Found these in the "drafts" folder of my email...which apparently has never been cleansed. Do I discard nothing? And why aren't both these events happening next week?
1. Subject line: ORGANATRON
Bizarre! Outlandish! Terrifying!
It's Organatron...new "organic" improvisational comedy at the Upright Citizen's Brigade Theater.
Organatron has it all for the discerning theatergoer: dance, poetry, opera, monsters, mayhem, doo-wop, ritualistic sacrifice, and lots of creeping about on the floor and making odd noises.
Watch their evolution from primitive, amoebic lifeforms...into comedic gods!
Two nights only:
Wednesdays, 9/12 and 9/19
Both nights at the absurdly late hour of 11:00 p.m. (People who wish to kill time until 10:59 by drinking are encouraged to do so.)
$5
The Upright Citizen's Brigade Theater
161 West 22nd Street (btw 6/7 avenues)
For other shows and info., check out www.uprightcitizens.org
Please note: The troop will be clad in form-fitting black unitards and snoods*
* Not guaranteed. Snoods and unitards may be purely imaginary and used only as a snare and an enticement to the unwary. No money will be refunded in the event that we are actually wearing Old Navy sale bin items.
2. Subject line: Boo(ze)!
Hail fellow Brooklynites (and those few fearless Manhattanites who dare ford the great, foaming, sea-monster-infested East River)!
Join us for a mid-week Halloween birthday maelstrom in the borough that rocks the most...Brooklyn, New York.
Date: Wednesday, October 31, 2001
First Location:
BOAT
Located on trendy, fashionable Smith Street between Wyckoff and Warren
(East side of the street)
Closest Subway: The F or G to the Bergen St. stop is about 1 block away.
There is no sign; however, you can spot it by the red curtains in the window and the blue lights above the door. It has a red exterior.
We'll be there somewhere between 7-8 p.m.
I recommend their Sapphire and Tonics.
After much merriment (perhaps by around 10:00 p.m. or so) we shall be shuffling onward, but a few minutes away, to our...
Second location:
LAST EXIT (home of fruity martini-like concoctions with names like "The Gowanus" )
136 Atlantic Avenue btw. Clinton and Henry
Closest subway: 4/5, 2/3 at Borough Hall
(There's an N/R as well, but it's highly suspect, and may take you to unknown locations in Queens.)
I will no doubt be wearing what my brother recently described as "whatever offense against decency you'll be calling a costume this year." So fear not--don your fright wigs, ballet tutus, flying monkey wings, pita-bread brassieres, Scottish kilts, and rubber nose extensions--you will all be accepted! So will any friends you choose to drag along.
Questions and complaints about this excessively long e-mail, or about any aspect of my personality: call me.
You are invited! Bring the cupcakes.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Playing at Draughts
Checkers game after dinner with the boys. I am on a solo team, while Eldest Son and Middle Son both align themselves with Daddy. They've seen him at games, and know on which side their bread is buttered.
It started off okay. But at a critical juncture in the game, Daddy set a vicious trap, and I walked into it like a lamb. I was ruined in one blow. "The trap! The trap!" screamed the boys, giddy with battle-lust. Middle Son practically did a "boo-yah!" in-your-face you're-going-DOWN dance.
Now it's looking quite poor for Mommy. Eldest Son, with the evil, Machiavellian help of Daddy, moves across the board with rapacious glee. Many of my poor black pieces fall under his sway. He quickly Kings at least four pieces, and the Kings move like deadly puff adders to corner Mommy's sad, remaining black pieces.
I'm really scared, okay? My black pieces are backing away toward a Last Stand type of thing, and I feel the blood-chilling fear of a lone soldier who is out of ammunition. It would not have been so bad if Eldest Son had not turned to me with a deadpan expression and said, with those big blue eyes devoid of warmth: "There is nothing you can do to stop this from happening."
"Cruel child!" I shouted. The younger one sniggered in vicarious excitement. "Evil," he said. "Evil is his one and only name!" I probably shouldn't have been singing Austin Power riffs during the first heady moments of the game, when my fate was not yet apparent.
With no way out, I waited. Then Daddy (who was sweating with delight over the prospect of winning! On behalf of his son, of course) got careless and made a real dumb-dumb move--a corker of a stupid move. As he removed his hand from the piece, he blanched. But it was too late. In one victorious sweep, the game was over. I gave a cry of triumph.
