BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Or, When The Hair Gets In Your Eyes…

I had myself one of those deja vu flashback sort of things happen the other day… But, we’ll get to that in a minute. Right now I have to take you on a nostalgic tour of my brain in order to confuse, befuddle, bewilder, and otherwise create massive amounts of obfuscation, all in order to make the punch line even funnier… I hope.

So… Buckle up. Here we go…

Some of you may or may not know that I write my blogs in advance. Sort of a “whenever the mood strikes” type of thing. And, in addition to that if I happen to come up with an idea, but don’t have time to actually write the entry in its entirety, I will make notes. These notes will then end up as “draft” copies of blog entries, complete with titles and a few notes in the body to remind me what it is I wanted to write about in the first place.

Suffice it to say, you are going to discover that the aforementioned deja vu flashback actually occurred better than a year ago.

Now, let’s go over here and see what’s happening in my right brain…

Martha Ackmann is an author, journalist, editor and speaker.  I know this because it says so right there on her bio. If you don’t trust me, follow the link and have a look for yourself… I’ll wait right here for you. I promise. No, really. I promise…

Done? Good. See there, I was telling the truth, wasn’t I? Uh-huh…

Okay, let’s move on…

For me personally, Martha Ackmann is much more than what it says in her bio, because to put it very simply she was also a mentor of sorts. You see, way back in the stone age – that being when I was in high school – Martha, or “Ma” as we liked to call her, was my Journalism teacher. While I was only blessed with a few semesters of her tutelage, she literally taught me more about Journalism and writing in that short time than I ever gleaned from any other classes, high school and college combined. Seriously. I’m not trying to blow smoke up anyone’s anything. She is literally that spectacular.

To give you an illustration of what a tremendous teacher she is, in addition to instructing a bunch of whacked out, pimple faced teenagers in the finer points of writing and Journalism, shepherding us into and through competitions such as those held by the MIPA (Missouri Interscholastic Press Association), and chaperoning us at the JEA (Journalism Education Association) convention, “Ma” was also responsible for the creation of our high school radio station, KRSH (now KRHS)… Oh, and by the way – those competitions? We always came home with awards. While I like to think we all had a little bit of talent, the real credit goes to “Ma”, because she was responsible for teaching us how to use it. (By the way – don’t hurt yourself looking for me in the above picture. I was the guy behind the camera. I did, however, bring home an award from that MIPA conference. Martha, however, is the one with the grin on her face – second from the left against the back wall. Rumor has it she was kind of proud of us that day because – and I quote from the newspaper clipping – “Ritenour students won more broadcasting awards than any other students in the state.”)

Now, since she created our little 10 watt FM station, and acted as our staff adviser, those of us who put in time there were treated to even more learning opportunities. While we did in fact have an AP newswire teletype terminal in the station, “Ma” would never allow “rip and read” – that being the process of “ripping” the pages off the teletype and “reading” them verbatim on the air. No, we were expected to pick out the pertinent points of the story from the newswire copy, then write our own original lead and nut-graph. In short, she taught us to be reporters, not talking heads. We would sometimes grumble about it at the time – after all, who were we, a bunch of high school kids, to be re-writing copy that had already been produced by professionals? But looking back on those days, it was worth every second we spent, because we learned more from that exercise than any textbook could ever teach. What we didn’t realize at the time was that she was teaching us to be those professionals.

I could go on telling stories about the things we learned, and how we even managed to scoop AND upstage a local television station – all because of what “Ma” had taught us, not the least of which was professionalism. However, I will save some of those for a different blog or two… Right now, let’s bounce forward in time just a bit and see if we can eventually tie all this together. Hang on, because as usual there will be whiplash involved…

I’m assuming everyone has seen The Incredibles?

If not, well, you should. Fun movie. At any rate, the reason I bring this up is that there is a character named Violet. She is filled with teenage angst, and wears her hair hanging down mostly over her face. It’s sort of a visual metaphor to illustrate the angst and insecurity she is experiencing at that awkward age. At least, that’s what I gleaned from it. Maybe she was actually just hiding a zit and I’m reading too much into the characterization.

But, I digress…

I can hear you now. “But… But… What the hell does any of this have to do with your mentor, Murv?”

Well, I’m glad you asked. Here’s the thing – My 10 year old daughter does the same thing with her hair. It hangs down in her face and just drives us nuts (her teachers too). Apparently she can see just fine – if her grades are any indication. But, the rest of us on the other side of the follicular curtain have no clue how she manages it. I suppose she might have some sheepdog in her somewhere, but  I’m thinking it would have to come from E Kay’s side. But, don’t tell The Evil One I said that, okay?

Anywho, the other day I was doing the typical parental complaining at the O-spring regarding said hair. After all, as a parent it is a moral imperative that I do so. Finally, in exasperation, I threatened her with the fact that I was considering grabbing a “chip clip” from the potato chip bag in the kitchen and affixing her hair back out of her eyes with it.

As the words flew out of my mouth a long forgotten memory rose the the surface and began pummeling me about my head and shoulders. Yeah… This is where “Ma” comes back into the story.

