The First Day of School for Me ... Again

It's the first day of school for me, again. School opened today, meaning I made my annual trek back to see about starting again. Two things went against me: 1) Every year it's getting harder and harder to pass as a kid; 2) They never think I'm serious. We argue the point, I cuss them out, and end up sitting in the corner till the police arrive.

It's embarrassing, of course, to be led from the classroom in handcuffs. But I look on the bright side; it gives the kids something interesting to remember. I can see them now at their 40th reunion -- "Do you remember that old man they arrested on our first day? Wonder whatever happened to him?" -- "I hear he had a facelift, came back five years later, and ended up graduating at the top of his class, graduating early, right out of fourth grade!"

That's how I plan to do it. In four years, just like the kid remembers it. I'll test out of Kindergarten and start with First Grade. Then it's 1-2-3-4 and out. If you can go through college in four years -- I've always said this -- the lesser grades shouldn't take any longer. (That doesn't mean I might not go back and do fifth and sixth grades, the elementary equivalent of grad school. I wouldn't mind doing a dissertation on girls, how yucky they are.)

The only reason I put myself through this year after year is because of something my dad said. That he wished he could go back to school and do it right. He said it, I bet a dozen times, and it always stuck with me. For some reason, though, which I've forgotten, he could never do it, or maybe he just thought he couldn't. Times were different back then. He had to work hard to feed a bunch of hungry mouths. But I've only got me to worry about. And I just ate.

The biggest problem -- and here's where I'm going to confess a few fears -- is that I'm honestly afraid that, as much experience and knowledge as I think I have, I might still flunk out. And they're not fast to flunk kids these days! Not like when I was in school the first time. They graded on the curve then, so a full 18% of everyone failed automatically. Now it's all individualized, giving every kid an honest to God shot at success. Of course the downside for society is that it has to function without a vibrant Shudra caste, drones, worker bees. But with outsourcing so prevalent, and the increased use of robotics in manufacturing, the loss hasn't been that terrible. These days, now, if I fail it really means something!

Think then, too, what it would mean for my self-image if I can't keep up. Because, remember, most of these little honyock mama's boys have had preschool. I never had that luxury. I'm starting in the hole the first day. But I might have the edge after all, since I've been balancing a checkbook for years (math), writing this blog since 2008 (English), and heating up TV dinners since Grandma died (home ec). Plus, a lot of the stuff should just come to me, if somehow I can find a reservoir of common sense within; I believe it's there, but where?  

The kids I'm really afraid of are the ones who've been trained in music, playing the piano. Because I've heard that their little brains are wired differently from the average kid, meaning they might be smarter than me on the first day. Even if they're not -- they'll probably be close -- and by the time I graduate, after fourth grade, the little musicians will be so advanced, I might be way down in the percentile somewhere. It'll kill me.

But if it doesn't kill me -- ho ho ho, I'm devious -- who says I can't start again ... and again ... and again ... till I finally -- till death doth me part -- get it right.

Hez Heck: "Someday Doad'll Be a Dad"

Today, we get a rare glimpse into the life of rustic funnyman, Hez Heck, much deeper than we've been allowed before. Taking us well beyond the quips and jokes he's so famous for. The man is more like a philosopher, at least that's what he is in the way he thinks. But he always keeps us laughing with his suspenders-snapping routine. And yet, sometimes even funnymen cry; sometimes even philosophers are stymied, both in their understanding of life overall and in the common, everyday things that all of us know.

But we're going to keep this on the up and up, with no crying. Because that's not what we're here for. We seek only the joy of laughter. But we know -- we have to know -- there are those times when a good old fashioned cry does a body some good. You're convulsing, basically, your body involuntarily taking over, with a big old knot in your throat at times, and there's a kind of pain in your chest, like something's trying to bust out, claw its way out. It shakes you up something fierce. You think, "Am I dying?" When, no, the answer is, you're just bummed out.

Hez Heck thinks about the future ... at times, with all that means. The big, vast, immense, looming future. But he's not always thinking only about himself, because he gets by, he's done all right. Instead, Hez thinks of the future coming for his nephew Doad, whom he's partly half-raising, since he was half-raised already when Hez took him in, and "partly" because Doad'll never be----- ... Doad is Doad. The boy's ... something ... of a glum specimen, in certain ways. That loose board in the chicken shed's hit him a time or two too many. And yet he is growing up before Hez's eyes. Soon Doad'll be a man, soon Doad'll be a dad, and soon Doad'll be everything else Doad'll be ... like it or not.

