Catch 22 Syndrome

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: Catch 22 Syndrome :

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Author Notes: The Catch 22 syndrome is my own personal term for the belief a child may justly or unjustly feel that no matter how they act or react in any given situation, punishment is inevitable- that there is no right answer. That no one is here to teach or guide; the teachers and authority figures they encounter exist only to hurt them.

Eventually, a sufferer may ask themselves "Why bother doing the 'right' thing if everything I do will be punished?"

IMPORTANT: I don't own Calvin and Hobbes, Foxtrot, or Curtis. Don't sue me, it's parody/tribute and I have no money.

…...

"There is a disturbing mentality among today's youth, parents, and educators that a lack of wrongdoing, through inaction or action, means a youth should not be subject to punishment and judgment. When the sting of the slap, belt, and humiliation rituals used to break rebellious spirits are spared merely because a youth has done no wrong yet, the seed of evil festers. It teaches active avoidance of authority- which could very easily be the worst sin of them all."

"Children must be taught that there is to be no escape from pain, physical or emotional, and to embrace the slap, the jab, the put downs as we once so embraced the outdated hug and coddling of yesteryear. The message that must be sent is not 'Obey or be punished' but 'OBEY. OBEY. OBEY.' If this need be punctuated with blows, so be it. Our duty is not to create an environment of love- it is to create one of unquestioned obedience."

Rod and Whip Research Log No. 1

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CHAPTER 1: Innocent Until Perceived Guilty

Summer. The season where the sun decided to bathe the land in searing rays, turning sidewalks into griddles, metal slides into barbeques, and making one reconsider if the day was best spent outside.

Water had it's say in winter when all was frozen in ice. Earth spoke in spring in tones of flowers and new life emerging from a long white sleep. Wind roared in the fall with blustering storms and winds, ushering in the cold rains that would turn to ice soon.

Now Fire had its say. Water got in a word edge-wise with storms that prevented drought if the locals where lucky, but the star of the hour was the burning sphere of heat that shone down with unrelenting passion.

But all was not malevolent, for even as the rays blistered, there was an upside.

School is out. You are free, if for three months.

The last day of school. For some who know what their work will amount to, there is only anticipation of receiving well-earned high marks and looking forward to a summer of rest.

For others… not so much.

The story turns to Calvin.

Calvin is a boy, thirteen years of age. Blonde spiked hair that juts up as if to mock the earth's grip of gravity shifts a bit as he yawns.

He glares at a blaring alarm with a gaze that he very well wishes was infused with heat enough to reduce the irritation to boiling, smoldering plastic, silencing it. Having no such profound power, he is reduced to touching it. Flicking off the blaring electronic signal by hand.

Today was not a day he looked forward to.

Normally the end of school was a time where, in earlier years, he would rejoice and prance about in an energy-fueled madness. Not so this year.

Not after the ultimatum.

Grades 1-6 he had barely passed- if at all, having to retake tests and do generously granted extra credit assignments just to make the bare 70 mark of passing. That, his parents had told him at the beginning, would not suffice this year.

All Cs or above or he goes to summer school at some… educational camp. The sort of which parents sent their children when all else failed. Then to a stringent military school. No excuses.

A law set in unyielding stone, with voices that implied no indication of yielding. Calvin knew, by instinct, what threats were merely threats and what threats were 'go ahead. Test us. SEE WHAT HAPPENS.'

This was the latter.

Had he sacrificed? Yes. Damn all standards he had. Time he normally spent running amuck outside or watching tv or playing video games was spent on studying, trying to ward away an invisible grim reaper.

Had it done anything? He did not know. He had refused to look at any of his grades.

Any.

Why, specifically, he could not say.

He had begged his parents not to tell him what they were on report cards, and they obliged, reading them in private. Not breathing a word.

Did he believe it to be a ritual? Some sort of magic rite that would allow him to circumvent what he felt was an academic jinx of simply 'not getting it'?

Even he couldn't answer that.

His eyes turned to a stuffed tiger- or to most, what would be a stuffed tiger- to him, he who could see past the veil of mundane substance- this tiger was very real. Scars on his body testified to this.