Back in seventy-koff-koff, as I sat in the main studio of KRSH, reading news on the air, Martha was staring at me through the control room window. I had no clue what I’d done, or not done, but she had one of “those looks” on her face. If you don’t know the look of which I speak, well, I’m not sure what to say. I guess you had to be there and know “Ma”. But, when she had one of “those looks” we all knew she was either disappointed in us (deservedly, I assure you), torqued at something, or was up to some kind of mischief. At any rate, as soon as I finished the headlines and “tossed it” to the engineer for a recorded PSA break (Public Service Announcement), and the mics were dead, “Ma” disappeared. Before the first PSA was finished playing, the door to the studio opened and in she marched. Without saying a single word she pulled my hair back out of my face and clipped it to the top of my head with a large, spring binder clip. Then, still mute, she turned on her heel and exited.

Let me tell you, I finished the broadcast with the clip still in my hair, and even waited 10 minutes after I was off-air before I even thought about taking it out.

As it happens, it wasn’t very long after I had this flashback that Martha and I  ran into one another on Facebook, which was a great bit of serendipity. I say that because I was afforded the opportunity to tell her how important she had been in shaping my life and career. I mean, after all, writing became my profession, and I attribute much of that to her.

But, just as important, she is directly responsible for another skill set that I hadn’t realized I might one day need – I know how to do impromptu hairstyling with a paperclip.

Thanks, Ma. In your honor, I’m passing the knowledge along to a new generation…

More to come…

Murv

Note: Martha Ackmann wrote a wonderful non-fiction book titled, The Mercury 13, about women pilots involved in the early days of the Mercury space program. I highly recommend it. Her latest book is Curveball: The Remarkable Story of Toni Stone.

Commercials… You just never know what kind of havoc they will cause. For instance, you have that whole Filet-O-Fish thing going on. There’s even a ring tone for your cell, just like in the commercial itself.

As a matter of fact, E K was at a bank just the other day, stomping a printer into submission – what with her being Queen of the Printer Technicians and all – when a cell phone nearby began ringing. It was, of course, the Filet-O-Fish ring tone.

That’s when the havoc ensued.

As I understand it, E K went over and stabbed the guy in the head with a screwdriver, then stomped his cell phone until it was quiet. Oddly enough, she wasn’t charged with assault or even destruction of property. Apparently she received a standing ovation from everyone else in the bank. You may have read about it in the papers.

Now, me, I actually like the Filet-O-Fish jingle. But, don’t tell E K. She carries a screwdriver in her purse and I’m not big on being stabbed.

Of course, as usual, I am chasing a chicken of different plumage – by that I mean, I’m actually here to talk about a different commercial. Not the Filet-O-Fish song.

So… Anyway… Yeah… Guess I’d better get on with it then…

You see, the other day the O-spring and I were heading out to run some errands. While I generally listen to the local NPR station whenever I’m in the Merp Mobile, on this particular occasion I was in the mood for some tunes, so we were dialed in to the local classic rock station. Fortunately, the O-spring has very diverse musical tastes. She does get into some J-Pop and other stuff that really drives me insane, but she can also be equally entertained by ZZ Top, Black Sabbath, or Billy Joel (ad infinitum). Way cool, eh?

Yeah, I know, I’m getting off track again…

Back to the story… Since we were listening to a commercial station, obviously there were commercial breaks. Since this was shortly before Valentine’s Day, one of them happened to be for a Boudoir / Lingerie Chain that was advertising “Designer Underwear.”

Again, havoc ensues. The following is a best recollection accounting of the conversation that came in the wake of said commercial…

After a thoughtful pause, the O-spring, with an overabundance of confusion in her voice said, “Designer Underwear?! Who would want that?!”

“Well, honey,” I said. “Some people are all about the labels and things like that.”

“Oh, okay,” she replied.

I could tell by the way she said it that we weren’t finished. The traffic signal ahead of us winked so I made my left hand turn and proceeded down the road. The kid stewed silently for another minute or two. You could almost hear the cogs and gears clattering against one another as she concentrated.

Finally she announced, “I guess you just have to be old enough to want designer underwear.”

I was intrigued, so I asked,  “How old is that?”

“Old enough to have a boyfriend,” she replied with a matter-of-fact air about her.

I “schnerked” and tried to avoid spitting a mouthful of coffee all over the inside of my windshield. Gathering my composure I followed up with, “Well, how old do you think that is?”

Once again, gears and ratchets began grinding, clanking, and whirring. A moment later she replied, “I don’t know.”

Like any father with a daughter, I saw a perfect opportunity before me. “Well,” I said. “I’m pretty sure that you aren’t old enough to have a boyfriend until you’re 40.”

“Okay,” the O-spring said, not even flinching. “Sounds good.”

“So, we’re agreed then. You aren’t going to have a boyfriend until you turn 40, right?”

“Right.”

As good a memory as the kid has, I’m fairly certain that in a few years she won’t remember this conversation at all. I’ll definitely remind her, but I don’t think it will do any good.

All I can say is when “teenhood” rolls around and she decides to break the pact, I know there’s nothing I can do. However, if she asks for money to go buy designer underwear, we’re going to have a problem…

More to come…

Murv