Spaz Attack! Part 1 : Spaz Magnet

When I was growing up, the myriad of disorders that our children are said to suffer from (now diagnosed and treated) were, in many instances, ignored and/or dealt with in a much less medical fashion. Kids are generally devoid of acceptable social behavior, and must be taught "right from wrong". As a result of this, the children who possessed "different" qualities ranging from social ineptness (A.K.A. nerdyness) all the way to Down syndrome or mental retardation were often ridiculed. There was always specific name calling that went directly to the affliction of the child, but the one sweeping term that could be applied to any of them was "Spaz". Nerds, the "slow", bi-polar, OCD, those with varying levels of mental retardation, sociopaths, ADHD, autism, Assburger's... they were all just "A big spaz". While this is not a nice or proper way to refer to those with issues they can not control, I always found it to be a kinder and gentler childish label than any other.

As for myself... I had a pretty easy time in school. I was decent at sports, had a lot of friends, was fairly intelligent, and experienced minimal problems with bullies. I had my eccentricities, as most do, but I never fit the profile of a spaz as I understood it. I was raised by loving parents who taught me to respect the feelings of others, and always try to be a good person. I suppose this has served me well and made me who I am today, but I have experienced one problem that started early and has plagued me throughout my life.

I am a spaz magnet.

I have often felt as though I am wearing an invisible sandwich board, that only the spazzes can see, and that says something like: "I am a nice guy... I will not snap at you or tell you to get lost... I would never even consider teasing or physically harming you... and I will listen to whatever you have to say for however long you want to talk." Now don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with being a spaz. Most of us know and love a spaz, or someone who was a spaz and grew out of it. It could be your child, your cousin, your spouse, a friend, and if you can't think of a spaz in your life; the spaz is probably you. Spazzes are usually harmless and many of them are good people, but for a kid, close contact with a spaz can be an unnerving experience. I have tried a number of different ways to politely distance myself from the spazzes that have flocked to me over my lifetime, but have always been unsuccessful.

I have tried everything from saying, "O.K. then, you have a nice day.", to just ignoring the intrusion. Alas, they just continue on, telling me about every nice day they've had... ever, or they position themselves in such a way that it is impossible to pretend they are not there. There are those of you who may think I am simply over-reacting, but I assure you, I am not.

The following are just a few, specific examples of spaz related trauma I experienced early in life. The scope of my spaz magnetism is much too extensive to document in detail.

1980 - Stinkweed Pete enters kindergarten and is immediately targeted by classmate Heidi who is eventually moved to another class after her harassment culminates in an incident in which she refuses to let her "boyfriend" Pete go to the bathroom, resulting in a pair of pooped pants.

1982 - Stinkweed Pete is in second grade and has been hounded by classmate Mark who has a light case of mental retardation. Mark follows Pete everywhere, joins the same sports teams and clubs, were he spends most of his time pulling the elastic out of his tube socks and eating it. He is ultimately sent to a "special class" after grabbing a female teacher's breasts and yelling "Tune in Tokyo!"

1983 - Stinkweed Pete is asked to attend a birthday party for a classmate named John. John seems normal, and Pete is happy to have a new friend. Pete is invited to a sleep over at John's later that month and eagerly accepts. Pete is horrified to find out that John has an extensive collection of Chinese throwing stars, likes to steal his older sister's underwear and model it for his guests, and enjoys calling his mom a "C" bomb (To her face!). Pete wakes up to John standing over him with an axe and never visits again, but is now viewed by John as his "new best friend".

1984 - Stinkweed Pete is in fourth grade and gains the admiration of classmate Gabe, who lives close to Pete. Gabe comes by Pete's house after school every day asking to "play". Pete's mother, unaware that Gabe is a spaz, repeatedly invites him inside the house, where he slowly steals Pete's Lego collection three or four pieces at a time. He was eventually caught by Pete's father with a load of Lego Knights and Horses in his pockets and, after punching Pete's dad in the groin when confronted with the attempted theft, is banned from the household.

1985 - Stinkweed Pete is in fifth grade and is continuously avoiding a girl named Mandy with Down syndrome. Earlier that year, Pete was being nice to Mandy and speaking to her in a hallway at the school. A bully approached and said, "Why you talkin' to the tard?". Seeing the sadness in Mandy's eyes and immediately feeling sorry for her, Pete replied, "Because your mom was busy.", which resulted in a split lip. Regardless of his sore mouth, Pete felt good about his defense of Mandy, but in an unfortunate turn of events, she attempted to kiss him every day well into 1986.

