STAG WEEKLY ROUNDUP

So it has been noted that I have been absent from the family blog. My presence, it seems, is missed. I feel honored, truly.

There are various reasons for my absence, of course. A virus-ridden laptop that resulted in a crashed hard drive. The inability to even comment on posts at my school computer due to a filter so strong that it blocks out anything that even whiffs of scandal, violence, or raciness. (Which, thanks to Smell's recent account of her brush with brutality and transgender-living on public transportation, may now severly limit any access to the the 'Millions in the future.) Not to mention a shoddy and irregular internet connection at home which stems from my incorrigable use of my neighbor's wireless connection. However, I was recently inspired by Maureen's first entry into the blogosphere and decided to catch her wave. After all, if a self-professed computer 'tard can post, baby, so can I.

So here it is, what I hope, will be a regular feature-- a weekly round up of the best stories generated from the halls of St. Agnes.

****************************************************

St. Agnes High School has been in existance for 101 years, making it the oldest school run by the Marist Brothers in the U.S. In all that time the school "mascot" has been a stag (you figure out why) and our students are affectionately referred to simply as "stags" by teachers and students alike.

• Raul R. , measuring a cool-clean 5'1" and weighing in at 95lbs is a bit of a spit-fire. Entering in as a new sophomore this year, he does his best to throw his weight around. He's fairly bright and his humor tends towards the ironic, and he possesses an attitude far greater than his diminutive stature. A classic pain in the ass. Spotting him in the crowd within minutes back in September, I placed him in my "seat of honor". Up front, last row from the door, and inches from my desk. Our relationship consists mostly of sarcastic one-upsmanship (I win, of course) laced with gentle nudgings, and we mostly get along famously. Apparently not so for all of his teachers. Today he was kicked out of his math class for talking during a quiz. New teacher, doing her best. As he stood in punishment in the hallway, he took out his cell phone (strictly forbidden) and placed a call. Upon getting an answer, he walked back into his class, active cell phone in hand, and announced to his shocked teacher that his mother was on the line for her. He wasn't lying.

• Senior Timmy S. hatched up a weekend plan that finely illustrates the ingenuity and general quick-wittedness of the Stags. Posing as his uncle, he called himself in sick this morning, a matter that may have generated little notice had Timmy not been Timmy. But anyone who has ever dealt with Timmy knows for damn sure that his guardian is none other than his formidable Aunt Millie. Upon receiving the call, our secretary inquired as to the whereabouts of Aunt Millie, only to be told that she was ill. Whiffing foul play in the air, she phoned Aunt Millie and was told that Timmy was not sick, he was on a school sponsored 3-day retreat that had left the previous afternoon. She even furnished her signed permission slip via fax machine. After a general inquiry to my fellow teacher, friend, and Co-Activities Director, Kate, she was assured that we had cancelled the retreat a week ago. It seems Timmy had planned to take the $90 retreat fee and enjoy a nice long weekend...somewhere. He, of course, was back in time to make it to 2nd period. Go Stags. Enjoy your weekend, Timmy.

• The seniors as a whole, including Timmy, are a wonderful group of boys and by far my favorite class ever at St. Agnes. Among this really tremendous group are a few I am particularly fond of. One of these (I won't use his name because of the senstive nature of our discussion) approached me after our Psychology class Tuesday and asked if we could talk. Having very little free time, we agreed to have lunch together in my classroom, which triggered off a series of daily conversations this week. (And this is why I really don't blog at school. As a humble priest once told me, God is in the interruptions.) My student had been told early that morning that a friend of his had very recently had an abortion. Extremely bright, at times sardonic and laconic, and disarmingly sensitive, he was calm, but obviously shaken and taken aback by his own reaction. He said he spent 1st period in shock at the news and 2nd and 3rd trying not to cry. I asked him what upset him most and he responded in that direct, simple way that adolescent boys often do when confronted with an emotionally charged situation. "It was a life." We discussed a lot of things (thank God for the Holy Spirit). He wasn't angry at his friend, just scared and hurt for her. He wasn't angry at the world, just bewildered by it. Throughout the week the conversation turned towards other things, his relationship with an absent father whom he loved but wasn't sure loved him back, the elusively uncertain future of a 2nd semester senior, his anxiety over being displaced by a fire that had damaged much of the apartment he grew up in and that his grandparents had lived in for 30 years, only months before--heaven, prayer, forgiveness. But through all of it he kept coming back the baby. Not necessarily the abortion, although that loomed large, but the baby. Last night he dreamt of both the baby and his friend, the mother. In the dream they were all in heaven, but he realized that the baby had no name. "It's seemed so strange," he said to me, "not to have a name." I told him God's knowledge of us didn't require a name. God knew us before we even existed, He loved us first. God would know this baby. "Yeah, but, how am I going to find it?" So we talked some more.