David M Wasson

Behavior Plans are the two words people who support Students with Behavioral Disorders fear the most. Such plans are guaranteed to bring out the worst behavior in any group of normally well-behaved adults. Anyone who contributes to such plans are convinced that all other participants are wrong. Further, somewhere along the way, the need for a creative solution becomes a challenge to see who can come up with the craziest.

After a few years of facilitating such meetings, I started to re-evaluate my own behaviors. It was conceivable I might have been subtly undermining the group's effort by screaming out, ≥Are you flipping nuts?!?≤ Still the need existed for an outlet when someone proposed a brilliant idea like improving the self-esteem of a chronic thief by making them hall monitor (including faculty lounge).

I tried alternatives like ≥on this planet?≤, ≥do you mean with a taser stun gun≤ or ≥why do you hate me?≤ before I settled on ≥What could go wrong?≤ The people at the meeting hear this as a positive affirmation while demonstrating my personal ownership by evaluating the plan's merits. The paraprofessionals and therapists on my team hear it as a challenge to yet again attempt the impossible.

The more proactive, karma orientated of my friends point out this saying is still negative and could use some touching up. Test trials of replacement responses such as ≥what could go right?≤ and ≥oh ya, that should work!≤ left them agreeing that a saying which is a little cynical is better than one which is more cynical framed with happy words.

One of the people who likes to remind me of my options is Bob Remmerde. Bob is a former probation officer I met through work. We became friends after discovering that the other did not come up with the craziest ideas in behavior plan meetings. Bob maintains I would be happier if I weren't such a realist when it comes to behavior plans. I maintain that Bob, realistically, is far happier now that he no longer has to contribute to behavior plans.

We get the opportunity to discuss such matters during cross-country bike rides. Living in the Rocky Mountains provides ample chances for peacefully contemplative, blissfully introspective, totally exhaustive rides. Actually, Bob gets to discuss matters while I wheeze, suck down oxygen and grunt in a manner that neither agrees nor disagrees but merely acknowledges my pain. Then Bob gets to reflect on the main discussion points as he dashes ahead and takes side trips to kill time while I struggle forward. I devote my mental activity toward figuring out how I got into this mess and trying to disable Bob's bike through telekinesis so I can get rest.

I say it was just a coincidence that his tire went flat at such a moment. Not believing in coincidences, Bob contends that my thought process forced the thorn through his tire. Either way, there was no disputing the fact that his tool bag had rattled loose somewhere along the way and he was now dependent on me. Of course, asking ≥what could go wrong≤ and actually being prepared to handle an event are two completely different things. I did have tire patches. Quality tire patches - now that was another story.

As I was enjoyed my fourth rest stop, Bob mechanically pumped air into his slowly leaking, poorly patched tire. He suggested that maybe this incident was more in the way of a conspiracy instead of the result of casual thought. Needing to redeem myself, even though I was not sure why, I offered him my spare inner tube. The small town that marks the turning point on our 2000 ft elevation rise, 30-mile trip, was a mile in the distance. The large rainstorm moving down the mountain about five miles beyond highlighted the wisdom of my suggestion.

We found out that what could go wrong was our bikes had different size tubes - same rim diameter, just different widths. After some debate, punctuated by not-to-distant thunder, it was decided to try the slightly too narrow tube for the downhill sprint instead of stopping every two miles to pump air into the patched tire. Bob quickly replaced the tube, filled it with air, made sure it filled the tire, threw away the old tube and we were dashing down the mountain. After all, he could replace the tube again; all the silly thing had to do was hold air and fill the tire.

Education is a wonderful thing. Our experimental learning lab allowed us to gather that an inner tube needs to hold air, fill the tire and dissipate heat. We found that out when Bob's tire overheated and burst - causing him to lose control and skid into the ditch. Bob might suggest that his loss of control was aided by my crashing into his back tire since I was laughing too hard to stop in time.

We reviewed our situation: one good bike, one bike with a tire shredded beyond repair, lightning headed our way and 12 miles to Bob's car -which was the transportation vehicle. Bob threw me his car keys. I missed. We had to waste valuable time looking for them since it was his only set and his experiences as a probation officer soured him on keeping a set hidden on his vehicle. Once we found the keys, it was obvious to Bob that I should have the honor of picking up the car and returning while he walked his bike. I pointed out a speed and skill discrepancy. Besides my rear and legs were sore and a little walk sounded nice. Bob would not be deterred - that is until he watched me slowly, wincingly pedal down the road. He called me back, took the bike and raced away.

High mountain plains are good places to reflect, especially on a warm day with the soothing smell of rain in the distance. I peacefully walked Bob's bike along while considering the many aspects of how different attitudes could color any experience. I wondered how deep Bob's commitment to positive thought was. I suspected I would find out when he reached his car and realized I forgot to give him back his keys.

Historical Note: This article was completed on 4/17/03, in a commercial airliner circling above Fort Collins, Colorado waiting for Denver International Airport to reopen because of a tornado warning. What could go wrong?

Historical Note: Including three more rides with me, Bob has had no other mechanical problems in the year that has passed since the above events. On 4/19/03 he read this article and gave permission for his name to be used before we set out on a bike ride. Twenty-five miles later I was resting and enjoying the beautiful mountain views as Bob was changing another flat tire. What could go wrong?