The author sporting his Schlitz Beer t-shirt circa 1976.
I’m one of those guys. A fly in the ointment. Not a team player. Perhaps, it’s my “attitude problem”? I’ve always questioned authority, at least when it needs questioning. After all, I grew up in the era when authority was referred to as “The Man”. I still like and use that phrase. In my book, there is a time and place for that sort of thing. Besides, the people that tend to pass out those labels are usually the ones that confuse really good feedback as unnecessary criticism. No?
But how do you reconcile being a classroom teacher, a symbol of authority, with a built in rebel streak in your personality? Simple, you use it to your advantage. For me, it was connecting with the kids that, how can I say this, well, tended to end up the principal’s office on a regular basis. And the best way for me to do that was to let them know that I “got it”.
Cody was always in trouble. He spent more time in D-hall than probably anyone in the whole school. He occasionally got in fights, but usually he was in trouble for disrupting lessons and bothering the people around him that were trying to work. I liked him because he was a big kid, but didn’t seem to use that to his advantage like a typical bully. Cody was a sixth grader that fought eighth graders. For some reason, I admired that. I know, I know. But I couldn’t help it.
One day, Cody asked me if he could leave my class early to get to D-Hall. Normally, I would have said no and moved along. The request sounded fishy. But, I stopped and asked him why? He explained that after school, the halls were crowded. He needed time to get to his locker, hit the restroom, and make it to the other end of the school where D-Hall was located. If he was late, another day would be added onto his “sentence”. Perfect explanation. He left two minutes early.
Sometimes, on the days that Cody didn’t have to serve time, he would hang out after class and chat. One day, I noticed he had his t-shirt on inside out. I knew that meant his shirt was out of dress code. “Cody, what’s up with the shirt?” He told me it said Budweiser on it. Oopsy, dress code violation.
I whipped out my phone. Saved in my photos was one of my favorite pictures of me from my jr. high days. Standing next to my Grandpa, on the shores of Lake Huron, was a photo of me wearing a Schlitz Beer t-shirt. Cody loved it.
“Did you wear that to school?” Cody asked.
“All the time, nobody cared about those things back then, not where I lived,” I told him.
I never enforced dress code in my class. Most of the time, dress code violators where girls wearing something too short or too low cut. As a male teacher, there was no way I was wading into those waters. It’s a no win situation. So Cody and I bonded over the fact that we both thought school dress codes sucked.
Then I let Cody in on a little secret. I was technically out of dress code every single day I came to school. He eyed me up and down. He studied every article of clothing I was wearing. Cody finally gave up. “I don’t see anything.”
After swearing him to secrecy, I showed him my belt buckle hidden by my shirttail. It said “Coors”. Cody loved it. He beamed. For me, it was a stupid, private way of sticking it to the man. I collected beer belt buckles and wore a different one every day. Sure no one could usually see my belt buckle, I always wore my shirts untucked. Not a fan of the tuck.
Cody started asking me after class, “What belt buckle are you wearing today?” The answer was Lone Star or Michelob or Miller Lite. He always laughed when he’d catch a glimpse of my buckle while I was teaching. No one else noticed.
Cody worked hard in my class. He tried his best, which is all you can ask. Cody’s skills were below average, but he was learning. In my room at least, he stayed out of trouble. And I think he figured out that doing at least some work in other teachers’ classes kept him out of the principal’s office, for the most part. Occasionally, I’d see him outside the principal’s door and I’d smile and shake my head. I’d flash him my belt buckle and whisper, “shhhh”. Cody was never going to be an angel.
In reality, me wearing beer belt buckles had nothing to do with anything. What really mattered was that Cody knew that I liked him. He knew that I was rooting for him and wanted him to get better, to be better. I used to tell him, “I’m rooting for you, man.” That’s all Cody really needed. The real learning here is not what I taught Cody, it’s what Cody taught me.
Teachers are so busy. Our days are jammed packed and time is a rare commodity. But Cody reminded me that I had to try to connect with my students on some level every day, especially the ones I didn’t think I wanted to. The extra time spent would pay off down the road exponentially. Yes, I’m an authority figure, but I’m also just a guy that hates dress codes, or likes baseball, or watches Dr. Who, or has a boxer named Leroy Brown. Whatever it takes.
This display case shows a few of the belt buckles in my collection.
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