laozi and My Path
The Old Master, Laozi, philosopher and creator of the Dao De Jing 《道德經》instructed pupils regarding “The Path”. Like the Old Master himself, the concept of the path is vague but has been a part of Asian traditions and customs for millennia. How this relates to us, without overthinking things, is to simply just follow the natural course of our lives.
Before I share about the path I took forward after that conversation with the coach, it is important to look back at some of the earlier events on said path.
My middle school years were key years for me. The single most impactful point was the moment the nickname “Scrawny Johnny” came into being. I was walking through the halls of that ancient monolith, formerly the old Lovell High School building, which sadly has since been torn down. (The current high school had moved to a new location.) Basked in the endearing odor of mold, mildew, sweat from many generations of students and likely a little bit of asbestos inside the aged red brick building, three boys approached me near my locker thinking themselves tough guys. One shoved me while another one stated:
“Little Red Unit why are you so skinny?”
“Seriously John you’re so scrawny.” Another one said in follow up.
The third one then started a little chant “Scrawny Johnny, Scrawny Johnny, Scrawny Johnny.”
I considered spouting back some insult including a lazy eye, buck teeth and a big butt, but it was three against one, so I figured the smart move was to keep my mouth shut, suck it up and let the moment pass.
Now these were just kids being kids. No harm, minor foul.
Their intentions were certainly not of the polite variety, but I, likely more than any other, couldn’t stop thinking about the accidental words of perfection that arose in that moment of chaos.
Several classmates in proximity picked up on the melodic flow of the chant and a new era was born.
I embraced those two words, owned them.
Learning to be Scrawny Johnny: School Bus Warrior for Justice
At the time our family was still living on County Road 12 ½. My siblings and I rode the bright yellow Big Horn County School District No. 2 bus number 12 to and from the school every day. 40 minutes in the morning, another 40 in the evening. This combined 80 minutes was the best time of the day. This was a time with no obligations. There was nothing we could do other than nap or talk with friends as we bounced along country roads awaiting our arrival at various destinations along the way.
Students would sit scattered throughout the forest green seats in clumps. Engaged with others in showing off their new Fastback tennis shoes from JC Penny, or sharing their new cool Lisa Frank designed Trapper Keeper or gossiping about whatever people at the time thought noteworthy.
I would usually sit near Eric, an aspiring comedian and musician several years my senior. Eric was the funniest person I knew. (Shanghai Comedy Club comics don’t come close to this guy.) The number of different jokes he had memorized was awe inspiring. I was always a willing listener as he practiced his delivery.
Our bus driver was an elderly gentleman, kind and generally unconcerned with anything other than the safe delivery of students to school and home again. Coincidentally, in the same year “Scrawny” became the regular name used by all to address me, our bus driver decided to retire leading to a new bus driver taking his place.
Mrs. J became the newly appointed driver of bus number 12 just as I was coming into my own exploring what it meant to be the recently christened Scrawny Johnny.
Unlike her predecessor, the newly appointed wicked witch of the southwest bus route strove to dominate that bus and have complete control over everything that happened therein. Under her reign, laughing was strictly forbidden. Particularly the loud echoing laugh that poured out of me as I gasped for breath listening to Eric’s award worthy routines.
The first day with her as our driver was filled with commands directed at me, from the supreme ruler to an increasingly unwilling subject.
“Scrawny, be quiet.”
“Sorry, Mrs. J.” I replied meekly.
“Scrawny, shut up, I can’t concentrate with you laughing.”
“These jokes are so funny, I’m sorry I’ll try to be a little quieter.”
“If you don’t shut your mouth now, I’m gonna kick your ass both ways to Sunday.”
“Mrs. J I’m only laughing. let Eric tell you a joke, you’ll see they’re hilarious.”
“There will be no jokes on my bus. If you laugh again, I’m going to set you in a seat up front away from your friends.” She threatened.
On day two, she assigned me to the seat directly behind her.
On the third day as I climbed onto the bus, she stared at me with the gaze of a rabid wolf eying its prey. She a predator of renown, me a lowly red panda unworthy of anything other than her punishment meted out in public as an example to all of what would happen if they stepped out of line. No words were said, but I clearly understood that if I attempted to sit anywhere other than my assigned seat there would be hell to pay.
I spent the next 160 minutes of bus time pondering the unjustness of my situation. Sitting alone in that permanent time-out seat in the front of the bus I decided that I needed to swiftly stand up to the tyranny of that cruel driver. Someone needed to otherwise the sanctity of the bus ride would erode ultimately resulting in what was the best time of the day becoming the most miserable.
Soon, I realized the advantages of the position she put me in. Being seated behind her, and knowing she must keep her eyes on the road and hands on the wheel, I was in the perfect position to execute all the plans I could think of to thwart her. Like American guerilla fighters facing off against the British in an unprecedented manner, I silently declared a one-man peasant revolution against the greatest threat to freedom the students of bus number 12 had ever faced. I, Scrawny Johnny, would be the warrior the people needed.
