You Matter: A Collection of Statuses

Chapter 1. The First Journey

My Journey Begins

Hi! I’m William Macanack. Great to meet ya. A lot of people seem to ask where I’m from on a pretty regular basis, so…

I was born in Kingston, New York, and my life began at a very young age. Seriously, Kingston is a small town in the middle part of the state. It seems cool to say that I was born In New York, unless my mom created a false birth certificate. That would NOT be cool.

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My mom recently reminded me of a funny story that happened when I was little. While at church, it seemed that I locked someone in the janitor’s closet. I was two years old at the time, so I totally knew what I was doing… NOT! Here’s what happened…

My mom was chatting in the church office, while I played in the small foyer nearby. Though I was within eyeshot of her, she was deep in conversation and I was deep in imaginative play. Being the inquisitive little boy that I was, I noticed one of the ladies with papers in hand. (Now I realize the lady was an administrative assistant working there, and she had papers in hand because the closet was where the church copy machine was located.) One of my favorite childhood things to do was to close doors, even before I was tall enough to open them! And, that is exactly what I did.

This poor woman walked into the closet, and I toddled behind her and shut the door. As mom recalls, it took nearly 15 minutes for the other ladies to realize where the knocking noises were coming from. To everyone’s surprise, the church secretary was not doing an errand, but she was instead locked in the closet! I still feel guilty to this day for that poor woman, but she survived and probably forgot all about that awkward circumstance.

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Our family moved to North Carolina, although I was too young to remember much about that time. I wasn’t the brightest student growing up, but really enjoyed creating and collecting anything my little hands could grasp. I would collect things like Pokémon cards, matchbox cars and knowledge. Some of my favorite memories growing up were of trading cards with my friends and sisters. Then I discovered the concept of money and, oh boy, was I a hustler.

Figure 1. Our First House

Some of my earliest memories are of having a house camp, where all the cool kids from my school and my neighborhood would come to my home for summer fun while their parents worked. I felt like I had no friends at the time, but pretending was the best I could do to fit in. We had the best water balloon battles and shaving cream disasters. Since we lived right in front of a lake, it was easy to jump into the murky water, but we didn’t care one bit. There were spiritual lessons after our weekly fun. All of us would sit around a campfire or fireplace, sharing stories about our messed-up week. In my opinion, I had the best stories.

For those who don’t know what a shaving cream fight is like, I’ll explain. Everyone starts off with a can of shaving cream, a pair of dope-looking goggles, and a flimsy piece of cardboard. The moderator blasts a water gun up into the air after counting down from three. Everyone runs around the grassy yard, firing their shaving cream at each other. You lose when you run out of ammo. Whoever is the filthiest, wins. It was truly loads of fun, although, now that I think about it, it might not have been such a great idea for little kids to play. The chemicals in the shaving cream could have been dangerous.

School… Ugh!

School encouraged me and discouraged me all at the same time. Most of us can agree that what you did in elementary school would eventually dissipate over time, being a happy little experience that we enjoyed, right? Unfortunately, for me, it was mostly filled with inconceivably judgmental people that would leave a big stain on my heart, but let me not get too far ahead of myself quite yet.

By the way, a lot of people ask me why I’m so randomly filled with unrelated topics, in not just some, but in all conversations. Well, it’s just a quirky part of who I am. One moment we’re talking about what we love about school, and in the next moment, I’m talking about my addiction to video games. This may explain why it’s hard to keep friends.

One day, I noticed that my neighbor-friend went to my school. His name is Garrett, and I really enjoyed his company for many years. Garrett is the kind of person you think would be way too popular to get a Hello from, let alone an invitation to hang out every day, during and after school, to play video games. Garrett, his younger brother Greyson and I goofed around at his place, pretending to be different TV show characters. We battled to the death with plastic swords, conquering imaginary pirate ships and even having water hose wars in our front yards.

Garrett, Greyson and I would host these parties in my backyard, for no apparent reason other than to look like we were the greatest at everything. Man, do I miss the days of coming home from a boring day at school, to seeing Garrett already planning our crazy activities for that evening. At this point of my life, there was no internet access, technology or anything to do with electronics without parents’ permission, and even if we had permission, we would only watch a few episodes of Danny Phantom or Ned’s Declassified. So, we had plenty to do outside for hours on end. The day Garrett moved out of our neighborhood would be one of the hardest in my life.

Let’s rewind and go back a few years. Near the end of kindergarten, my life began to really change quickly. I was diagnosed with an eyesight issue. Prescription glasses aren’t cheap, but each year that I got them, my parents did their best to let me choose my favorite pair. My recommended new font size at school was 18-point, which now seems ridiculously huge. I mean look at HOW BIG IT IS! I could fit maybe three paragraphs on one page and call five pages a novel. My classmates gave me a label that would stick with me for a very long time: FOUR EYES. This bothered me, and I felt ashamed, thinking it was my fault that my eyes weren’t normal. I continued for the rest of the year, believing that I would leave these insane children behind when I went to the next year.

