BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

A gentle reminder: I don’t just spout silliness here on this blog. I also write novels. Those are what put the bread on the table, but bread is just about it as far as that goes. My wife has to bring home the bacon (and broccoli, and eggs, and milk, and…) That’s not what this is about, however…

If you have read my official bio over on my regular “author type person” website then you have probably run across the part about us having a pair of rescued felines, both of whom I describe as “the competition.”

Why “the competition?” some have asked.

Easy. They’ve got a thing for The Supreme Redhead. Yeah… E K.

Now, I realize that sounds a bit paranoid, but let me tell you a story. A recent story, in fact, and not at all unusual around here with these furry lunatics.

Just the other night, E K was on the sofa, and Competition #1, AKA Asphalt (because we rescued him from the middle of a highway on-ramp) immediately climbed onto her lap. He does this every time she parks for more than two minutes. Yes… I can hear you now, “But, Murv, that’s normal for cats.”

Yeah… sure.

As usual, E K babbled at him a bit, making all those “wooja-wooja ai lub yoo” noises and scritching him behind the ears. Now, remember, Asphalt started life as a kitten the size of a large hamster, but has grown to better than 20 lbs and has a head the size of a small melon. So, with him sprawled across EKay’s lap, she is sort of trapped.

The bag of tuna breath waited until she was finished and had directed her attention elsewhere. Then, he looked around, stared directly at me for a moment, then shifted a little, raised a paw, and copped a feel.

Yes. Pardon the colloquialism, but the old lardass planted his paw on EKay’s right “boob,” and left it there. Then, he looked at me with an expression on the order of, “Neener Neener, What’re you gonna do about it?”

And before you tell me that it was just a cat being a cat, I’d like to remind you that I saw the look on his face, so I know better.

All I can say is that if he starts bringing her dead stuff, he and I are going to go out back and have a talk. I’m pretty sure I can take him…

More to come…

Murv

I wasn’t the most popular kid in school.

Hell, let’s be honest, I wasn’t popular at all. I was the target of bullies who were looking for someone to beat on. I was the subject of cruel pranks by popular girls who thought it would be great fun to convince me they “liked me” in that adolescent raging hormone sort of fashion, only to turn around and deride me in front of our peers, en masse, all for the purpose of a giggle at my embarrassment.

Of course, I sort of brought it on myself depending upon how you look at it. I’m not “pretty.” Just sort of average looking. However, when you take average – or even pretty – and hang a scientific calculator from its belt, then give it a pocket protector and a briefcase… Well, you’ve got “Revenge of the Nerds” happening right in front of you. Yeah… That was me. So, in effect, I painted a target on my forehead every single morning – usually around a big ol’ cyclops zit, but that’s just standard puberty for you.

So… Where am I going with this? Someplace different, actually…

You see, my daughter just started Middle School – what we used to call Junior High back about 1000 years ago. Of course, since she’s reaching that “age” there are more and more moments when my wife (E K) and I are persona non grata. Just the old ‘rents that have to be ignored, because we are so out of touch and never ever, ever were her age, so we just can’t understand. However, in between our annoying tendencies to do ‘rent stuff, such as reminding her to do her homework, withholding her allowance when she neglects her household chores, or even sternly explaining why it’s against our rules to leave a half-eaten cheese sandwich under the couch, we have our “moments.”

What I mean by that is we have a pretty great relationship with our kid, and there are those times when she actually converses with us on a one to one level, without disdain, eye-rolling, or “you-just-don’t-understand sighs” punctuating every sentence fragment.

And so, I had one of those moments just the other day. Our brilliant child (seriously – she’s in the gifted program, but I’ll refrain from bragging. For now…) Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah… Our brilliant child was babbling incessantly to me as we headed to the store. Having just started Middle School, everything is new and different. Fun and exciting. A brave new world, so to speak… She paused for a moment and then said, “What was your favorite part of school, Dad?”

Well, as I started out with this blog, you can probably tell that school was sort of a self-contained hell for me. However, like our daughter, it too had its moments. I really enjoyed learning new stuff. I still do. That’s part of the allure of school, even though academia, in and of itself, is not my thing. They didn’t have a Gifted program when I was “in the system.” The best they could do was try skipping me grades which was a social nightmare and was nixed by my parents. So, that led to me being an underachiever for part of my primary education. Fortunately, that only lasted a couple of years, because I discovered extracurricular activities that were actual learning venues tied into classes – The school radio station, the newspaper, the yearbook, the school literary magazine, and even Drama Club… All of these provided me with a creative outlet as well as an advanced learning opportunity. I loved all of them. They literally kept me from pissing away my High School years, even with all of the bullying. Of course, there are certain teachers who were directly responsible as well – I’ve mentioned them here before – Martha Ackmann, Martha Osthoff, Mary Martin, Edward Ross, and others…

It was also during this time that I began honing my sarcastic sense of humor, primarily as a defense mechanism against the bullies, some of whom were even members of the extracurricular clubs that were keeping me interested in school. I was bound and determined that these bullies would not take THOSE away from me too.

But, I need to avoid being maudlin here… That’s not really what this is about. It’s about my kid asking me what my favorite part of school was. It didn’t take much thought for me to answer. I proceeded to “wax poetical” for several minutes about how wonderful the Radio Station, Yearbook, Lit Mag, Newspaper, and Drama Club were. How I looked forward to them, and how they tied into classes, and how I still hold truly fond memories of them today.

After my verbose, detailed, and flowery soliloquy, I paused.  Glancing over at the O-spring for a brief second, I asked, “So, what’s your favorite part?”

Without missing a beat, she replied, “I like the lockers.”

Sometimes it’s the simple things… And, I guess when you get right down to brass tacks, it’s all just a matter of perspective…

More to come…

Murv