This tiger now still rested, stomach twitching as it reclined belly up. Paws twitched and growls emerged as the tiger chased some dream-bound prey.

He could wake him- Hobbes- up to commiserate. No point, he decided. The tiger had helped- if by sheer virtue of being there for him- with the homework, the studying, the mindless droll of the assignments.

He had earned his rest.

Shower. Brush. Deodorant. Clothing. Cereal. No lunch today- the classes would end early.

Out the door he went- fire from the sun enveloped him, and his body began to sweat.

Out of the heat, and out of fear.

For to lose his freedom- and then receive an even more hellish environment next year- would be something out of a horror story for him.

At age six, he believed that summer vacation was an inalienable right- that under no circumstance could it be annulled.

Now, seven years later, he knew that freedom isn't free.

The bus came, a vehicle of yellow color.

He felt, as he stepped on, that perhaps Charon greeting him in a hearse might be more fitting.

…

Today was a day fit for a God, the man in the army fatigues decided.

Today a youth would be JUDGED.

PUNISHED.

A SENTENCE would be meted out, hundredfold penance for his crime. For this man was a JUDGE and a PROPHET and to these… miserably spoiled youths, he was a GOD.

He, Matthew, had watched him like an officer watches a petty thief about to steal. The boy was weak. His parents had laid down the law- shape up or be shipped out.

POINTLESS.

The boy had been a failure, was a failure, would be a failure until he was slain and born anew under HOLY teachings. Teachings in which lessons were administered with blows, with words that shattered the soul and all its rebellion.

JUSTICE.

He would handcuff the youth. He would tear him screaming from his parents to be whisked to a place of RETRIBUTION for his ignorance and sloth. He would do so in front of his SINFUL, LYING peers who had surely CHEATED their way to better grades.

The parents had said they would call him when and if the time was right. NO NEED.

He KNEW when the time was right. For he was GOD'S HOLY HAND.

The hand that would BREAK this boy.

For the clay that he was had hardened into a sinner, and thus he must be broken down and remade into an obedient servant of the worthy.

And if he was broken beyond repair, then so be it.

One less SINNER to taint the PERFECTION he and his associates had so delicately planned.

He took his handcuffs, placed them as inconspicuously as possible in his front pocket. Made sure that there was no way anyone looking at him could tell he was carrying handcuffs- he wanted this punishment swift, merciless, and without warning. Adjusted his military style beret as he parked in front of the junior high school.

It was time to pass judgment on the wicked.

…

"Is this necessary?"

The spiked haired youth asked the principal as he, his parents, his teachers sat about a table in the teacher's lounge, devoid of people save for those specifically involved in this… process.

"Tell me how badly I failed and let's get on with it." His tone was bitter. Self-critical.

He felt that his sacrifices weren't enough. Never would be. Never were, weren't now.

So why did these fools have to drag it out. "You flunk. Go to jail. Do not pass 7th grade, do not collect time needed to rest."

The principal, a bald, rotund man, shrugged with apathy.

"You know…"

His lips thinned into a smile perhaps fit for some Darth Sidious actor.

"…from a… student of your caliber, and looking at some of your work, I'd have thought you would at least…"

He paused.

"I don't know… check, maybe, to see if your doomsday scenario wasn't off?"

He placed a card on the table. With a flick, the card was propelled towards the youth.

Sighing, the youth picked it up.

Eyes arched. B's. All of them. Even the god-damned math course.

"Hmm."

Calvin tried to still, unsuccessfully, his shaking hand as he passed the card to his parents.

His father sighed. "…we tried to tell you… but you insisted…"

The youth's head fell forward onto the table with a bone-rattling smack. Nine months he'd engaged in this self-denial ritual to find out he was nowhere near the level of sucking he thought he was.

He made a resolution to find- and murder- whatever deity was in charge of cruel ironies. Preferably in a manner that employed an eggbeater.

His mother spoke.

"We need to call that representative, let him know that his services won't be needed."

She flashed a proud smile at her son, still tattooing the table slightly with his skull.

The principal continued shuffling through documents. "On the subject of that… was that the inspiration for… this?"

