The Principal's Office

I was only called into the Principal's Office because of one of my sons once. It was pretty funny. I understand that's not usually the case, but this time it was. The principal and I were both laughing.

I got a call at home from the secretary at the elementary school. She asked me if I would please come in to speak with the principal about my eldest son. I asked if he was in trouble, and was told that he was, but not to worry. Just come in a few minutes early and speak to the principal before picking up my son. So in I went.

When I got there, I was surprised to find the gentleman laughing. He handed me a note in my son's careful printing. On double-lined paper, it said, "I send a bad word." Then there were a couple of spaces, and underneath, it said "Signed." Below that, "Mama" and "Dady" were penciled in with the same careful printing.

It seems he had been told to write the note, then take it home to have it signed by his parents. That's the way he brought it back to school, so his teacher had sent it on to the principal to handle. He figured I'd want to keep it as a souvenir, and he also wanted us to know that our son had used a four letter word for animal matter on the playground. Then he called the classroom and had them send in the boy. When the kid arrived and saw the two of us and the note, he was mortified. He was also really confused. How did they know his parents hadn't signed that note? He had a hard time understanding that.

This is the same kid who went to a Cub Scout meeting with two of his older cousins. When he wandered off by himself the Cub Scout Leader asked him who his mother was. "Mama," he said. "But what's her name?" he wanted to know. "Mama," he answered. "Well, what does your Daddy call her?" he then asked him. "Oh, well, he calls her Ma'am." About that time my sister came up and rescued the poor man. A child's mind is difficult to fathom.

Mangled Words

My father often wanted to know if I left my brain in my school desk. "How can anybody get straight A's and be so dumb?" I don't know how many times I heard that question, and I never had a good answer for him. I never even had a bad answer for him. I'm not sure he really expected an answer, though. Sometimes he was really funny. Sometimes he just thought he was.

There was one area where he was right on the money, though. My vocabulary often outpaced my need for it, and I sometimes used words that had no relationship to what I thought I was saying. I'd like to give a few examples.

Dad and I were watching a basketball game together. I was probably in second grade or thereabouts. Mom came in and asked Dad to run to the grocery store for her. (Mom didn't drive until she was 37.) Dad told me to watch the game carefully and tell him what he missed when he got back. (Never expect a little kid to actually follow a basketball game.)

He got back and wanted to know what was going on, and I told him that nothing had happened. "Everybody is crawling on the floor." He looked, and sure enough, everyone was crawling on the floor. The announcers were laughing, but not explaining what had happened. My dad looked at me. "Somebody in black bumped into somebody in white, and his contract eyeball fell out. Now they're all crawling around trying to find it." The next thing I knew, my dad was in the kitchen laughing with my mom, and I heard him ask, yet again, does she leave her brain in her desk at school? Later I found out that the correct term would have been contact lens.

Another example would have been one evening meal where we were asked what we did at school. I was really excited when it was my turn. I loved my current teacher, because she read to us, and I loved books. I'm sure my eyes must have been sparkling when I announced that our teacher was reading to us from "The Idiot" and "The Oddity" written by someone named Homer. Dad actually snorted. Every single time he repeated that story to someone, he'd ask if they thought I left my brain in my school desk. "Do you believe this girl gets perfect marks on her report cards? Unbelievable!" I eventually read The Iliad and The Odyssey, and loved them as much as when that early teacher had first introduced them to me. So what if I messed up the names? If I had said it right, it wouldn't have become one of those memorable family moments.

The only time I ever remember that I stupefied Dad to the point where he didn't even insult me, though, was when I asked him how come Davy Crocket had died twice.

"Twice?"

"Well, he was killed at The Alamo, right? But first, according to the song, he was killed in a bar when he was only three."

My dad turned gray really early.

School Rewards

In our house school rewards weren't given just for receiving straight A's. They were given when you also had perfect attendance. The reason behind this was one really nasty teacher I had in my Junior year of high school.