Eldest Son immediately collapsed over the table as if stabbed, and began to wail piteously. In the very next moment, Middle Son leaned over the table conspiratorially, with bright, shining eyes:
"I was on your team the whole time, Mommy," he said.
It started off okay. But at a critical juncture in the game, Daddy set a vicious trap, and I walked into it like a lamb. I was ruined in one blow. "The trap! The trap!" screamed the boys, giddy with battle-lust. Middle Son practically did a "boo-yah!" in-your-face you're-going-DOWN dance.
Now it's looking quite poor for Mommy. Eldest Son, with the evil, Machiavellian help of Daddy, moves across the board with rapacious glee. Many of my poor black pieces fall under his sway. He quickly Kings at least four pieces, and the Kings move like deadly puff adders to corner Mommy's sad, remaining black pieces.
I'm really scared, okay? My black pieces are backing away toward a Last Stand type of thing, and I feel the blood-chilling fear of a lone soldier who is out of ammunition. It would not have been so bad if Eldest Son had not turned to me with a deadpan expression and said, with those big blue eyes devoid of warmth: "There is nothing you can do to stop this from happening."
"Cruel child!" I shouted. The younger one sniggered in vicarious excitement. "Evil," he said. "Evil is his one and only name!" I probably shouldn't have been singing Austin Power riffs during the first heady moments of the game, when my fate was not yet apparent.
With no way out, I waited. Then Daddy (who was sweating with delight over the prospect of winning! On behalf of his son, of course) got careless and made a real dumb-dumb move--a corker of a stupid move. As he removed his hand from the piece, he blanched. But it was too late. In one victorious sweep, the game was over. I gave a cry of triumph.
Eldest Son immediately collapsed over the table as if stabbed, and began to wail piteously. In the very next moment, Middle Son leaned over the table conspiratorially, with bright, shining eyes:
"I was on your team the whole time, Mommy," he said.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Halloween Costumes of Years Past
This blog has been about as fallow as my pumpkin patch. I have a good excuse! I am working on my novel, which will bring me infinitely more money and fame and all that rot.
Tonight's entry is an exercise in my mental acuity, as I attempt to recreate the Halloween costumes of the last however-many years.
2008: DJ Lance Rock, star of the children's show "Yo Gabba Gabba." My nighttime costume: The board game "Twister," complete with a blue wig.
2007: A frightful orange-wigged witch. Hey, I had never been a witch before. EVER. It was new! It was fresh!
2006: The Snow Queen. I wore a white flimsy thing and some fake lamb's wool, and a glittery mask. And boots covered with white fabric. My children were a moose and lamb.
2005: Having just moved and had a baby, I was a goddamned chicken again. The kids in New Ro thought I was practicing some kind of hoo-do voo-doo with my Martha-Stewart-clever chicken feet made out of yellow dishwashing gloves.
2004: A big old malevolent chicken.
2003: I was a pumpkin. Nine months pregnant and angry, and overdue, I sat on my stoop and handed out candy for one of the first occasions in my life.
2002: The Radioactive Rabbit. This consisted of a horrible headdress made out of a paper bag, with plastic Easter eggs and Easter grass glue-gunned to the top of the bag. The mask had tennis balls cut in half for eyes, and studded with huge fake flowers. Oh, and the ears had leopard-print fabric accents.
2001: Methinks this was the first year I was a Snow Queen. We had a party at Boat, a delightful little bar in Cobble Hill. This time, I wore a very long and elegant white formal dress, which was originally employed during a Newport Party of very extreme good taste.
2000: I was a beautiful flower. I wore long white gloves, a flower headdress, and a dress I had staple-gunned together that was covered in small green leaves. If I have the dates right, this was the year I had a Halloween party during which my friend T. served cheese to random passersby from my stoop and my friends E. and T. and I wandered over to my brother's apartment to "spook" him, but wound up on the wrong floor trying to insert a key into the wrong door.
1999: Good luck remembering what I was this year. I am almost certain it was a Purple People Eater. I wore purple jeans and a purple top, and a big old horn in the center of my forehead. And I had wings!
1998: Okay, this was the costume that probably caused my husband to second-guess our entire marriage. I was the OCTO-MOOSE. I wore a green uni-suit made of green flannel, purple Converse sneakers, and a giant moose headdress. I also had this most bizarre homemade Octopus skirt, which my friend had picked up at a flea market. It included eight stuffed men's socks. And then I think we went out on the streets and played music on guitar, and I danced and ran about in the hideous costume. And chased my new husband saying "yah yah yah!" Enough said!
