First Rage HOF Inductees

     Unless I fall victim to some freak catastrophe between now and June 12, I'll be in Canastota NY that day to watch the International Boxing Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony (www.ibhof.com).  My eager anticipation of that event, coupled with today's painfully boring news stories, has motivated me to make good on a promise from a few blogs back to name the first inductees into my Rage Hall of Fame. 
            
                                In No Particular Order:
    
     1.  The Time That Jack-A** Substitute Teacher In  Tenth  
          Grade Put Me In An Arm Bar

          He was white.  So am I.  Had I been otherwise he wouldn't have even considered touching me.  Bad idea for a white substitute teacher at a Rochester city high school to attack a non-white student if he wants to be invited back.  But he knew he could get away with attacking me.  I'm guessing he got a heads up that I was the class trouble maker, which is absurd.  I didn't show up to class enough to be the class trouble maker.  Regardless.  "I'm not going to take any of your crap today understand?" he grunted.  Ooooooo-kay.  Whatever you say pal.  Nice job establishing your dominance over the class. 

     Every day for the past nineteen years I've begged god for the opportunity to meet this piece of human filth again under different circumstances, where I assure you there would be a different outcome.  Yes that's a macho, d-bag statement to write.  Also a true one.  Today I'll stop all of that though.  I'm able to do so by inducting this memory into my Rage Hall of Fame.

     2.  The Time My First Grade Gym Teacher Went Berserk
         
          Ms. Somersault.  Her real name was almost as absurd.  It's as if she based her profession on her last name.  Unfortunately for her she wasn't born to Mr. And Mrs. Commodities-Broker so she had to become an elementary school gym teacher. 

     Once at an assembly, one of Mrs. Somersault's colleagues disciplined me for some sort of nonsense.  When they were done and walking away, I made a rude gesture behind their back.  Ms. Somersault appeared out of the ether (the way adults always seemed to be able to do back then) and grabbed my arm with one hand, and my middle finger with her other, yanking it in a motion I'm going to guess she was unaccustomed to.  "What if I ripped this finger right off your hand?  Huh?  Would you like that?" she hissed.
  
     Ms. Somersault was not an attractive woman.  Life is unfairly mean to ugly women.  I'll also concede that despite all of my criticism of teachers and the education system, that teaching is a hard job.  However even with those very generously granted caveats there is never any reason for a so called educator to try and tear the finger off the hand of a six year old.  But now, almost thirty years later I can stop my daily prayer for bad things, very, very bad things to feast upon Ms. Somersault at a cellular level.  The memory goes in the Rage Hall of Fame and I can walk away.

     3.  The Time My Birth Mother and Her Lesbian Life
          Partner Walked Through The Mall Wearing
          Matching Dog Collars.

          Unfortunately I was with them.  This was by design.  They had to prove their open homosexuality to the world by walking through a crowded public place holding hands and wearing odd leather accessories, and I, as my mother's son, had to be part of this ceremony. 
    
     Just wish they would have told me about it before we went to the mall.  Just wish that mall hadn't of been less than a mile from my Junior High...on a Friday evening, when all of that Junior High's popular kids were there hanging out.  On the outside it's easy to say that what my mother and her "life partner" did was brave.  It was the late eighties, still years before homosexuality became so trendy. 
    
     And yeah, maybe it was brave.  Or maybe it was an extremely selfish sh***y thing to do.  Either way, as of right now it doesn't matter to me any more.  The memory now hangs in The Rage Hall of Fame.