My journalism teacher, Donald Holmes, had suddenly died of cancer, shocking everyone. I was the editor in chief of the high school newspaper at that time, and he had taught me more about writing than anyone before or since. I'd also had him for English classes for two years, and he was co-sponsor of the Literary Club. He was also a great friend to me when my father had died earlier that school year, and the loss of this teacher was a great blow to me.

His replacement, probably knowing his inadequacy, resented everyone who had been close to Mr. Holmes. No matter how hard we worked, it was never good enough for him. I got a B that semester — the only one to spoil my high school average.

So in my family, you might come one grade short of straight A's and still get a reward, but if your attendance wasn't perfect, then I couldn't tell if you had done your best. You really can't do your best if you're not there every day.

The special rewards in our house were simple. You got to go somewhere, one on one, with Mom. Ben and I ended up driving to San Francisco together, a longer trip than usual, and staying in a very inexpensive but nice little hotel in China Town. Everything was squeaky clean, and we were there for the weekend. We were the only English speaking people in the whole place, but we really didn't care. We had a ball.

Ben is very tall. Even then, in high school, he was probably three or four inches beyond six feet. Chinese people tend to be short. As we walked around the area, we kept laughing about all the tourists with cameras who seemed to come in large flocks. They would often stop and assemble into formal poses, taking group photos around different landmarks. Every chance he would get, Ben would stride up to the back of an arranged group, stop and strike a pose, smiling for all he was worth, to be forever part of a foreign traveler's photograph. I laughed until my face hurt. We'd joke that people would look at the photos at home and accuse each other of whose boyfriend or illegitimate son he was.

Somewhere in China, even today, I imagine some Grandmother showing off her travel photos. "No, I don't who he is!" Probably twenty or more people had to go home and try to explain the tall young blond gentleman in their group to their families. Actually, I've sometimes had a hard time explaining him to my own.

My 45th Birthday

Let's set the stage for my 45th birthday. Tighe was a Freshman in college. Jeremy was in 9th grade, and Benjamin was in 5th grade. I came home from work to find all three boys in the kitchen together, fixing dinner. (Yes, all three are really good cooks, although Jeremy, as a chef, is magnificent in the kitchen.)

As I walked in, the first thing I noticed was a huge bouquet of flowers on the kitchen counter. They had signed their Dad's name to it, and he could have gotten credit for it, too, if he hadn't later come in and asked who had sent me the flowers. These are great kids. I had suspected the flowers were from them anyway.

The boys stopped cooking long enough to pass me around for hugs. They were all taller than I was, even then. Tighe got me last, and after a big hug he held me at arm's length.

"Happy birthday, Mom. How old are you today, anyway?"

"45," I said. I never have lied about my age. It seems I've just been comfortable to be whatever I am, and each year seems to get better anyway. I wouldn't go back to being a teenager for any amount of money, beauty, or anything else. Not a chance.

"Well, here's to the next 45!" Tighe said. Then he seemed to think about it. "That would make you 90!" he said, somehow horrified at the thought. "Would you even want to be 90?"

I didn't even have to think about that one. "I don't care how old I get, as long as I go at the same time as my brain."

Tighe pulled me back into his arms for a particularly tender hug. Over my shoulder he said to his brothers in a stage whisper, "Prepare yourselves, boys, she's fixing to leave us."

A Child's Growing Vocabulary

Ben was very young. He was still at the Elementary school, and Tighe, eight years older, had a basketball game in Oxnard at an outdoor court. It was a pre-season game, if I remember correctly, and the team was going by bus. I picked Ben up at school, and he and I were rushing to get there before the game started.

I ran into the house and got a baggy I had been filling with colorful holes made from our hole puncher. They would make great confetti to throw if our team was doing great and the game got exciting. I thought it would be fun for Ben, and not a problem, since it was an outside game. I hurried back to the van, and off we went. He, of course, wanted to know what was in the bag (Confetti), where it came from (the hole punch machine) and what it was used for (throwing if our team does something good or the other team does something bad and we want to celebrate). He was happy with this explanation, and we continued on the road.