I started with what I considered small actions. For the next week I carried small packs of rubber bands, saved from an existence of drudgery in the science room, in my school bag. I hung a target on the wall in the bedroom I shared with my brother. I would then loop the rubber bands across the tip of my index finger and stretch them back as far as I could with my right hand, pointing my outstretched finger at the bullseye and release.
I practiced tirelessly, scoring my accuracy. Trialing different methods of load and release some involving left palm parallel to the ground, some with left palm perpendicular. Right hand sometimes gripping the rubber band between thumb and index finger, others hooking it with index finger only.
Loading speed, I figured, was also vital to successful attacks. I rehearsed speed-rounds placing and firing the ammunition as quickly as possible. During these speed rounds I learned that leaving the index fingernail slightly longer allowed for top stability and using thin, medium circumference bands resulted in the most precise pull and release.
Because the bus driver was a living creature, I needed to practice on a non-static target to develop agility and adaptability for fluid situations. I would patiently wait for my unsuspecting brother to enter the bedroom then fire a barrage of rubber bands which would then turn to full scale battles.
Through diligent preparation and training I finally perfected the art of shooting rubber bands. My skills in the 3-to-5-foot range were impeccable.
Executing the Plan
The day of my first uprising had arrived, it was a Friday. I waited until the afternoon ride home to engage. I correctly figured the wicked witch would be quite angry and therefore a weekend to cool off would be beneficial to me regarding any fallout that was sure to happen.
In that first retaliation no fewer than fifty rubber bands were fired during the 40-minute bus ride. I based this on the fact that the pack of 100 rubber bands was about half full by the time I exited the bus. Granted, as this was the first time I engaged in such tactics I was a bit nervous and only had an approximate accuracy rate of 90 percent.
Mrs. J was obviously livid. As I suspected, her need to look forward and hold onto the steering wheel saved me from any physical harm but the vocal assault she sent my way was legendary and would likely cause my mother undo anxiety if I were to document the exact words here.
The following Monday as we arrived at the school, an announcement rang out on the crackling old speakers of the PA system：
“Will the students of bus number 12 please come to the principal’s office.”
I knew in my heart this was regarding the events that happened the previous Friday afternoon. I was correct. All the other students were allowed to leave for their classes. While I was introduced for the first of many times to the principal, Mr. Opp.