He slid a stack of stapled papers towards Calvin, who obligingly raised his head to examine them.

Ah, yes.

The rant.

Assigned to write about current events, he had chosen to write on the number of "Youth Correctional Facilities"- places that whisked away children who, for reasons often of violence or incorrigibility, had gone too far for their parents.

A great idea in theory- scare/wring the rebellion out. Kid grows up better for it. Problem solved.

Unfortunately, he'd found, there were cases where the kid often went nuts due to abuse in such camps- or died outright. In the paper, he'd combined facts scrounged together- along with a dose of his personal vitriol- to arrive at the conclusion that such resorts may 'fix' the problem temporarily, only to inflict long lasting bitterness, injury, psychosis, and even death in some more extreme cases.

Calvin looked it over, the shaking of his hands subsiding.

(Snap out of it, you fool. There's no hellhole waiting for you now.)

"Meh. I thought if I got sent off and died, then eventually someone would see this and pay attention to it."

He paused.

"That and my English teacher torpedoed my original idea of arguing for mandatory ninjutsu classes in place of gym."

The principal gave some sort of dry exhalation that might be interpreted as mirth, as the other adults present laughed.

"You'll forgive us if, after recent events, we don't openly teach assassination to our students." He remarked dryly.

Ah, yes. The school shootings. Bunch of cliques pick on kid. Kid tries to seek school's help. School ignores. More torment. Kid snaps, kills people. Wackos in suits blame video games and ignore the months of degradation and abuse. Rinse, lather, repeat-

Damn. That would have been a better topic. Cursed hindsight being 20/20.

Calvin made another mental note to murder the deity in charge of sub-par paper topics as well. With an eggbeater that was on fire.

The principal smiled. "Well, unless any of your other teachers can say to the contrary, I'd say you have, indeed, passed. I trust, Mr. Halgins, then that your son will stay enrolled?"

Calvin's dad nodded in affirmation. "He more than lived up to his part of the bar- er, demand." He corrected himself. "C'mon, kid, let's get some burgers and get you home so-"

BAM.

Calvin's trance was shattered as the door leading into the lounge opened violently, slamming into the wall, rattling the hinges, denting the drywall.. In the doorway, a man, clad in military fatigues, like those of a drill sergeant, tanned Caucasian skin, shaved head, piercing scowl.

The look of a man used to bringing harm on others with great zeal.

"Where is Calvin Halgins?"

The mother turned in her seat, startled by the sudden intrusion. Then she realized what this man was here for as the man's murderous gaze locked on Calvin, and he advanced…

"We told you we'd call YOU. And he's passed. Your services will not be needed."

…

Enter violently. Don't show pity or restraint.

Demand the suspect's location even though you know where he/she is.

Lock eyes with suspect. Approach, grab, restra-

"We told you we'd call YOU. And he's passed. Your services will not be needed."

…what?

No, this was a mistake. He did NOT lose a chance to judge and punish. Particularly not to this brat.

(Just for that, brat, you're getting broken ribs right off the bat when I get you out of here.)

His mind raced. Second thoughts, he believed. They were covering for him.

Ignoring protests he snatched up the report card. All Bs- they were telling the truth. Desperately he searched- behavior was satisfactory, minimal absences.

Nothing usable. Nothing to justify dragging him out- particularly now that the parents had expressed the slightest disapproval. His mind raced. Something had to be done to make sure the pain this child had coming was delivered in full.

"He's got the grades," he admitted, making sure his tone was iron-strong, the condemnation dripping off it- there could be no commendation here, that gave the child strength- "but he obviously did it so avoid an undesirable outcome. In my opinion, that deserves FAR WORSE punishment."

The boy spoke. "I obeyed what was asked of me to avoid being punished, therefore I should be punished even worse?" His tone was condescending. "By that logic, anyone who has driven under the speed limit, obeyed a 'do not smoke' sign, or followed any rule for fear of the penalty should be locked up."

It took all Matthew's reserves of restraint to refrain from breaking the boy's neck. HOW DARE HE CORRECT HIM!