1997: The Reptile Queen. I had a hideous headdress made of snakes and lizards, and a green gown. With a reptile belt! This costume was HOT!
1996: This may well have been the year that I was Leguma, the Vegetable Goddess. I strode the streets of New York with a carrot headdress, and a slim green outfit accentuated by a belt made out of dangling produce. I believe I may have spent a significant amount on bell peppers this year, as I needed to costume for more than one event. At one party, a friend began to snack on my outfit.
1995: Oh Lord, my memory is hurting. Could it be that this was the year I was the Beast of Many Colors? I wore Leopard, Tiger, and a host of other animal pelts. I was walked around by my young friend H., who was dressed as an "old crone."
Any years missing or erroneous? Friends, please fill them in! And send photos! I could go back in time to the year that I was a little black cat in Kalamazoo, Michigan.
And the best costume of them all. The year is unknown, but it was early 90s for certain. I had not planned properly, and on Halloween night had to fashion a costume quickly with little at my disposal. Yet I had a tutu! And a pumpkin mask with snaggly, fabric teeth! And a Russian fur hat! Thence was born: BALLET PUMPKIN.
Tonight's entry is an exercise in my mental acuity, as I attempt to recreate the Halloween costumes of the last however-many years.
2008: DJ Lance Rock, star of the children's show "Yo Gabba Gabba." My nighttime costume: The board game "Twister," complete with a blue wig.
2007: A frightful orange-wigged witch. Hey, I had never been a witch before. EVER. It was new! It was fresh!
2006: The Snow Queen. I wore a white flimsy thing and some fake lamb's wool, and a glittery mask. And boots covered with white fabric. My children were a moose and lamb.
2005: Having just moved and had a baby, I was a goddamned chicken again. The kids in New Ro thought I was practicing some kind of hoo-do voo-doo with my Martha-Stewart-clever chicken feet made out of yellow dishwashing gloves.
2004: A big old malevolent chicken.
2003: I was a pumpkin. Nine months pregnant and angry, and overdue, I sat on my stoop and handed out candy for one of the first occasions in my life.
2002: The Radioactive Rabbit. This consisted of a horrible headdress made out of a paper bag, with plastic Easter eggs and Easter grass glue-gunned to the top of the bag. The mask had tennis balls cut in half for eyes, and studded with huge fake flowers. Oh, and the ears had leopard-print fabric accents.
2001: Methinks this was the first year I was a Snow Queen. We had a party at Boat, a delightful little bar in Cobble Hill. This time, I wore a very long and elegant white formal dress, which was originally employed during a Newport Party of very extreme good taste.
2000: I was a beautiful flower. I wore long white gloves, a flower headdress, and a dress I had staple-gunned together that was covered in small green leaves. If I have the dates right, this was the year I had a Halloween party during which my friend T. served cheese to random passersby from my stoop and my friends E. and T. and I wandered over to my brother's apartment to "spook" him, but wound up on the wrong floor trying to insert a key into the wrong door.
1999: Good luck remembering what I was this year. I am almost certain it was a Purple People Eater. I wore purple jeans and a purple top, and a big old horn in the center of my forehead. And I had wings!
1998: Okay, this was the costume that probably caused my husband to second-guess our entire marriage. I was the OCTO-MOOSE. I wore a green uni-suit made of green flannel, purple Converse sneakers, and a giant moose headdress. I also had this most bizarre homemade Octopus skirt, which my friend had picked up at a flea market. It included eight stuffed men's socks. And then I think we went out on the streets and played music on guitar, and I danced and ran about in the hideous costume. And chased my new husband saying "yah yah yah!" Enough said!
1997: The Reptile Queen. I had a hideous headdress made of snakes and lizards, and a green gown. With a reptile belt! This costume was HOT!
1996: This may well have been the year that I was Leguma, the Vegetable Goddess. I strode the streets of New York with a carrot headdress, and a slim green outfit accentuated by a belt made out of dangling produce. I believe I may have spent a significant amount on bell peppers this year, as I needed to costume for more than one event. At one party, a friend began to snack on my outfit.
