sumo

by Scott Bethay

In my middle-school yearbook there is a drawing of a sumo wrestler atop a pagoda, with “You are so smart it’s scary!” scrawled underneath. It was drawn by Mr. D, who taught my social studies class for the talented and gifted. Earlier that year I had won the school social studies award, which I accepted with some trepidation in front of God and everybody at the awards ceremony in the auditorium. I thought I was a mediocre student at best, and Mr. D told me (out in the hallway in mock confidence) that he had nominated me and advocated for me despite considerable resistance from the other faculty. Other hallway chats with him concerned my procrastination, my lackadaisical nature, his not infrequent dirty jokes, and his admonishment to “be careful” because the other teachers thought I was “thinking about sex all the time."

The sumo wrestler reference comes from an incident on a field trip to New York organized and chaperoned by Mr. D. We had some down time and we, as 13-year-old boys will do, were holding wrestling matches on the bed in one of our shitty Howard Johnson’s hotel rooms. Mr. D decided to join us. He was a large man—6’3’’ and moderately athletic. When it came my turn, I opted to use his height to my advantage by hitting him low. I managed to do a sort of hip toss, and he went flying off the bed and crashed into the wall—a foot higher and he would have gone through the window. Someone said, “Dude! Bethay tossed Mr. D out of the ring like a sumo wrestler!” Then came the chant: "Sumo! Sumo! Sumo!"

I am not sure how to describe what I felt in that moment of absurd glory, but it was very good and I sometimes wish I could feel it again.

The rest of that year passed without incident, and I moved on through the system while Mr. D continued teaching. There was always an undercurrent of gossip to the effect that Mr. D was "creepy," that his ministrations toward students were in poor taste at best. Still, I would occasionally refer to that yearbook drawing when I was having a low moment. Adolescence and young adulthood were difficult for me, but I came out all right.

Years later, when I was working on my Ph.D. and Mr. D had retired from teaching, he was indicted on two counts of sexual battery: one involving a child under 16, the other a child under 14. The newspaper said that the alleged offenses had nothing to do with his job and did not occur on school property. He was convicted and sentenced to 18 years in prison.

Had I been groomed? Did he really think I was smart? Was I just not his type? Did he know I would figure him out eventually? What if I hadn't nearly thrown him out of a hotel window?

Was I ever worth anything?

Years later still, I found a blog post that he had managed by smuggling a note to a contact with computer access. This did not go unnoticed by the public. There were the expected rants about what people hoped he was experiencing in prison, but more interesting were the stories from others who had been taken into his confidence over the years—patterns of encouragement, inculcation, and dirty jokes in hallways.

Mr. D said that the state penitentiary was worse than you could imagine, but he had been reacquainted with Jesus and taken in by a faith group that afforded him some degree of protection. He was teaching Bible study and GED classes. Eventually he was transferred to a private facility that was marginally better. But the remarkable thing about the blog post was the multiple call outs to former students. Like, “Did you get in med school?” “You were always such a goof—I hope you’re well!” Then, about halfway down: “You were so smart it was scary.”

Photo of Scott Bethay

BIO: Scott Bethay is a clinical psychologist from Mississippi who started experimenting with creative writing about a year ago. He enjoys the outdoors, spending time with family, and being a new old dad.  He has another CNF essay forthcoming in Anti-Heroin Chic.