1987 - Stinkweed Pete is nearing the end of his stint in grammar school, and is hoping for a spaz free future at the Junior High. Unfortunately, he is chosen by his teachers for a "special project" helping the "special class", where he is reunited with Mark, makes many new "friends", and where Mandy continues her romantic endeavors. The project was centered around mentoring and assisting the kids in the special class as they made their transition to the Junior High, and Pete was expected to help them from the get-go.

So at this point, I thought I was destined to be knee-deep in spazzes for the rest of my life. In actuality, this may not have been a bother to me other than the general social discomfort that comes with spaz interaction, but I was becoming a shallow teenager and was beginning to worry about my image. The spaz attacks continued through most of the seventh grade, until things came to a breaking point.

The next chapter in the spaz saga does not so much deal with a true spaz, but a physical disability. I was informed by friends that a girl had a "crush" on me. I was very excited. Many of us remember the mysterious and exhilarating feeling of having a secret admirer, and then the thrill of the subsequent hunt to discover their identity. When the person behind the admiration was finally identified, I was confused, flustered, and selfishly disappointed. She was blind. Yep, you read that correctly, a blind girl had a crush on me. Now, again, put your shallow teenager hat on and think of the implications. How do you have a crush on someone you don't know and can't see? I'd like to say that I was still a bit flattered, but I'm sorry to say I was more embarrassed than anything else. I struggled with this situation for a few weeks... If I couldn't even break it off with a complete spaz, how was I supposed to tell a blind girl that I wasn't interested without hurting her feelings? Just when I was coming to the end of my spaz rope, I received the news... My family was moving.

My dad had taken a new job in a city 800 miles away, and we were leaving in a month. Hallelujah! I quietly packed my things, said goodbye to the spazzes and hello to a new life. After we got settled into our new home, I began my adjustment to the new school, and everything seemed to be going well... and more importantly... spaz free.

Then, disaster. I made a trip back to my original home to visit friends and family about 6 months after the initial move. One of the things on my agenda was to visit a local, high school football game as my friends and myself often did before I moved. I walked through the gates, brimming with confidence; I was a new man (kid), but little did I know I was about to face a situation that would quickly strip away that confidence and put me back on the downward spiral into spazdom. "Hi Pete", someone was behind me. It was the blind girl. She located me in a friggin' football stadium... a year later... 10 minutes after I walked in! How the hell?

"Nice to see you... I mean fancy seeing you here... I mean..."

What I really wanted to say was "How in God's name did you find me!?"

Needless to say, I was quickly sent back into spaz avoidance mode, constantly looking over my shoulder, unable to relax. When I got on the plane to fly back to my new home, I was hoping that the incident was just a fluke, and that my new, improved, spaz free persona would continue. It would not.

The spaz magnet was switched back on... permanently. From the girl who had to go to the emergency room after shoving an entire roll of toilet paper into her nose (one piece at a time), to the 20-year-old guy in the ninth grade who dropped his pants (and underwear) to the floor every time he peed... they all knew and loved me.

Eventually, I became good friends with some people who were much too worried about their own image to tolerate the infiltration of a spaz into our group. They ran enough interference for me to live out my last year or so of high school largely unaffected by the advances of any spaz that happened upon me.

Life went on, and I look back and realize that my concern over my spaz magnetism was silly (at best) and that I am likely a much better person for handling it as I did. My appeal to the spaz... ehem... I mean the mentally or socially disabled continues to this day. Whether it be that teenager who always seems to show up at the local park when I take my children there to play, sits down next to me, and makes "squirty" noises with his mouth; or the nice young man with Down syndrome who works bagging groceries at the local supermarket, identifies my presence only moments after I enter the store, and then proceeds to follow me around talking about how much he likes potatoes.

I now find satisfaction in the fact that I may be one of few people they feel comfortable talking to, and regardless of their issues, it's nice to be that for somebody. I learned to live with and embrace my unnatural ability to attract the strange, the excitable, and the challenged... and I wish that were the end of the story... but it's not.

Back To Top