All’s Well that Ends Well

Posted: October 14, 2012 in MiB Hates Us All

I want you to close your eyes. No, not literally, dumbass – how the hell do you expect to read the rest of this piece if you actually close your eyes? Some people… I want you to figuratively close your eyes and imagine yourself as Batman. Not the Batman in the cape with the batarangs and the repressed sexuality and Alfred – but Bruce Wayne the orphan, sitting in the rain, holding his mother’s pearl necklace… Pretty sad, ain’t it? Hold that thought.

This past Friday marked the final day of a chapter in my life – the final day of school. Well, almost – I still have to actually go to school, in school uniform, with my hair cut and my shoes polished to school regulation standards to write my final school exams, so in actuality it was like the 2010 World Cup of final school days. You know, a large hullabaloo about a huge change without the “change” happening at all. But you know what, I actually felt some semblance of sadness at leaving this great educational institution. 13 years of schooling tends to grow on you over the years. Just like scabies. (See, that was a joke. Please don’t come after me for “tarnishing” the esteemed name of St Jiminy’s. I LOVE the College. I have all its albums. Who needs another visit from the Baldstreet Boys? Not I, rabbi.)

As this was an occasion of considerable significance , what with St Jiminy’s finally being able to bid us farewell and send us out into the big bad world, it was obviously organized as an occasion that would be special. An occasion that would be remembered by those attending forevermore.

They decided to do this with an extra-long chapel service which I am certain was a final “Fuck you” to the Muslim boys. Nevertheless, I am pleased to report that I enjoyed it, if only because this event marked the final time that I would ever hear “Make me a channel of your peace”, ever. (I personally prefer the fruit hymn, which can be found in the Songs of Fellowship hymnal – #785 – and which has ecclesiastical lyrical beauties such as “SATSUMA later or you will see” and “His BANANA over me is love”. Sure, His “BANANA”. Classic stuff from a previous altar boy.)

Now, you may have gathered from my writing that I’m not a sentimental being. The last time I shed a manly tear was when I thought Batman died at the end of The Dark Knight Rises, and the time before that was back in ‘Nam. We’re talking about sad tears here, not tears of joy or Tears of Joy – a song so bad that it actually induces tears of pain. But this lack of a lack of emotion will become clear momentarily.

Secondly, as the self-professed modern-day  real-life equivalent of Sherlock Holmes, I notice things. Lots of things. Things that other people don’t usually notice. For example, if a person has several callouses on their hands in certain positions, then one can infer that this person possibly plays stringed instruments. If another person’s pink nail polish on their left hand is a little sloppier than the polish on their right hand, then we can infer they are left-handed, and if this person is a man, then we can almost certainly say that he is gay. Finally, if some Snorlax is walking around with a dazed look in his eyes and a dribble of drool trickling down his chin, I think we can easily deduce that we should stay the fuck away from said lunatic, lest we be eaten.

Anyway, something that I noticed during the Communion of this service that particularly interested me was the sheer pride on every parent’s face when they saw their son. It’s something special, that pride. Something intangible, almost ethereal, yet very very real. I have a hunch that if you were to ask a parent to explain that feeling of pride, they wouldn’t be able to – perhaps the closest feeling is hitting a great golf shot or kicking a douche in the balls or, I don’t know, spiritual enlightenment? I’m just spitballing here.

This was the thing that stood out to me on a night filled with bad jokes and great speeches and blog-bashing and chocolate dessert.  And for a cynic like yours truly to be amazed by something so emotional and raw and unprotected – no barriers, no shades, no shower curtains – well, that’s something. I came to the life-changing realization that parents love their kids unconditionally. Well, seem to love their kids unconditionally – there was a lot of Jesus’ blood being passed around, if you know what I mean.  I guess, at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter whether you’re an astronaut or a pregnant teenage Liverpool supporter who is high and drunk and tasting colours or even, Buddha forbid, the President – your parents still love you. And you should love them.

Unless they forget about you whilst playing Starcraft and leave you to die. Or pimp you out for a minivan. Or force you to don a suit of armour and duel you “to the death”.

Then maybe you should go all Kratos on their ass. Just saying.

© 2012-2013 All Rights Reserved


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