1995: Oh Lord, my memory is hurting. Could it be that this was the year I was the Beast of Many Colors? I wore Leopard, Tiger, and a host of other animal pelts. I was walked around by my young friend H., who was dressed as an "old crone."
Any years missing or erroneous? Friends, please fill them in! And send photos! I could go back in time to the year that I was a little black cat in Kalamazoo, Michigan.
And the best costume of them all. The year is unknown, but it was early 90s for certain. I had not planned properly, and on Halloween night had to fashion a costume quickly with little at my disposal. Yet I had a tutu! And a pumpkin mask with snaggly, fabric teeth! And a Russian fur hat! Thence was born: BALLET PUMPKIN.
Friday, August 28, 2009
My Wretched Little Punkin Patch
This year, we decided we would have a charming little pumpkin patch to entertain our boys and provide hours of delight, not to mention Halloween manna like the gods write about.
Let me just explain that we may as well have lain prone in the back forty and let the birds peck at our eyes. Such torment would have been preferable to watching the feathered blight DESTROY ALL OF OUR DREAMS.
It started when our six maturing pumpkin plants begin to burst forth in a fecund froth of blooms. We were excited! We watched them, waiting for the elusive female (with its fatter bump under the flower), so that we could take our friend's advice and manually "sex" the pumpkins by "inserting" some pollen from one of the male flowers. The females were rare, but the males were popping up all over the joint. Then one morning, we awoke to discover that every last male flower had been bitten off at the stem. Some females were still there, waiting expectantly, but like a bunch of haggard spinsters they withered on the vine. (Later--too late--we realized we could have stolen over to the neighbors to borrow a male appendage from one of their flowers, but the stud-farming of pumpkins might have caused some tongues to wag.)
We blamed the bunnies, of course. First, we purchased dried fox urine, marketed as the "scent of fear." The rabbits were supposed to have heart attacks within 50 feet of the stuff. Next, a friend suggested that the cookbook The Splendid Table said that human urine was more effective, and that with four males in the family we could fortify the perimeter most effectively. Other voices chimed in, some offering to send us bags of dog hair. We slathered the patch with pee (the boys enjoyed this aspect immensely) and rimmed it with reflective tape and mesh fencing. We hung a pie tin from a stake. The owl and its cousin, Creepy the Squirrel, got into the game to rough up the hordes of rodentia.
The creatures, whatever they were, kept at it. Finally, the truth dawned. Birds! Filthy, dirty, disgusting boids! Then we got "scare eye."
Scare-eye was no joke! It hung from an old fence pole next to the pumpkin patch, making the whole decrepit scene look even more like Lil' Appalachia. Occasionally the scarecrow's head would fall off into the mud, and its paws (encased in awful gardening gloves) were often resting near its privates.
Amidst this horror, one tiny pumpkin emerged and began to grow. It grew bigger! It turned orange! It was a beauty. It was worth all the pain and frustration. Then one day it immediately rotted on the vine and was chucked into the compost.
That was it. Our dream was over. We dismantled the leering scarecrow and left its body parts on the garage floor. Creepy the Squirrel was banished to the Hosta patch, where he waits to bite the unwary skunk. Scare-eye was unhooked from its pole and sent away, where it can do no more harm. Only the owl stays, wearing a slightly rakish fedora hat, to guard the one remaining pumpkin plant. This last, poor specimen has a few wan male flowers, but females have not emerged.
In retrospect, I should have bought that Jesus statue I saw at a tag sale around the corner. Jesus would have protected our pumpkins, with the Owl as his mute disciple. Together, they could have triumphed! A Mary on the Half Shell would have been the perfect complement, perhaps with a garden gnome or two as protection. Next year, Jesus, you will have a place in our garden, where you will smite the feathered host with deadly bolts of lightning and fiery hail!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
I Have Had All These Weird Thoughts
1. When I was little, I used to run after flushing the toilet, because I thought if I didn't make it back to my bed in time before the water stopped running, something was going to "git me." Heart pounding, I always made it into bed just in time, so I never found out what that something was.
2. A while back I became convinced that I had an asymmetrical face, and the reason I could not noticed it in a mirror or photographs was because of the asymmetry of my eyes, which "corrected" the flaw and made it look normal from my viewpoint. Of course, everyone else noticed it and tried not to stare.
