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classes
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Expires 10-31-90_
Hanna
Continued from Page 13
to just the two of us, I drilled him in
the head for the victory.
Twenty-three years of bitter frus
tration found a resolution that day.
After eons of athletic failure, it dawned
on me that to win, I only needed to
play against people smaller, slower
and weaker than me.
As I revelled in my triumph, I saw
Destroyo brooding over in the comer
with one of the girls in the class. I
I recognized the girl as the one I had
teased in the hall earlier that day.
They were whispering and looking at
me with angry faces.
Then, I saw something that stopped
my heart. They were holding hands.
Oh no! It couldn’t be. I turned to one
of my classmates to ask a question.
“Are Destroyo and that girl dat
ing?” I asked.
My classmates looked at me,
puzzled. I rephrased the question in
junior high terminology.
“I’m sorry, are Destroyo and that
girl going together?”
“Oh! Yeah, they’re real serious,”
he said. “If you so much as look at his
girl, he’ll pummel you into the earth.”
I gulped. It was easy to beat Destroyo
- in the protected confines of P.E. class,
but he was big enough to crush me on
the lawless frontiers outside of class.
Just then, he walked up to me.
^ mmm ana w ■■ mm mm mm mm mm warn ■
“Hey, new kid,” he grunted. “I
hear you were picking on the girl I’m
going with. You’re dead after school.
Meet me at the Crik.”
Then he shoved me against the
wall and walked out of the gym.
I remembered the Crik from my
original tenure at Pound. It’s where
kids met to fight after school. I man
aged to make it through all three
years of junior high without making
an appearance at the Crik and now, on
my first day back, I had an engage
ment with the toughest kid in school.
“You’re as good as dead,” some
kid next to me said.
And he was right. Destroyo was a
big boy and I wouldn ’ t stand a chance
at the Crik.
The entire school was abuzz for
the rest of the day with the news about
Destroyo annihilating the new kid.
The air of a condemned man hung
about me all day and the kids avoided
me like a root canal.
At lunch, nobody would sit next to
me. I ate in solitude contemplating
my after-school doom. At one point,
1 dropped a cafeteria plate, generat
ing applause from my appreciative
classmates. Yet when they realized
that it was me who had dropped the
plate, they all fell silent. Nobody
wanted to have fun at the expense of
a walking dead man.
After school, I headed down to the
Crik. The entire school was assembled
in a circle when I got there. I even saw
my health teacher in the crowd.
Destroyo was already there, wait
ing in the center of the throng. He was
breaking cinder blocks over his head
in preparation for our battle.
I walked into the circle and ap
proached Destroyo. I knew that if I
was to continue living, I’d have to
reason with him.
“Ready to bleed?” he asked.
“No, but thanks for asking,” I said.
“Listen, Destroyo, before you beat
me up, I’d like to address the crowd.
I’d like to say a few words, my last
words if you will, to all of our class
mates.
“He’s stalling. Pound his face in
Destroyo!” a voice cried out. It was
the health teacher.
“No, I’m in no hurry,” Destroyo
said. “Let’s hear him out. It will make
his miserable death all the more satis
fying.”
“Thanks Destroyo, you’re a prince.
My fellow classmates, I am here on a
special mission today. In addition to
providing you with a great deal of
entertainment as I’m battered about
like a rag doll, I’d like to give you
some advice.
“I know it’s hard to be a junior
high student these days. We are at an
awkward age. We want the right to be
autonomous human entities while at
the same time struggling with our
dependence on our parents and oth
ers.
“Many of us, in our frustration,
turn to attenuon-gctting acts like
violence and theft, in hopes that our
voice can penetrate the walls of apa
thy that imprison us. We seek spiri
tual solace in a chaotic, seemingly
uncaring universe of angst and indif
ference. Our dilemma is reminiscent
of those detailed by the existentialists
like Sartre and Descartes.
“But I am here to tell you that you
don’t need crime to be cool. Crime is
a dead end street. There arc other
ways to strike out on the paths of
independence. To get the respect that
we as teen-agers deserve, we must
channel our frustrations into positive,
constructive avenues. Instead of
mugging an old lady, join a church
group. Instead of assaulting a stranger,
volunteer at a nursing home. Instead
of fighting, try compassion and coop
eration. Not only will your oppres
sors view you with infinitely more
respect, you will view yourself with
more respect. You can stand up and
say ‘Hey, I am somebody and I have
something to say.’
“So join with me! Let’s take up
arms in our struggle, using weapons
of caring, understanding and personal
growth. What do you say, are you
with me?’’
i Before I could get an answer,
Dcstroyo beat the crap out of me.
So now I’m recovering from both
the physical and menial scars of my
undercover experience. I was naive
to assume I could have an impact on
a phenomenon as powerful as adoles
cence.
Why arc there so many teen-age
crimes in Lincoln? I don’t know.
Maybe It’s just a temporary statistical
aberration.
But now, eight years after going
through my middle teen-age years, I
think the most likely answer is simply
... kids will be kids.
I, thank God, won’t ever be a kid
again.
Hanna is a senior theater major and a
Daily Nebraskan reporter and columnist.
Leaves
Continued from Page 12
admitting it.
Schumacher, Srcen and Lewis
all perform expertly. Schumacher
is a nervous, eccentric Shaughnessy
and an eternal loser. And Breen,
though a hit too forceful at limes as
Bunny, plays a passionate force in
keeping the play off kilter.
But it is Lewis who generates
the tears as well as the laughs.
Bananas snaps from sane to silly
with subtle fluidity. One moment
she draws the audience into the
apartment with a warm soliloquy
about housekeeping, the next she
barks like a dog.
“The House of Blue Leaves” is
filled with deranged dialogue,
Hollywood action and emotional
teeters— nothing less. These days,
too many people choose movies
over plays for the happy endings
and ”fecl-good” imagery. This play
is a fine reminder ol why.
HERM'S
The Student Survival Store
1644 T 474-6592
Mon.-Tues.-Wed.
COLD BEER SPECIAL
Old Style & Old Style Light
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Keystone & Keystone Light
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Natural Light
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Chopped Sirloin Dinner
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Includes Texas Toast and Choice of
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! Student I.D. needed. !
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$12
Centrum Plaza
476-1818
This week only.
October 8-13