The principal nodded. "He's right- his parents agreed the condition was satisfied, even beyond what we expected. Moreover, I don't appreciate you barging in here when I specifically had a 'do not disturb sign' hung on the door- much less you abusing said door as an intimidation tactic."

Matthew jerked as if he were cut. They agreed with the boy? Took his side? How could they betray a cause as noble as his? Reaching again into an ever dwindling bag of arguments, Matthew composed himself.

"The temporary satisfaction of goals easily achieved by a trained monkey aside-"

(Insult the suspect, allow no compliment. The suspect is beyond redemption.)

"-a lesson must be taught. Life is not always fair, and some mistakes must be paid for more than once. He needs to learn that he is not only accountable for his actions, but his potential actions- and inactions- as well."

It was a hole-ridden argument, and even as it left his lips he cursed himself.

"So- punish someone unfairly to teach them life is unfair, thus undermining law and rules as a means to prevent disorder, perverting them into a tool for thugs like yourself to hit people and say "because I said so". Make everyone accountable for what they might have and might have not done. Bravo, sir- truly you will be the one to usher in a utopia for child molesters and wife beaters." The boy spoke again. Unfazed.

There was no fear in those eyes. Only a vague sense of justification and confidence. A calm look.

One that a good hard punch would wipe off his face, lawsuit be damned- his hand whipped out to break the punk's jaw-

PAIN.

The little bastard had dodged, and now his hand was lodged in the back of a metal folding chair, bleeding as shards of metal gashed him.

For four painful seconds he suffered as he extracted his bleeding, broken right hand, yanked out the single shard of metal still embedding in his middle finger, turned to hit the kid with his good left hand-

Oh.

Cops. Two of them- with drawn pistols.

The principal spoke. "Now, normally I don't take this sort of precaution- having two officers of the law stand by in case someone like you gets out of hand, but after doing a bit of research on your particular branch of youth correction- 'Rod and Whip' re-education center, correct? Blunt advertising, that- You have quite a reputation for injuring your charges… a few lawsuits against you that never made it to court for reasons such as "Plaintiff failed to show", last minute droppings of the suits. I don't consider myself paranoid, sir, but that raises a few alarm bells, and I really don't want to make this- my school- a shopping market for persons of- as you have proven by your own actions- a dubious nature, where they can simply come and arrest children who they deem menaces to society."

Matthew looked at the officers in desperation, hoping to find some sympathy for his mission in their eyes. He found none. He looked to the teachers. He saw only looks of revulsion and horror.

One of the officers pushed him against the wall and handcuffed him. Patted him down, found the handcuffs. Found his taser and mace that they weren't supposed to. Found the single shot pistol under his left pant leg.

Damn, damn, damn, damn. If he had actively tried to botch this collection, he couldn't have had it foul up worse.

And worst of all- the insult to injury- the boy was not scared. He did not hide behind his mother or father. He didn't shake with fear. He just looked at the man with an amused expression.

"Handcuffs? Mace? A Taser? Guns?" The boy asked, as if was all going to some script he'd written. "A bit excessive for a student with no record of physical violence or lawbreaking. What is that in legal terms- possession of a deadly weapon? And let's not forget it's on school grounds- with intent to kidnap a minor…"

Matthew made a suggestion to Calvin that was anatomically impossible, followed by several colorful expletives.

The principal sighed. "All the charm of a compost heap but not nearly the intelligence. Officers, if you would get this man off my property?"

The two policemen obligingly dragged Matthew off the campus, a trail of blood drops forming in his wake.

One of the teachers- a blonde in charge of Calvin's English assignments, sighed.

"You know… here I thought you were exaggerating when you wrote how the people in charge of those kinds of places have power issues…"

Calvin shrugged, lowered his head as he prepared to head out with his parents.

"So did I."

…

After dinner out and many, many phone calls from curious students who overheard the commotion, Calvin lay in bed, Hobbes curling up beside him, stretching to easily one and a half times his length, revealing deadly sharp fangs.

"…why do some many adults become such…"

Calvin paused.

"…assholes?"

Hobbes shrugged.

