BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

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

It really was one of those truly peculiar moments in life.

I mean the kind where you feel that sudden rush of elation because you know that the finely crafted, long-thought-out trap you have set has sprung, and in the process has snared the prey. Of course, what makes it so peculiar is that the bubble of elation pops quickly, and is replaced all at once by the vacuum of realization that you have no clue what you are going to do with said prey now that you have snared it.

Of course, that is also followed by the gut-wrenching fear you feel because of exactly what that prey is. In this case, it was a redhead.

I suppose I should back up a bit…

You see, around here, one of the favored snacks of Her Supreme Royal Redheaded Highness, the O-spring, and, well, Moi, is Triscuits. However, we especially like them after you lay them out on a plate, sprinkle them liberally with shredded cheese, then take them for a spin in the microwave for 15 – 45 seconds. Timing is crucial, but there’s a wide range. It largely depends on the type of cheese, as well as the thickness of the shred layer you lay down.

You don’t want them to go too long, otherwise the cheese goes nuclear and all but evaporates. Too little and the shreds are just a little sweaty, so they fall off. Nope… You have to time it exactly, so that you achieve the proper level of melty clingage and bubbly cheesiness. A second too much, and even if you don’t evaporate the cheese you end up with molten dairy lava that will take the skin right off your lips and the roof of your mouth.

Not good at all…

But, yeah, I’m sorta digressing. You see, the thing here is that whenever E K or the O-spring fixes themselves a plate of Melty Triscuit Treats, they eat them. I know… Sort of a natural progression. Makes all kinds of sense. Except when you add this to the mix: Whenever I make myself a plate of Melty Triscuit Treats, they eat them.

See what I mean? Kinda makes you wonder how it is that I know that I actually like them, eh? I mean, what with me not getting to eat them and all.

Well, that’s where the trap came in. As it happens, I like spicy food. Peppery spicy is my friend. I am a bit of a connoisseur of peppers, as much as a redneck like myself can be a connoisseur. Anyhow, that being the case, I happen to have a bottle of ground Chipotle pepper in the cabinet. If you are unfamiliar with Chipotle, it is a smoked Jalapeño. Good stuff.

See where I’m heading? Well, just in case you are being a little myopic today, allow me to explain: I discovered that I like ground Chipotle sprinkled on my Melty Triscuit Treats. I figured this out when I was home alone and fixed myself a plate of the little snack squares. I wanted to jazz them up a bit, and, well, there you go…

But, back to that whole trap thing…

So, I sprinkled my Melty Triscuit Treats with ground Chipotle, started them rotating in the microwave, then stepped out for the briefest of moments. As I exited the kitchen, a red blur flew past me on it’s way into said kitchen. I’m sure you can guess the identity of the blur. It’s like she had Melty Triscuit Treats radar or something.

Evil Kat being Evil

Anywho, the microwave squealed that it was finished, all the while joined by the excited clack of stiletto heels as The Redhead danced about in anticipation. A split second later I heard the door of the appliance open, and then… wait for it… the scream.

At first it was sort of a pained yelp, and that was followed by a rather loud, “What The…” Then, Her Worship began demanding my presence via her typical, stern,  “Lackey! Come here, NOW!”

I had to explain what I had done to the Melty Triscuit Treats, as they did not meet with her approval. I muttered something about ill gotten gains, and that’s pretty much the last thing I remember before waking up on the floor with crushed up, Chipotle sprinkled, Melty Triscuit Treats and size 7 E K shoe prints all over me.

I guess that’ll teach me to fix myself a snack, now won’t it?

More to come…

Murv