Sagging

It's true that when I was younger and even stupider than I am today, I liked to sag. I'm sure I looked ridiculous. Problem was, being a white boy, my back side wasn't shaped for sagging. Now I wouldn't dream of sagging, but I don't understand why it upsets so many people my age.

Yesterday I saw Champ and Alex in Ms. Stanton's office gettin' the gulo gulo, so I thought I'd step in to help the good-natured Ms. Stanton shake down the suspects. I found the conversation a bit out-of-this-world.

Champ was being told to change his clothes before he enters Year 12, and Alex needs to cut his hair.

I like stressin' students as much as the next teacher, but I couldn't keep a straight face here. Champ and Alex have talent. Neither one of them will ever be a mathematician, but Champ is a rapper and Alex can make computers sing. They have a website, under construction, and I can recommend the first and third songs. I didn't listen to the second song because Champ told me "it has too many swear words for a teacher's ears."

Champ has style, too. I looked at Champ's uniform. His shirt was clean and pressed and so were his trousers. Admittedly, they were fiddies (size 50s) but that's the style these days. Alex has a style all his own, too. It's sort of the I-don't-give-a-damn style. He's not trying to make a statement with his hair, it just doesn't get combed or cut very often, because he has better things to do, like build websites, program in C++, or go to the bookstore. I spend a lot of time in bookstores, and Alex is the student I see most frequently. That's a good thing.

In the end, as it usually does, it came down to underwear.

"See!" Ms Stanton said, "I just saw your underwear!"

"What color is it?" retorted Champ.

"It's white, with some sort of patterns."

Champ lifted his shirt triumphantly. His boxers were purple.