin was a family heirloom passed down from his Grandmother in Switzerland. It could easily have been destroyed had he not exercised the better part of discretion and ran for safety.

The next day Tom went to the Principal’s office to make a statement about the attack. As he walked in, he noticed the kid who spat on him sitting in a chair. Upon seeing Tom, the kid went down on his knees. He was crying.

“Dude, I’m so sorry about yesterday. Please don’t report on me. I don’t wanna go to juvie again.”

Tom looked at him for a second, “Why should I care? You spat on me.”

The kid begged, “I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure no one messes with you anymore. You won’t have to worry. Please don’t report.” His voice stammered and choked as a new volley of tears fell forth.

“I don’t need you looking out for me. I didn’t have a problem until you ruined my day yesterday. Am I going to have to get a rabies shot? You don’t have rabies or AIDS, do you?” Tom had zero respect for this punk begging for mercy. “If I don’t report you and you kill me, no one will think it was you who did it. If I end up killing you, no one will understand why if I don’t report you. Next time, think before you act!”

Tom went on to write his report. He mentioned Woran and described the other gang members. While there, he noticed another student in his class also writing a report. He learned this other student had been attacked by the same gang moments before they targeted Tom. They held him up at knife point and stole his jacket.

The remainder of that year and the following year, Tom did not see any of the gang again.

Eleven years later, at Tom’s ten year high school reunion, a tall slender man walked over to him. This man looked like the movie star Will Smith and carried himself in a respectable manner. Tom glanced up, then glanced up again. It was a taller, leaner version of Woran. They shook hands and Woran stated that he was now a high-ranking official in the United States Navy. Tom, on the other hand, was a Las Vegas criminal defense attorney.

Tom shared his memory of the attack all those years back and that he did not hold a grudge. Woran said that he was in a different mind-set back then. Tom thanked Woran for his service in the military, especially during a time of war, and they parted as friends who would keep in touch.

Tom wonders what happened to the kid that spat in his face all those years ago, but he had long since forgotten the kid’s name.