When Doad's a man, he's going have to face the same kinds of challenges Hez has faced. Like being the one to put a new screen in the door when the kids rip it open. It'll be Doad that'll have to kiss his son's or daughter's mosquito bites away. It'll be Doad that'll have to chase 'em over the hills, bringing them home. And it'll be Doad that'll have to keep the old truck going. The thing's been in the family for generations. They treat trucks here like Cubans treat cars, lots of maintenance for decades of reliability. They pass them down. And if there's a generation when there's no sons, the trucks stay in the barn, and they wait till they get one.

Hez thinks, "Someday, by cracky, it'll be Doad that'll be wearin' one of these beards, and shirts, and suspenders." In every respect, Doad'll be a man. So -- and this is embarrassing -- Hez thinks maybe it really is the right time to tell Doad about the birds and the bees. That's Ma's idea, and Hez said he'd get around to it. After all, it's mostly natural, and the parts that are confusing, if you just feel around, finally you get it.

Hez pulls Doad aside, and launches right into the main attack. "Doad, someday you'll be a man." Doad answers, "Yeah." They pause. "Someday you'll be a dad." "Yeah." Hez lets that sink in. "And that old truck'll be yours." "Yeah." Hez waits to see how that registers. "And you'll be the man in charge." "Yeah."

The older uncle wonders about Doad's understanding. Doad seemed to take it all in without flinching in the slightest. "You understand everything I said, Doad?" "Yeah." But Hez is wondering, so he runs a little test. "You think you need to hear it all again?" "Yeah." "Is all this going out one ear and in the other?" turning around the phrase as only a funnyman like Hez can do. "Yeah," says Doad, blithely.

"OK, son," Hez says, "Go play." Doad answers, "Yeah." Hez sees it's an interesting case. Doad's glazed over. Hez leads him to the door and points outside. Then helps him out the door and down the stairs. Hez withdraws and watches Doad finally catch a whiff of country air. His head seems to be clearing. Then, in an instant, Doad is gone like a shot up the hills and down the other holler. Hez thinks, "He'll just have to get it the natural way, whatever he hears behind the barn, and the rest, feelin' his way. It's never hurt no one yet."

Ma comes in, thinking she heard voices, and that their time together was very short, especially if they'd been talking about what she figured they ought to be talking about, looking back on it being her idea about the birds and bees. Where is that boy? "You been talkin' to Doad." Hez says, "Yeah." "Think he's got it?" she wonders. "Yeah." "Is he gone?" "Yeah." "Are you all right?" "Yeah."

Ma wonders, "Can't you just spit it out and tell me more 'n that? What's that boy up to, anyway?" Hez's answer, "No good."

Jimmy's 18th Birthday At The Library

The Board of Editors and I had the opportunity to attend Jimmy's 18th birthday celebration yesterday at the public library. You'll remember Jimmy from when he was 17-years-old and was restricted to the Children's Room. His parents took advantage of one of the library's actual rules, and we're not making this up:

A parent or guardian must accompany a child under 18 to approve their child's card and can choose to restrict it to materials from the Children's Room.

Since originally writing about Jimmy, I discovered that the Children's Room was actually "A World of Wonder" for him. Now, with his 18th birthday, the Board and I were wondering how he would handle the transition from the Children's Room to the Big People's Section. And our wondering was a little more intense, being shorthanded after I fired Frank and Mark. But really, it all seemed to go pretty well for him, so we'll keep our fingers crossed, speaking for the whole Board, myself, Trade Smith, Dale, and Delilah, our only lady member.

We got there and they had a whole nice thing set up for him, kind of like a graduation reception. The Chief Librarian gave a talk, saying Jimmy was "one of our oldest patrons -- in terms of length of time -- but also one of our newest, as he takes this big step today." Next, despite some grimaces from Jimmy's parents, the Library Card Lady held up a brand new plastic card for him. She served as the "meat" in a "sandwich" with two others serving as the "bread," the Children's Room Director on one side and the Big People's Director on the other.

The two Directors were involved in a symbolic hand-off of Jimmy from the Children's Room to the Big People section. The Children's Room Director kissed him on each cheek, as they do in that section, and the Big People Director shook his hand, as it is among adults. The Library Card Lady, in the middle, presented Jimmy with the new card. Being plastic, it made it a moot point as far as the desirability of laminating it, which my Board had discussed.

