My First Rant

As I said from day one, this would be a form of venting for me. I can release the stress in my life by explaining the things that bother me about society through my blog. Well, here is my first rant. My close friends will likely think this is directed towards Michael Eisner or George Lucas. However it's not. It is actually towards an unlikely target: Duff Elementary. That's right. My old alma mater of elementary schools.
Friday night I was asked to babysit my little cousin Major. After a quick ideo (that's video for those not in the know) we went to Duff. I pulled him in his wagon and he played on the playground. Well, I like to treat Major like a tutor of mine. I teach him the finer things in life, like how to cheer, "Hey Nomar," correctly and the proper way to say Halle Berry. So, I decided to take him to see the class project my sixth grade class left to the school to remember us by. It is a sidewalk from the east side of the building around to the gym. The students put their hand prints in the wet cement and wrote their names. Major and I started at the gym side of the sidewalk and took our way towards my imprints. At each section I would stop and tell Major something about the person whose hands we were looking at. If I didn't remember the person, I would make up a ludicrous story that either made Major laugh or ask for the last two minutes of his childhood existence back.
As we drew closer to the end of the sidewalk, which is where my slab of concrete was located, a feeling of excitement and remorse began to fall upon me. I had thought about all the funny and regretful moments of K-6 grade. However I noticed that I had passed where my block should have been. In fact, there were three new blocks of cement. Duff Elementary had replaced my hand prints with a new sidewalk section.
Can you believe this? My legacy, gone. How will other grade school students know I was a part of the class of 1992? What do I have to show for seven years of education at Duff Elementary. Knowledge, I don't think so.
Believe me, they will be seeing my face again on Monday. It's going to be a reunion of reckoning. I will demand my hand prints to be replaced along with a Matt Cook written right between the oversized palms. You may ask, "What if they don't comply?" Well, I haven't gotten that far yet, but I will come up with something. Maybe we'll have an old-fashion sit in. Yeah, that's it. Let the days of Martin Luther King and the civil rights activists reign. I will sit and pester them with my verbal protests until they cave. Let freedom ring, let freedom ring, by God Almighty, let freedom ring.
As I said in my first entry. Some of my opinions don't always make sense. However, they are important to people like myself and my mom, who shares my opinion about renaming the Woodland West Recreation Center after Dottie Lynn. But that is another blog for another day.
Until next time, may all your pocket pairs hold up.