The attack was a complete success. Bus rides would never be the same again.
老子與我走的路
老爺子，哲學家，《道德經》的創造者，教導學生關於“道”的知識。就像老夫子本人一樣，這條道路的概念很模糊，但幾千年來一直是亞洲傳統和習俗中的一部分。這與我們的關係，在不過都思考的情況下，就是簡單地遵循我們生活的自然進程。
在我分享我與教練的那次談話后我所走的道路之前，回顧上述道路上的一些早期事件是很重要的。
我的中學時代對我來説是關鍵的幾年。最有影響力的一點是“骨瘦如柴-約翰尼”，這個綽號誕生的那一刻。在古老的紅磚建築内，當我走在周圍都是黴菌，多代學生的汗水，可能還有一點石棉氣味中，三個男孩子在我的儲物櫃附近走進我，認爲自己是硬漢。一個人推了我一把，另一個人說：
“小紅部隊，你怎麽這麽瘦？”
“説真的，約翰，你骨瘦如柴。” 另一位在跟進中說。
第三個然後開始了小小的吟唱 “骨瘦如柴約翰尼”，“骨瘦如柴約翰尼”，“骨瘦如柴約翰尼”
我考慮回擊一些包括錯位眼睛，齙牙和打屁股的侮辱，但這是三對一，所以我認爲聰明的決定是閉嘴，讓那一刻過去。
這些只是孩子在作爲孩子。無傷大雅，輕微犯規。
他們的意圖當然不是禮貌的，但我，可能比任何其他人都多，一直想著在那混亂的時刻，意外出現的完美的話語。
附近的幾位同學聼到了吟唱的旋律流，導致新時代誕生了。
我接受了這兩個詞，讓它們成爲我自己的。
學習成爲骨瘦如柴-約翰尼: 正義校車戰士
當時，我們家還住在12 ½ 縣道上。我和我兄弟姐妹每天乘坐亮黃色的大角縣2號學區，12號公交車往返學校。早上40分鐘，晚上40分鐘。這加起來的80分鐘是一天中最好的時間，是一個沒有義務的時間。除了打盹或與朋友聊天外，因爲我們在鄉間小路上蹦蹦跳跳，我們無能爲力，等待到達沿途的各個目的地。
學生們會在深綠色座位，散落成群結隊地坐著。與其他人展示他們來自JC Penny 的新款球鞋，或分享他們新的酷炫麗莎-佛蘭克設計的文件夾，或者八卦當時人們認爲重要的事情。
我通常會坐在一位大我幾歲，抱負喜劇演員和音樂家埃里克旁邊。埃里克是我認識的最幽默的人。（上海戲劇俱樂部演員完全跟不上這傢伙。）他記住的不同笑話的數量令人敬畏，鼓舞人心。當他練習講笑話時，我總是一個願意傾聽的人。他讓我每天上學和放學都笑得幾乎要流淚。
我們的校車司機是一位年長的紳士，和藹可親，除了安全送學生上學和回家外，通常不關心任何事情。巧合的是，在同一年，骨瘦如柴成爲所有人用來稱呼我的常用名字，我們的公交車司機決定退休，導致一位新的接替他的位置。
就在我剛剛開始探索成爲最近被命名為骨瘦如柴–約翰尼 意味著什麽的時候，J夫人成爲了12號公交車的新任司機。
與她前任不同，新任命的西南公交綫路的邪惡女巫努力控制那輛公交車，並完全控制了其中發生的一切。在她的統治下，笑是嚴格禁止的。特別是當我喘著粗氣聽著埃里克值得獲獎的笑話時，我大聲地回落著笑聲。
由她為我們司機的第一天，充滿了針對我的命令，從最高的統治者到一個越來越不情願的臣民。
“骨瘦如柴，保持安靜。”
“對不起，J太太。” 我溫順地回答。
“骨瘦如柴，閉嘴！聽你這樣笑我無法集中注意力。
“這些笑話太有趣。對不起，我會盡量安靜一點。“
“如果你現在不閉上你的嘴，我要到星期天雙向踢你的屁股。“
“J太太，我只是在笑。讓埃里克給你講個笑話，妮會瞭解很搞笑。”
“我的公共汽車上不讓有笑話。如果你再笑一次，我會把你放在一個遠離你朋友的前排座位上。”她威脅說。
第二天，她分配我到她的後面的座位上。
第三天，當我爬上公共汽車上時，她盯著我看，就像一隻狂狼盯著獵物一樣。她，一位極有名望的捕食者，我，一隻卑微的小熊貓，除了她在公開場合實施懲罰作爲一個例子，説明如果其他人越界會發生什麽，其他不配。我們沒有説什麽，但我清楚地明白，如果我試圖坐在我指定的座位以外的任何地方，那將是往地獄船的代價。
在接下來的160分鐘的公交車時間裏，我都在思考自己處境的不公正性。獨自一個人坐在公共汽車前部的那個永久暫停座位上，我決定，我需要迅速對抗那個殘忍的司機的暴政。有人需要這樣做，否則乘坐公共汽車的神聖性就會受到侵蝕，最終導致一天中最好的時間變成了最悲慘的時間。
很快，我就意識到她給我的職位的好處。坐在她的身後，知道她必須眼睛盯著路面，雙手放在方向盤上，我處於完美的位置，可以執行我能想到的所有計劃來挫敗她。就像美國游擊隊前所未有的方式與英國人對峙一樣，我默默地宣佈了一場一人農民革命，反對12號公交車的學生所面臨的最大自由威脅。 我骨瘦如柴約翰尼，會成爲人們所需要的戰士。
我從我認爲小的行動開始。接下來的一周，我書包裏裝著一些從科學室苦差事中解脫出來的小包的橡皮筋。我在和弟弟合住的臥室的墻面上挂了一個靶子。我會將橡皮筋纏繞在食指尖上，然後用右手盡可能地將它們向後拉伸，將我伸出來的手指指向靶心並鬆開。
我孜孜不倦地練習，得分準確。試圖不同的上膛和釋放方法，有些涉及左手掌平行於地面，有些左手掌垂直地面。右手有時在拇指和食指之間握住橡皮筋，有時但用食指鈎住它。
我認爲，載入速度對於成功的攻擊也至關緊要。我排練了快速炮彈，儘快放置和發射橡皮筋。在這些快速回合中，我瞭解到讓左手食指指甲稍微長一點可以保持頂部穩定性，還有使用薄的中等周長的橡皮筋可以實現最精確的拉力和釋放。
因爲公交車司機是一個活生生的生物，所以我需要在一個非靜態的目標練習，以培養敏捷性和對不穩定情況的適應能力。我會耐心等待毫無戒心的弟弟進入臥室，然後發射一連串的橡皮筋，這樣很快就變成全面的戰鬥。
通過勤奮的準備和訓練，我終於完善了射擊橡皮筋的技術。我在3到5英尺的技能無可挑剔。
執行計劃
我第一次起義的日子到了，那是一個星期五。我等到下午回家路上才行動。 我正確地認爲邪惡的女巫會非常生氣，因此一個周末冷靜下來對我有益，以應對肯定會發生的任何後果。
在第一次報復中，在40分鐘的公共汽車旅程中，至少有50根橡皮筋被發射。我基於這樣一個事實，即當我下車時，這包100根橡皮筋大約裝滿一半。當然，因爲這是我第一次采用這樣的策略，所以我有點緊張，只有大約90%的準確率。
J太太顯然很活潑。正如我所猜的那樣，她需要一直向前看並握住方向盤，這使我免於受到任何身體傷害，但她發出的聲音攻擊是傳奇的。如果在這裏記錄確切的單詞，可能會引起我母親的撤銷焦慮。
接下來的星期一，當我們到達學校時，擴音系統噼啪作響的舊揚聲器上響起了廣播：
“請坐12號校車的同學們到校長辦公室來。
我心裏知道，這與上周五發生的事件有關。我是對的。所有其他的學生允許回去上課，然後我是第一次被介紹給校長，奧普先生。
這次襲擊取得了圓滿成功。乘坐校車再也不會一樣了。