Fart, Fart, Fart, Poopy (Brian Katcher)

 

The author, c. 1993   

The author, c.2023

I remember a high school student once asked me if I felt that my writing style had changed since my own teenage years, and if I ever looked back on stories from that era and felt a disconnect.

"Kid, when I was your age, my entire leisure time could be summed up as 'Hey, let's get some Taco Bell and then go out and BREAK something.'

That was my youth: cheap food, vandalism, and white privilege. 

So why the destructive attitude? I was a smart, funny kid. Why did it never occur to me to write a story or do volunteer work or learn a skill?

I think that when one is a teenager, you really begin to chafe against your role in life. Your parents, your teachers, the damn nosy cops...why can't they let you be you? And yet, there's very little you can accomplish at that age. Every achievement seems like a drop in the bucket. Unless you are unusually talented, you have little opportunity to say 'I created that.'

But it's easy as hell to say 'I destroyed that.' The anarchist symbols in ever bathroom in school? That was me. The collection of 'no parking' signs under my bed? Me again. The Nativity scenes rearranged into pornographic poses? Moi.

A friend of mine once hit a road sign with a paintball during freezing weather, causing a permanent rust spot to develop. He pointed to that with pride for years, until they widened the road and took it down. And then he became a lawyer and a multi-millionaire.

And now I'm a teacher, telling a new generation to mind their manners. The school where I once stole a door inducted me into the alumni hall of fame. I write books.

And yet, sometimes, I just want to get into my car, drive fast, and steal a few lawn gnomes.