Since I and the Board had been involved in getting Jimmy's touching story out there, I bought him a gift. I used my own personal money and it was all my idea, but I patronized the rest of the Board by signing their names to it as though they had also contributed. It was quite a gift -- maybe the nicest gift there -- and Jimmy beamed when he saw it, and we beamed at his response, to his happiness. What a nice gift!

In the actual hand-off between the two Directors, I thought Jimmy looked a little lost. The Children's Room Director saw this too and assured him he was welcome in the Children's Room any time, and the Big People Director concurred.

We all accompanied Jimmy into the Big People section, watching his eyes, as big as saucers, as he looked at the stacks. To him they were like skyscrapers, being a good three feet taller than anything in the Children's Room. The Director of that department explained to him that big people can reach higher than children, and with the space they have to work with for books, it only makes sense to go vertical. This allows them to offer more books!

He helped Jimmy reach his arm way up high, all the way to the highest shelf, praising him for being able to reach so far. He then gave him the good news -- reassuring common sense -- that since there's always five lower shelves, he only has a 1-in-6 chance of needing a book way up there. "You have roughly an 83% chance that any book you need will be on one of the lower five shelves, good enough odds to bet on, most of the time."

In the informal time, I discussed with the two Directors the phenomenon of 17-year-olds being restricted (potentially) to the Children's Room. Both said it was all confidential, the info as to how many have been (or are being) restricted. According to them, mum was definitely the word. But the Big People Director looked around, and seeing the coast clear, said there's still three presently restricted. The Children's Room Director also looked around, and in hushed tones, warning me that, "You didn't get this from me," gave me their names and their other personal information. I folded the card and surreptitiously pocketed it, thankful that more interviews and graduation parties could be in my future.

CLOTHING:

Jimmy was dressed in a checkered suit, nicely pressed pants, white shirt and tie. His hair was neatly combed, and his teeth were as white as clouds.

Jimmy's mom was dressed in a matronly dress with a cord tied around her waist. She had black shoes and good-to-very good hosiery. His dad was also properly dressed for the occasion, in a general business suit and gray tie.

The two Directors were dressed in business-type clothing appropriate to their positions. A suit for him, and for the female Children's Room Director, having more options on that account, a clown-print smock, much like modern nurses wear.

I and the Board were well-dressed too, neither standing out as being over- or under-dressed. I was happy with my own choices. I had a full array of clothes to choose from, having done the laundry the previous day. Dale and Trade weren't wearing anything particularly memorable. But Delilah looked very sweet in a light blue, checkered dress, much like you might see in the cafe of a comfortable Alpine chalet.

CONCLUSION:

In the end, Jimmy was OK -- very happy -- and will be happy enough in the Big People section. But of course it's all so much on the first day. So by the end of the festivities, he had retreated to the more familiar Children's Room. I saw him sitting in the corner by himself, rocking back and forth, and reading a book on dinosaurs.

A World Of Wonder For Jimmy

My board of editors and I left the garage where most of my blogging is done and went out on a story, to interview Jimmy. Of course Jimmy needs no introduction, if you read my post on the 17-year-old boy whose parents restrict him to the Children's Room at the public library. This is one of the library's actual rules:

A parent or guardian must accompany a child under 18 to approve their child's card and can choose to restrict it to materials from the Children's Room.

My board of editors is also well known. We have Trade and Mark Smith, Dale, and Delilah. Last week we had a guy named Frank but he's since been fired.

I worked it out with Jimmy's father to set up an interview, telling him it would be a human interest story. But my secret plan was to ask such pointed questions that I knew Jimmy would rebel and insist on using the big people's section of the library. But that didn't actually happen.

For the interview, the library made us so comfortable in the Children's Room, with the little cups of milk they provided, that I also felt at home there. But for the tiny chairs, I might've restricted myself! Jimmy, though, looked entirely comfortable, having never known anything else.

Watching him before we sat down, I began to be more and more impressed. He treated the Children's Room like his own personal domain, and  I could see by the way he pulled books off the shelf that he definitely knew his way around. Yet none of it was old hat to him. It was all a world of wonder! And it's easy to see why. The Children's Room has books on giants, fairies, and all manner of other weird beings. It'd be easy to get lost in your imagination there!

Anyway, we got ready for the interview. Jimmy was behind a small table. His father sat at his side, obviously prepared to run interference. His mother was off to the side, knitting. I and the board sat facing Jimmy. Trade, Mark, and Dale were off to my left, leaving Delilah on my right to take notes, obviously the secretary.