"Some had lousy childhoods. Some have rotten adulthoods. Others have issues- lots of them. And some… some are just plain out and out rotten- being mean for the sake of mean."

Calvin sat up.

"He wanted to hurt me, Hobbes. I felt it. Even though he found out I did what I was supposed to, he still wanted to hurt me."

Sharp young eyes took in the tensing of tiger muscles, the unsheathing of claws, a low growl. Protective instincts were flaring in the feline's mind.

"He's gone. For good. You don't do that sort of thing in the real world and get let off the hook."

Calvin turned to his friend sleepily. "…you sure?"

"Of course."

"No sane person would let him walk free again."

…

Alas, there is a dearth of both sanity and common sense in the world as of today.

Matthew walked out of his jail cell a free man on bond for 200 dollars, no questions asked, alongside a blonde-haired male in an Italian suit.

Both were silent until they clambered into the sports car.

"Generally, our guidelines call for dismissal for a gaffe this big." The blonde spoke icily, turning the ignition for his car.

"It was one stinking kid." Matthew growled, though the excuse was hollow to even him- one kid meant everything. Particularly that kid- they were going to make an example of him- show that they COULD force someone to believe they were worthless, believe they were fit only to obey without question.

"One kid who had a principal, teachers, and parents stand up for him. The kid did a paper on us. You just blew our valuable time JUSTIFYING everything he wrote!" the blonde's voice rose.

"Wrote?" Matthew's voice reflected confusion, uncertainty. The boy… Calvin… had written about them?

"Thanks to your bravado, if he leaks his story to the press, some freaking forum on the internet, he's got proof and witnesses to back it up. It's dissent, Matthew, and dissent is what will kill R&W if he's allowed to make his story known. And to top it all off, the zit-pus icing on the dogshit cake, you let two cops witness you. Two cops- plural. Two people in law that would VERY much like to be credited with taking down someone society doesn't understand. Furthermore…"

"Harry, I get the goddamn point. Now tell me what we do." Matthew's tone was impatient- yes, mistakes were made- but the longer they spent straining over who screwed up where, the longer the kid had.

"We have to break him."

Matthew snorted. "You expect him to recant? Not going to happen easily. And how do we get a hold of him? Any funny business, and people will know something's up."

Harry made some sort of contemplative noise.

"We have to force him to come willingly, then we must attack him mentally. Physical persuasion to a minimum." Matthew continued. "His parents know something's up already…"

Harry gave him a icy look. "And who's fault is that? Now, we can't just leave him- he's seen us in action and he was…" Harry, here, had difficulty saying the next word, straining… "…innocent according to their laws." Turning the key in the ignition, he checked to see if any cop cars were following.

Harry didn't look at his partner as he drove out of the precinct parking lot and onto the road, cutting off two people and raising a middle finger to add insult upon insult. "We didn't come this close to a revolution just to be taken down by one kid getting away."

…

OMNIJOURNAL ENTRY 001 BY USER: CALVINOMEGA

Hey, adults, remember us? The kids?

That thing you decent grownups feed and clean and tell to go to school?

FYI for all of you: allowing some cultist-level wacko to kidnap your kid and 'reprogram' him or her just because you found their grades – numerical, fallible interpretations of your child's ability to perform- are low isn't exactly parenting.

Rather, it is a very risky, potentially lethal way of telling your child you've decided to let someone else deal with them over what, to them, seems like a relatively small problem.

At the very best, your child will likely return from such an experience with the problem 'fixed'- he or she will get good grades to avoid that sort of hell again. But there will be resentment. They will not look to you as parents, but "The people who sent me to hell". They will not come to you for help, out of fear you'll use the quick fix of 'ship them off to god-knows-where'.

In the worst case scenario, your kid may not come home at all. You may get a call that 'something went wrong', 'your child was unable to perform and is in medical care', or 'disciplinary action got out of hand'. Then the call that informs you're your child is dead, followed immediately by a notification that the release form you signed absolved the facility of responsibility.

Remember that these places have release forms for a reason- there is a good chance, with all the physical abuse- both from forced exercise and outright blows- your kid may come home injured or not at all.

-END ENTRY