As we hit the bottom of the grade into Oxnard, we were assailed by the sudden pungent odor of freshly fertilized fields. Benjamin held his nose, and demanded to know what that stinky smell was. I told him it was "manure." He wanted to know where that came from also, and what it was for. I explained that word, as well. He was pretty shocked. He couldn't imagine that animal by-products or chemicals would be put on plants to make them grow better. I explained that it was for this reason that we were so careful to wash fruits and vegetables before we ate them. He seemed satisfied by my answers.

Now Benjamin at that time had never seen a stranger he didn't like. He'd talk to anyone. I sometimes wondered if I'd go into a restroom some day and find his name on a wall, not in a lewd sense, but just in the "Call Ben for a fun time" sort of thing. That's always scary for a Mom. I kept a close eye out because of that. As we got to the field the only other person sitting in the visitor bleachers was an older gentleman who appeared to be somebody's grandfather. After about five minutes of sitting with his mother, Ben started scooting slowly closer to the older gentleman and speaking with him. Pretty soon he was sitting next to him instead of me.

Then there was a lull in the conversation. I knew Ben would find something to fill it, but I would never have guessed what would come out. "Guess what my Mama has in her purse?" he asked. The older man smiled at me and shook his head in confusion. "I don't know, what?" he asked. "Manure to throw at the other team!" Ben proudly announced.

At that point, with the man looking at me in horror, I whipped out my bag of confetti and told the man that Ben had learned two new vocabulary words on the way to the basketball court that day. "One was manure. Can you guess what the other word was?" He looked at me and said, "I sure hope it was confetti."

Did He Really Believe That?

Elementary school kids can be a lot of fun. One on one time is special, and when you have three kids, it's often hard to come by. One night Jeremy and I were able to sit together and watch a movie on our VCR player. It was Driving Miss Daisy. Since that was released in 1989, Jeremy would have to have been at least twelve by the time we rented it. I knew there was a book out, but had never read it or heard anything about it or the movie. I knew the rating was PG, and it had won a bunch of Oscars. Because of that, it had been released fairly quickly.

I didn't know it was about the Civil Rights movement era. Having done a turn in the deep South during the 50's, that's a really touchy subject for me. At any rate, at one point in the movie, Miss Daisy is being driven down town, and you can tell by the music that something is about to go wrong. I started getting really uncomfortable, and Jeremy stopped the movie with the remote control and asked me what was wrong with me. I very honestly told him that I was uncomfortable with what I thought we might be getting ready to see.

What was that, he wanted to know. "Well," I said, not wanting to ruin the picture for him, "I lived through three assassinations in my teen years, and maybe we're about to see one of them."

I'll never forget the look on his face. "I know! It was John Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and Abraham Lincoln!"

Thou shalt not kill.

Smile When You Say That

In my family, you only tease people you love. I've always known I was well loved. I was certainly well teased.

One of my favorite memories would have to be the night when the three boys and I were watching a Lakers game together on television. They used to laugh at me because I always watched TV with a book on my lap. Whenever the commercials came on, I'd open the book and tune out for the duration of the paid messages. I never cared what was being advertised. I always felt my reading time was precious, although I managed to find more than most people I ever knew.

Have you ever been reading a book, or involved in something, and realized that somebody has asked you a question? That's what happened that particular evening. What makes it memorable is that I tried to figure out what the question was instead of saying, "Huh?"

I mentally rewound the tape in my head and figured out what I thought I had been asked. Their three faces were all looking at me quite intently when I looked up at them. I thought I knew what I had been asked, and fairly quickly came up with an answer... an apparently inappropriate answer. I was rewarded with three very blank faces.

Finally, Tighe looked at his brothers and calmly asked, "If Mom gets Alzheimer's, how will we know?"

I never did find out what the question was. The game started back up, and the subject was never revisited, although I never forgot Tighe's teasing remark, or let him forget it.