3. During a trip to see the Grateful Dead in Cincinnati at age 19, I believed that the burger I'd eaten had reformed inside my stomach and was causing me grief because it remembered its origins as a cow. Later, I saw a woman carrying a sack and decided that the sack was filled with stolen ankles.
4. When I sit on my front porch I cannot help but trace in my mind imaginary railings where railings ought to be were the porch appropriately child-proofed. I do this sort of thing with all railings and fences (absent the childproofing aspect) if I think they don't look "complete."
5. I can "try on" just about any stranger's face and know what they are feeling and who they are innately, but the faces of some close friends elude me.
6. Sometimes I think if I were just hit on the head with a brick or a falling piece of architecture I would become an artistic genius.
7. When swimming in the lap pool I have occasionally worried that the person swimming behind me is going to try to bite my feet.
8. I still have the delusion that I might wake up and this will all be a dream. I'll still be in kindergarten. But then I'll have to suffer through 9th grade again. But this time I will be extremely savvy and wise. I'll show those rotten buggers!
9. Does the manner in which we were conceived ever determine a part of our personality?
10. As a child I used to think that at the end of our lives we might be shown a video during which our most embarrassing secrets were revealed.
11. One time I was fairly convinced that the squirrels and the pigeons at Madison Square Park were mating and producing some very unpleasant looking squidgeons.
12. Rutabagas, turnips, and other unattractive vegetables can communicate with one another.
13. You can speak to cats and dogs by placing your hands atop your head like ears and moving them about.
14. If I think hard enough about you right now, you might get a little jolt to the duodenum or the medusa oblongata.
2. A while back I became convinced that I had an asymmetrical face, and the reason I could not noticed it in a mirror or photographs was because of the asymmetry of my eyes, which "corrected" the flaw and made it look normal from my viewpoint. Of course, everyone else noticed it and tried not to stare.
3. During a trip to see the Grateful Dead in Cincinnati at age 19, I believed that the burger I'd eaten had reformed inside my stomach and was causing me grief because it remembered its origins as a cow. Later, I saw a woman carrying a sack and decided that the sack was filled with stolen ankles.
4. When I sit on my front porch I cannot help but trace in my mind imaginary railings where railings ought to be were the porch appropriately child-proofed. I do this sort of thing with all railings and fences (absent the childproofing aspect) if I think they don't look "complete."
5. I can "try on" just about any stranger's face and know what they are feeling and who they are innately, but the faces of some close friends elude me.
6. Sometimes I think if I were just hit on the head with a brick or a falling piece of architecture I would become an artistic genius.
7. When swimming in the lap pool I have occasionally worried that the person swimming behind me is going to try to bite my feet.
8. I still have the delusion that I might wake up and this will all be a dream. I'll still be in kindergarten. But then I'll have to suffer through 9th grade again. But this time I will be extremely savvy and wise. I'll show those rotten buggers!
9. Does the manner in which we were conceived ever determine a part of our personality?
10. As a child I used to think that at the end of our lives we might be shown a video during which our most embarrassing secrets were revealed.
11. One time I was fairly convinced that the squirrels and the pigeons at Madison Square Park were mating and producing some very unpleasant looking squidgeons.
12. Rutabagas, turnips, and other unattractive vegetables can communicate with one another.
13. You can speak to cats and dogs by placing your hands atop your head like ears and moving them about.
14. If I think hard enough about you right now, you might get a little jolt to the duodenum or the medusa oblongata.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The Mint Incident
My company has a health center on the premises, which is super convenient except for the fact that the doctors and nurse who work there are all a bit cracked. I was having weird leftover symptoms from what I believed to be the Swine Flu, so I went down yesterday and visited the doctor.
A white-haired old crank with red-rimmed eyes, he made some stupid jokes and then asked me what my symptoms were. I explained that I had an extremely painful, stiff neck. Doctor so-and-so asked me to sit down and put my head between my knees, and then he put a hand on my forehead and "whipped" my face up rapidly.
"Does that make you feel dizzy?" he barked. Why, yes, it does. And thanks for giving me whiplash.
"No fever, no throat redness. You're fine! Go back to work! Stiff neck is from lying in bed all week!"
But sir, I did not "lie in bed all week." He wasn't having none of it. I think he had to get back to his bourbon in the desk drawer.
Today, I was having even worse symptoms, including swollen joints all over my body, so I went back down to the health center. I was hoping the same doctor would be sleeping off last night's binge, and I could see one of the other weird yet more approachable women who work there. But there he was, hunched over a desk and ordering more Viagra from Canada.