I did all the talking for our side. The board was there to offer whatever moral support I might have needed, although I didn't need any.

I asked Jimmy if he felt the restrictions imposed by his parents had hurt him any. He looked at his dad, who gave him a helpful frown. "No,"  he said, going on to state his happiness with being able to easily read 18-20 books a day, while his friends using the whole library could barely get through one book a month. The board and I nodded. If you look at it like that, he could read through the entire Children's Room once a year while his friends were stuck on one shelf!

But I thought I'd try again, asking if he felt his outlook on life had been stunted in any way. "No," he said, first glancing at his father, saying he was aware that life was a mixed bag, with smiley faces and sad. And that's the way it is in children's books, too, he declared. Sometimes you laugh, sometimes you cry. He referred to one interesting story that I hadn't heard of before, in which the evil witch is pushed into a blazing hot stove while the children make their way back home via a trail littered with bread crumbs and pebbles.

And one other probing question. I asked if he had any secret desire whatsoever to sneak into the big people's sections of the library. I thought I detected just the slightest hesitation, but a quick glance at his dad steeled his resolve. "No," he said, stating that he felt he was presently getting the best preparation for life ahead. The Children's Room gave him a solid basis for life, and his dad would be there to help him with the rest. I couldn't argue with that, of course, since he was clearly a big help to him.

Overall, though, I had mixed feelings. One, Jimmy looked very immature for 17-years-old, but maybe that's the whole point: His parents are keeping him young! In a weird way I could envy him. I'm 58 now and feeling old, but what if my parents had restricted me to the Children's Room? I might feel 35 now instead of old!

Soon we brought the interview to a close. Jimmy's parents put a dark hood over his head and walked him to the car. I lingered behind for a few minutes, checking out some of the titles. 18-20 books a day? I thought. Amazing!

Jimmy's Terrible Library Card Dilemma

I was at the library and overheard some kids talking about this. One of their friends, 17 years old, is restricted on the books, CDs, etc., that he can check out from the library. Yes, it seems that's one of the rules in place, thanks to the library and his idiot parents.

I didn't hear much -- I'm not an eavesdropper by nature, I really have to work at it. But according to them, and I think this detail is essential to get out there, the poor kid's name is Jimmy. Jimmy as in "I'm an adult baby, or maybe more accurately, a baby who will never grow up." Thanks to his idiot parents, that's probably what'll happen to him, like this guy (40-50 years old) I saw on a "Taboo" show who sits in an enormous highchair that he himself built and wears big adult diapers by choice. A formerly homeless woman with problems of her own changes him, lovingly, I might add.

Anyway, Jimmy, that's what you have to look forward to! You have problems now with your library card and what you can look at, so you also have a life of weird fetishism ahead. The bright side is there's always some merciful enabler who will gladly change you.

Getting back to the rule. Here's the rule, word for word, from the library's "basic information" page:

A parent or guardian must accompany a child under 18 to approve their child's card and can choose to restrict it to materials from the Children's Room.

Obviously, at some point in the library card getting process, during the tricky negotiations, Jimmy's parents made a conscious decision to restrict their son. Why precisely they would do that, since I don't know them, I can only guess. And honestly I don't have the first clue. But let's just assume they're crazy or sadistic. Maybe Mom's crazy and Dad's sadistic, or it could be the other way around, or it could be that both are crazy and/or sadistic. It makes good sense. They don't want Jimmy in the big-people books looking up things about his batty dingbat parents!

But 18 is coming, you crumbs, then he'll show you! Unless he chooses to self-restrict his library use to the Children's Room as some perverse, sick, infantile submission to their authority, which would be too bad. Because there's a lot of good reading in the big-people section. And I hope he has the chance to discover that.

It's too bad the library doesn't help ease him into the big-people section. My reading of the rule doesn't seem to exclude that as a possibility. Theoretically, he could be reading books in the big-people section. The way I read it, he can only check out books from the Children's Room. So if he wanted, he could be reading all the volumes, say, of Frazier's Golden Bough, definitely a big-people set, then taking home the latest exploits of Where's Waldo. If you want to get technical about it.

But perhaps, probably that would violate the spirit of the rule, which he probably shouldn't do. When he gets home, Mom and Dad would see a guilty look and that would be bad. He might get sick and spit up pabulum all over Mommy's nice clean dress.