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Let’s skip to the third grade. To my surprise, the end of year test would be my first failure. I was told that I passed, which was the best feeling ever, but when I talked with my parents, I found out it was a mistake. In fact, I had failed and would be held back one year. (This was right at the time in my country’s history when the No Child Left Behind Act passed, but the kinks had not yet been worked out to address how kids like me, who didn’t test well, would be affected.) This destroyed me, because I was so sure I was not supposed to repeat. I then stopped caring about my grades. The following year, I faced the tough test again and was so happy when I passed.

I moved to the fourth-grade. I was so nervous, that it felt as if my heart stopped. I asked questions like, What if they judge me? What if they think I’m ugly or know about my third-grade failure? I remained calm as I approached some of the idiots I’d have to deal with for the next two years.

I met a guy named Taylor. He was the kind of guy who looked as if he could beat up anybody for any reason, and he did. He acted all nice at first, getting to know me. Once he knew me, he began using my weaknesses against me. I told him I hated being called names and hearing any form of derogatory words. What did he do every day of that entire year? He called me terrible names, using every swear word you could think of. He wouldn’t beat me up physically as much, but the words stung worse than a wasp injecting poison multiple times.

Taylor wasn’t alone, though. He had a wingman, named Andon, a name which is still hard to hear. I was depressed for many years because of these two hurtful guys. I may never know their stories or reasoning for the way they treated me, but their actions hurt and even scarred me.

I met another kid named Carlos. He seemed kind of intelligent at times, but I was pretty sure something was up with him. My birthday came around, and I invited Carlos to my party, which was a blast. We had cake, ice cream, and good company without Taylor and Andon ruining any of it. My friendship with Carlos wouldn’t last however, because he became influenced by Taylor. I felt let down pretty hard and started to stuff my emotions; I was afraid I’d be too humiliated if anyone found out.

My First Crush

While all this was going on, I developed feelings, but not just any feelings. I would have the biggest crush for another fourth grader, named Kayla. I was riding the bus every day to and from school. I noticed a girl from the bus line near mine; it would be impossible for me to miss her. From what I remember, she always wore a bright pink hoodie and jeans. I would blush for a few seconds and then act like nobody knew what was going on. I’d occasionally see her chat with her girlfriends; then, I would read my book and go home. She was always picked up by a big blue truck a minute before I was picked up by a car with my mom in the driver’s seat. I saw her on the days when I would wait for the school bus too, with its loud, rambunctious animals that I called humans.

Side note: I grew to hate the school bus; its off-color yellow reminded me of someone’s nasty vomit. Bus rides were a horrible excuse for the boys to congregate and play on the gameboy or trade Pokémon cards. I was never lucky to have the window seat, and very rarely got my chance at the end of the bench to participate. I admit that I was great at negotiating Pokémon card trading, on the rare occasions where I was included. Even though I didn’t have good cards, except for a holographic Venusaur, I’d purposely trade all my good cards for Weedles and Caterpies. I did this to have more cards and to trade a bunch of them for better ones… except for my precious third generation Bulbasaur. Trading was the only thing that I looked forward to on my way home from school on those days.

Let’s skip ahead to the end of my fifth grade and get back to my first crush. It was time for my first-ever school dance; boy, I was more nervous than a fox at a hound convention. Except, I felt like I was everyone’s prey (in the bullying sense). I wondered why I attended this event, because our class did perform pretty poorly after all. We had always missed all the good class events, because some individuals tried to cause drama during the year. At least Taylor and Andon weren’t in my class that year. I’m pretty sure we were able to party at this dance, because it was at the end of the year and one of our students, Kelsey, had the highest grades in the class… maybe even of the whole school. I knew I had no chance with her, but did admire her persistence in always wanting to be the best at everything.

School was a challenge; I never did well with the Accelerated Reader Program. If it had been up to me, we’d probably be playing more and reading less. I continued to be bad at test taking.

I walked into the dance with my hand-me-down clothes, drank some fruit punch in a corner and watched everyone party. I noticed Kayla (my first crush) having a blast. I thought to myself, If it is time to make a move, now will be it. From what I remember, she was in the middle of the dance floor, and I told her how I felt. To my surprise, Taylor (my enemy) showed up behind me without warning; he mocked me for having feelings and the guts to let ‘em out. He laughed, and I believe she chuckled too. I think she was thinking I was crazy, because I hadn’t known that Taylor was in a relationship with her. I started to focus on the embarrassment a little too much; for weeks. I was too ashamed to tell anybody, and protected myself by not sharing from then on out. My first love was a partner with the enemy, and I was labeled as the class clown. For the rest of that year, I was okay making people laugh while revealing blunt mistakes that I’d done. As long as everyone was having a