The same nurse/receptionist had me fill out a form and took me into the same office to take the same vital signs. Except this time, I had a mint in my mouth--plucked from a bowl in the waiting room. Since she needed to take my temperature, I took it out and searched in vain for a trash can. Then I spotted a large metal one in the corner, flipped up the lid, and threw the mint in. The nurse/receptionist turned around just in time to see me do it, and her mouth fell open.
"That's the medical waste can!"
"Oops?"
She snatched a paper towel from the dispenser and held it out to me. I took it gingerly, and looked at her.
"Go in there and get that mint," she said. "That's not the garbage."
I stepped on the footplate to open the medical waste bin and peered inside. There was my mint, resting amongst a pile of bloody bandages, rubber gloves, used tissue, and other offal.
"You want me to go in and get the mint? In the medical waste container?"
She nodded. I threw down the paper towel and walked out. I think I said something like, "I'm outta here!" On the way out I saw Creepy Doctor Whitehair, waiting for the appointment. He looked rheumy-eyed and fresh from a recent bender. He made a kind of surprised chuckle as he saw me go, and then turned back to his computer.
A white-haired old crank with red-rimmed eyes, he made some stupid jokes and then asked me what my symptoms were. I explained that I had an extremely painful, stiff neck. Doctor so-and-so asked me to sit down and put my head between my knees, and then he put a hand on my forehead and "whipped" my face up rapidly.
"Does that make you feel dizzy?" he barked. Why, yes, it does. And thanks for giving me whiplash.
"No fever, no throat redness. You're fine! Go back to work! Stiff neck is from lying in bed all week!"
But sir, I did not "lie in bed all week." He wasn't having none of it. I think he had to get back to his bourbon in the desk drawer.
Today, I was having even worse symptoms, including swollen joints all over my body, so I went back down to the health center. I was hoping the same doctor would be sleeping off last night's binge, and I could see one of the other weird yet more approachable women who work there. But there he was, hunched over a desk and ordering more Viagra from Canada.
The same nurse/receptionist had me fill out a form and took me into the same office to take the same vital signs. Except this time, I had a mint in my mouth--plucked from a bowl in the waiting room. Since she needed to take my temperature, I took it out and searched in vain for a trash can. Then I spotted a large metal one in the corner, flipped up the lid, and threw the mint in. The nurse/receptionist turned around just in time to see me do it, and her mouth fell open.
"That's the medical waste can!"
"Oops?"
She snatched a paper towel from the dispenser and held it out to me. I took it gingerly, and looked at her.
"Go in there and get that mint," she said. "That's not the garbage."
I stepped on the footplate to open the medical waste bin and peered inside. There was my mint, resting amongst a pile of bloody bandages, rubber gloves, used tissue, and other offal.
"You want me to go in and get the mint? In the medical waste container?"
She nodded. I threw down the paper towel and walked out. I think I said something like, "I'm outta here!" On the way out I saw Creepy Doctor Whitehair, waiting for the appointment. He looked rheumy-eyed and fresh from a recent bender. He made a kind of surprised chuckle as he saw me go, and then turned back to his computer.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Mooky
Several years ago, I submitted this piece to a teacher magazine at my place of work for their "End of the Day" column. "End of the Day" usually featured mawkish, sentimental stories about how a teacher had changed a child's life for the better. Several consecutive issues ran stories for "End of the Day" that were about how troubled children had made a dramatic turnaround. At their best, they were heartwarming. At their worst, they made one slightly apprehensive that the children described were still at large in society. I packaged up the following story with the requisite SASE and delivered it, via mail, to the executive editor at the time. She was taken with the unusual nature of the tale, and passed it on to the then Editor-in-Chief. After much debate it was deemed unsuitable for publication due to the violence in the story. "It doesn't send the right message," the Editor-in-Chief said. "Some teachers might even find this slightly...offensive?" The real perpetrator was later revealed, causing my coworkers to mistrust me to this very day.
You be the judge of poor Mooky! Discovering this in the files has led me to the belief that a life without pranks is a life wasted.
A SPECIAL CHILD
By Henrietta Figglesworth
During my first year of teaching, there was one special child who touched my heart and helped me to remember why I chose this noble profession. His name was Mooky.
