As we go through life, we learn that a lot of what makes us happy has to do with the people we choose to surround ourselves with. It is often said that we are drawn to people with similar interests, or people that are going through shared experiences at the same point in life. I believe all of that to be true, but I think the TYPE of people also matter a great deal. Today I want to share a story with you that reflects the TYPE of people that I also enjoy being around: witty, funny, with a little splash of an edge. Yeah….you know who you are…
As an undergraduate in college studying music education, the final semester is student teaching. Simply put, you join a school district for 5 months, practice teaching at all grade levels that you will be certified for (in my case k-12…bring on all of it), work a full time schedule, and still attend some college classes at night all for no pay. It’s teaching boot camp. I loved it, and could tell you a million stories from these times, but that’s not today’s topic. I only mention it because I met and became friends with a mentor teacher who has gone on to become a lifelong friend, confidant, and over time has become a second father to me. His name is Gerry. Every time we talk, we descend into laughter and although he has 20 years on me, he can act like a child with the best of us. I love him and his wife very much, and they have helped me through some trying times in my life. After student teaching, Gerry took a high school band position in a different school district and began building phenomenal program from the ground up. When he started a marching band, he called me to teach them drum line. I was already teaching middle school a few towns away and I jumped at the chance to work with Gerry again. We had already made the joke that we would make a great pair, since I was a “Gerry’s Kid.” (older folks will get that joke….like I said, I like witty with a splash of edge).
So it went that I got to help Gerry build his program and after a couple of fall seasons, things were humming along. The kids were playing well, we were having a great time, and bonds were forming in sections of the band. As drummers, we have interesting personalities and the need to loudly express ourselves at all times. It’s a gift. Anyway, when I would warm the line up in the parking lot (on purpose, because in marching band you WEAR the drums, and so when you play standing on pavement it’s louder than grass….pro tip), people would gather round and watch. The drum line loved it and so did I. All drummers have an ego, and the kids fed into this, although I reminded them to not swell their sense of purpose too much, as we were from a small town in New Hampshire that no one can locate on a map. Stay humble kids…
OK, that’s the scene of the evening the kids decided to prank me, not quite knowing how I would react. Time is fuzzy, but I believe it was early fall of 1999 or 2000. Notable for this tale is that I was still walking, but also using a lightweight manual wheelchair that I would fold, and put in the trunk of my car as I drove my sweet blue ’94 Hyundai Excel. I even had a hatchback for quick loading of my drums and said wheelchair. Since this was the pre cell phone era, I would often inform people ahead of time of my arrival, so someone would meet me at my car, unload and unfold the chair, bring it around the side and wait while I stood up, stretched, and then sat down. It was a process, but as I have said many times, EVERYTHING is a process when living with a muscle disease. Often, the entire drum line would come running out of the school when they saw my car, screaming “Moeschen! Moeschen is here! Moeschen!” They told me they were the pit crew and the challenge was to pop the hatch, unload, assemble, and have the chair ready for me in under 10 seconds. And yes they would time this..
One warm evening, as I drove into the high school parking lot, the usual procedure began, but when the chair was open and ready, 3 kids rolled it out of sight around the side of the building. I stood against my car and waited. Another student told me not to worry as they were just “pimping my ride for the evening’s football game.” Inside I was unnerved as I thought to myself….if these guys do anything stupid to my chair, then I’m in big trouble….but outside I smiled because there was no way I was giving a bunch of high school kids the satisfaction of knowing that they rattled me. Punks.
Less than five minutes later, the chair returned. There were colorful streamers on the back and sides, as well as a large gray plastic milk crate attached to the back with bungee cords. Picture E.T. in the bicycle basket, but on the back. The crate was about one-third full with all types of candy. There was also a colorful, hand drawn sign attached to the crate that read, in block letters: MEALS ON WHEELS. It was hilarious. It was also heavy and unbalanced when I sat in the chair. The kids didn’t care, and began rolling me through the band room as the ensemble of about 60 kids took turns laughing and then helping themselves to Starburst, packets of M&M’s, and bite-sized candy bars. I was a rolling Halloween display and I realized that the kids meant no disrespect at all. Instead, this was just another way to make light out of a situation that someone handicapped with a good sense of humor (me), might find amusing. A few moments later, band director Gerry emerged from his office to see what all the noise was about. Everyone got quiet. I’ve been around hundreds of educators in my time, but no one comes close to Gerry at being able to SILENCE a room of rowdy high school kids with only his presence and icy stare. When he saw me, the streamers hanging off the chair, and the crate, he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, casually walked over to me with a disgusted look on his face, and looked at the drum line. He went behind me, paused, and said: “Wow, Tootsie-Rolls. That’s what I’ll have.”
The room erupted.
Stay safe, stay awesome, and stay tuned.
PS: Anthem Insurance update….the PCP situation is still unresolved. But hey….meals on wheels.
Patrick moeschen 