Euphoria in a can

When Rowena invited me to sub for six weeks, I was thankful for a change in my routine.  We had only lived in our northern Indiana town for about 3 months.  I had just graduated from Avila College in Kansas City, MO with a degree in Communications and Psychology.  My desire was to be a writer, so my husband set me up with a Kaypro computer, The Writer's Handbook, and a desk.  But something had happened to that desire with each rejection slip I received and pretty soon I was spending my days making homemade brownies and eating them.  So,  every morning I woke up excited to face my unique angels.  I found the job amazing because as much as I planned, every day was a surprise.  I grew up in a conservative home and a church with a lot of rules, so swearing was not something I heard on a daily basis or practiced at all in my own life. But my students knew no inhibition.  I faced them each morning with intrigue as I watched them live on the raw side of life.

Joe was a tall, thin adolescent with a dash of freckles tossed across his nose.  He was in perpetual motion from the moment he hit the door until he returned to the bus.  He reminded me of Tigger from the Winnie The Pooh series and I was in awe of his energy level.  Along about the second week of school, we decided to address his annual goal of being able to assist in washing his hair without swearing.

He came in that morning engaging in his ritual dance of jumping across the room, singing his favorite words.
"Joe," he would say in different pitches, finding comfort in his self-identification.  "Joe,"  jump, "Joe," jump, "Joe, don't you cuss at school today," jump.  chuckle.  jump.  I was lucky in that most of my students could toilet themselves at the bathroom across the hall.  "Joe, why don't you go to the bathroom so you can get started on your day." I suggested.  Joe jumped across the room and into the hall.  I focused on getting Kathy settled on her chair so she could enjoy her daily entertainment.  I set Daryl in front of a pegboard and bucket of pegs and instructed him on the pattern I wanted to see.  I was in the midst of changing David's diaper behind a privacy screen when I heard Joe return to the classroom.  "Are you back Joe?" I asked.  "Goddammit Joe, did you plug up that toilet?" he answered. 

"JOE, SHAME ON YOU!" yelled Joan.  "YOU SIT IN THIS CHAIR AND DON'T YOU MOVE UNTIL I GET BACK! Lori, I'm going to go find Mr. Kurt and tell him about the toilet.

Do I need to tell you how convenient it is to have students who tell on themselves?  Then there was also the convenience of Mr. Kurt--one of the "obvious angels" in the school.  An older man of about 60, he was the school janitor who seemed to take everything in stride.  Joan returned with the problem on the road to solution.  David was changed, Michael was convinced it was not lunchtime for at least another 30 seconds, Eric was parked with a book, and the others were somewhere in the room entertaining themselves.  I had the sink area cleared with towels and shampoos on the side.  When Joe noticed the shampoo, he immediately jumped up, running across the room.  "No wash hair," he whined.  "No wash hair.  Goddammit Joe, don't you cuss!"  

"Joe," I tried to reason with him, "you have to wash your hair sometime.  Here, let Miss Lori help you.  It will be okay."
"Soap in Joe's eyes?" his voice was an unnatural octave higher than usual. 
"No, Joe."  I promised.  "I will not let soap get in your eyes."  I gave Joe a wet washcloth to hold over his eyes.  It took Joan and I both to coordinate accessories enough that he emerged with a clean head of hair. He had sworn the entire time.  Let me explain something.  Joe had a buzz cut.  Running a washcloth through his hair probably would have been good enough, except that his contact with water at home was obviously so limited, it was felt he needed the shampoo experience to maintain a basic cleanliness level.

"Joe, you did fine," said Joan.  "In fact, you did so fine, I'm gonna have a coke."  I looked at her puzzled as to how her having a coke was a reward for Joe.  "Joe." Jump  "Joe." Jump.  He was on a roll again, but I let him roll.  He deserved some movement time following his 15 minutes of restraint at the sink.  Joan returned with her coke and was sipping it while Joe jumped circles around her.  "Lona, look!"  Daryl had completed his board pattern, stood and pointed to it for me to check.   Joe looked at Joan's coke with anticipation.  "Are you going to give him some of it, Joan?"  She smiled and her eyes sparkled at my ignorance.  "No, he can't have sugar this  close to lunch."  I agreed with her, but I still could not figure out the payoff for Joe.  She finished the coke, rinsed out the can and set it on the counter.  Joe's jumping accelerated.  "Joe?"    he asked, pointing to the can.

"Okay, since you were pretty good when we washed your hair, you can have the can." agreed Joan.
Joe jumped to the can and raised it to his lips, drinking the remaining drops in the bottom of the can.
"Joe, that's disgusting!" he disciplined himself.  Then he took the can, set it on the floor and smashed it flat with his foot. 

I was amazed!  The expression on his face was one of pure euphoria.  He was totally and completely happy.  People spend years looking for that feeling.  Years and money...and yet, we never seem to find the complete and total happiness that equals the euphoria in a can that Joe found.