Mooky was an unusually gifted child. He constantly astounded me and his classmates with his thoughtful responses, his wisecracking, and his artistic skills. Although Mooky was born without a nose and any predisposition for social skills, he did not let it get him down. He often lashed out uncontrollably, sometimes spearing other children with the scissors or filling students’ mouths with glue. Occasionally, Mooky would go into the corner and gnaw on his own arm. More often, however, he would viciously bite other children on the nose. I knew why—Mooky felt himself to be different, and he wanted the other kids to be just like him: noseless. His rather unconventional habits did nothing to mar the image of the bright, beautiful child that I, as his teacher, saw.
The other children were often cruel, and made fun of Mooky. “How would you like it if you were born without a nose?” I admonished them. “You’d probably bite people, too!” I had trouble keeping my temper in check, but Mooky’s sunny countenence never dimmed. One day, however, I saw him sitting alone outside the classroom. I went up and sat with him. Mooky looked up at me with tear-filled eyes. “I’m a biter, aren’t I?” he asked. “Yes, Mooky,” I said gently. “But we’re all special in our own special ways.”
Since Mooky was unable to smell, he had a great deal of pent-up rage at others who had that gift. I sometimes saw him in the school garden, trying vainly to shove daisies up the nostrils of other children. “Smell this!” he screamed, spittle flying from his lips. I knew that Mooky was troubled, but he was my special angel. A child like no other.
I recommended to Mooky’s parents that they purchase him a prosthetic nose. At first skeptical, they eventually had a plastic nose fashioned for their son. I remember well the day that Mooky walked into my classroom, proudly thrusting forth the prosthesis. “My very own nose!” he said. “Mooky, it’s lovely. Would you like to study some new vocabulary?” I offered. Mooky nodded his head joyfully. Then the nose fell off and was crushed under the foot of another student. That day, several children were beaten and brutalized under the force of Mooky’s fury.
Mooky was different. But it’s the different, special children who remind us why we teach. No, you don’t have to have a nose to be special—just a great deal of heart. Mooky had heart, and he touched mine.
You be the judge of poor Mooky! Discovering this in the files has led me to the belief that a life without pranks is a life wasted.
A SPECIAL CHILD
By Henrietta Figglesworth
During my first year of teaching, there was one special child who touched my heart and helped me to remember why I chose this noble profession. His name was Mooky.
Mooky was an unusually gifted child. He constantly astounded me and his classmates with his thoughtful responses, his wisecracking, and his artistic skills. Although Mooky was born without a nose and any predisposition for social skills, he did not let it get him down. He often lashed out uncontrollably, sometimes spearing other children with the scissors or filling students’ mouths with glue. Occasionally, Mooky would go into the corner and gnaw on his own arm. More often, however, he would viciously bite other children on the nose. I knew why—Mooky felt himself to be different, and he wanted the other kids to be just like him: noseless. His rather unconventional habits did nothing to mar the image of the bright, beautiful child that I, as his teacher, saw.
The other children were often cruel, and made fun of Mooky. “How would you like it if you were born without a nose?” I admonished them. “You’d probably bite people, too!” I had trouble keeping my temper in check, but Mooky’s sunny countenence never dimmed. One day, however, I saw him sitting alone outside the classroom. I went up and sat with him. Mooky looked up at me with tear-filled eyes. “I’m a biter, aren’t I?” he asked. “Yes, Mooky,” I said gently. “But we’re all special in our own special ways.”
Since Mooky was unable to smell, he had a great deal of pent-up rage at others who had that gift. I sometimes saw him in the school garden, trying vainly to shove daisies up the nostrils of other children. “Smell this!” he screamed, spittle flying from his lips. I knew that Mooky was troubled, but he was my special angel. A child like no other.
I recommended to Mooky’s parents that they purchase him a prosthetic nose. At first skeptical, they eventually had a plastic nose fashioned for their son. I remember well the day that Mooky walked into my classroom, proudly thrusting forth the prosthesis. “My very own nose!” he said. “Mooky, it’s lovely. Would you like to study some new vocabulary?” I offered. Mooky nodded his head joyfully. Then the nose fell off and was crushed under the foot of another student. That day, several children were beaten and brutalized under the force of Mooky’s fury.
Mooky was different. But it’s the different, special children who remind us why we teach. No, you don’t have to have a nose to be special—just a great deal of heart. Mooky had heart, and he touched mine.
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