Michael Shannon

A funny thing happened on the way to the classroom. In the classroom actually since that’s where teachers spend most of their time.

This is not a story about how hard working or smart teachers are, no it’s about the students and I use that term pretty loosely. Like all endeavors the number of good bad and indifferent teachers stays about the same. Carpenters, electricians, truck drivers and most trades and professions have people who should be given a bonus, be ignored or be fired. Humans are humans across the board. Your kids are no exception to the rule.

I once had a boy whose only ambition was to be a gangster, not a pretend one but the real thing. He did no classwork, turned in papers covered with personal insults and made himself the center of attention whenever he could. This of course called for a parent teacher conference which is the polite way to say you are about to have your wisdom teeth pulled without anesthetic. At the agreed upon time his mother walked in the door . We introduced ourselves. I didn’t ask about the father since few fathers ever show, These things appear to be almost exclusively mom’s job. I don’t say this lightly either. I attended a “Scared Straight” presentation at the California Mens Colony prison in San Luis Obispo and the audience who had come to witness their boys be scared straight by a tag team of convicted murderers were nearly all mothers. The Killers immediately noted this and made a very big deal of it. As a high school teacher I can only recall one couple even coming to back to school night. It was always the mother. My personal belief is that this is a huge problem particularly with boys.

So, back to the Mrs and her gangster son. After introduction I showed her to my desk and its adjacent visitors chair. Before we arrived she said to me, “You know, Bobby’s my baby boy.*” I stopped in my tracks, turned and ordered her out because I knew that any further conversation would be a complete waste. At least in fantasy teacher world I might have done so but of course I couldn’t nor wouldn’t. Instead we had a pleasant meeting. She talked about the hopes for her youngest, suggestions were made and we parted on a high note. You won’t be surprised that the boy achieved his goal and spent a couple of years in the joint on gun and drug charges. The kicker is that when he got out he came back to school, met me in the parking lot when I was heading home, shook my hand and apologized for his behavior. This kind of thing only happens in the teaching trade.

The grind lasts for about 187 school days and if that seems pretty light weight as jobs go you’ve obviously never spent them in a classroom. The kids themselves can make your job easy if you help them or a living hell if you don’t. Whatever the annual mix of personalities, by the time you have run out the days of your contract everyone is more than ready for some relief. One year you might be contemplating suicide and others will put a bounce in your step that is unforgettable.

In 2004 the 187th day came. All the young men, still boys really were mentally if not quite physically out of there. The thirty or so kids were all seniors and were looking ahead and not behind. The usual thing in my classes were to order up some food and just let every one decompress, shake hands, say goodbye and be out the door at the bell, sixth period, it’s all over now.

This particular class was a rare one. Students all got along, most of them friends from the same Middle School, almost all with nicknames, a particular boy thing that is. There was J-Money, Diddy, John Boy and the day’s hero who was better know as Shaggy. That name not a mystery if you ever watched Scooby Doo. After roll was taken Mister Shaggy raised his hand and asked if the class could watch a movie. Not surprisingly he just happened to have one. Everyone thought that was a good idea so I cued it up and started to roll film.

To me it turned out to be a most astonishing experience. At the end you could have heard a pin drop. There was absolute silence then from the back row someone said “Mister Shannon, can we watch it again?” Mind you, the bell was about to ring ending high school for all of them and yet they wanted to spend nearly two hours watching the same movie! Did they secretly realize that the protected cocoon they had inhabited for nearly their entire lives, coddled, protected and treasurede, where all rules were understood and tomorrow was a known quantity was going away forever?

I understand now that it was and always will be the greatest young man movie of all time, bar none. The two main characters, played by two veteran character actors, quite unlike each other but played with such skill as to make the performance seem seamless. A Britisher and a US Navy brat, two of the most respected men, versatile actorswho were considered to be among the finest practitioners of their art.

A film that spoke directly to young men with dreams. The experience was one of the finest moments of my teaching career. You see, we all live on dreams but most reluctantly put them away in some dresser drawer where they are mostly forgotten.

This is not written to praise the actors though surely Michael Caine and Robert Duval made the roles of Hub and Garth genuine.

At its core, Secondhand Lions is about the courage to live fully, to dream without shame, and to stand for something—even if that something is fantastical. Garth and Hub may blur the line between reality and fiction, but their emotional truth is rock solid.

Sometimes the things that may or may not be true are the things a man needs to believe in the most. That people are basically good; that honor, courage, and virtue mean everything; that power and money, money and power mean nothing; that good always triumphs over evil; and I want you to remember this, that love… true love never dies. You remember that. You remember that. Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. You see, a man should believe in those things, because those are the things worth believing in.

So fare thee well Mr. Duval and though my boys a I can never thank you in person for what you’ve done we will never forget the lessons. Dream on.

• Not his real name

Michael Shannon is a former teacher. He lives and writes from California.