I guess if I am honest with myself I will also share experiences that prove that I was not actually a natural intellectual. One of the many definitions for an intellectual is “a person professionally engaged in mental labor, such as a writer or teacher.” As a six year old kindergartner I was not one to be “engaged in mental labor” as the following memoir will confirm. 
As a child I lived down the hill from the elementary school. The phrase “down the hill” would be a gross understatement. If you were to pick up a classic work of children’s literature and read the phrase “down the hill” you would automatically assume a picture in your feeble mind of two little children in those tough, but cute looking German overalls, like Hansel and Gretel wore, skipping down a slight incline. The present use of the phrase “down the hill” does not refer to a slight incline, but in the eyes of a strapping six year old boy a sheer drop-off. This sheer drop-off continued for about three miles until it leveled off for a mile before the path actually reached my home. As a side note to this story the reader may be interested in knowing that the current road to the school has been modified, it is no longer very steep and has even been shortened quite a significant amount making the walk to the elementary school in modern times just over a mile.
Back to my story. I had a father with an innovative mind, uniquely innovative would actually be a more accurate description. As well as having a uniquely innovative mind, my father was also extremely cheap, in fact my father was so cheap that he would frequently not use his blinker in hopes that he would not have to replace an expensive car part. From my extensive description of the “pathway” to the school it should be quite obvious that my brothers and I walked to school. So when the snow came and my older brother and I needed snow boots we jumped in the old mustang and took off to Deseret Industries ( a local thrift store). To my father’s delight he found just what he was looking for, some cheap, durable, waterproof boots. In fact these boots were so durable that it would take more force than any elementary student had to damage them. It wasn’t until years later when I was learning to snow ski that I realized that these amazing snow boots were actually ski boots.
Since I was not to be “engaged in mental labor” at this point in my life, I neglected to employ in a debate with my father over the value of purchasing boots that I could not walk in. Luckily I had a mother that would have proudly worn the badge to represent MADSOVBPVYC (Mothers Against Destroying Shins and Other Vital Body Parts of Vulnerable Young Children), so I did not have to make the trek to school in those boots more than a couple of times.
This as well as many other humiliating experiences in Kindergarten, such as standing in the corner at recess because I was scared of other children, made me determined to take charge of my life and start speaking, at least a few words, to a few other people besides my mom, including my father. I was out of control, a renegade with no real focus; just waiting for those opportune moments in which I could shine.
As a child I lived down the hill from the elementary school. The phrase “down the hill” would be a gross understatement. If you were to pick up a classic work of children’s literature and read the phrase “down the hill” you would automatically assume a picture in your feeble mind of two little children in those tough, but cute looking German overalls, like Hansel and Gretel wore, skipping down a slight incline. The present use of the phrase “down the hill” does not refer to a slight incline, but in the eyes of a strapping six year old boy a sheer drop-off. This sheer drop-off continued for about three miles until it leveled off for a mile before the path actually reached my home. As a side note to this story the reader may be interested in knowing that the current road to the school has been modified, it is no longer very steep and has even been shortened quite a significant amount making the walk to the elementary school in modern times just over a mile.
Back to my story. I had a father with an innovative mind, uniquely innovative would actually be a more accurate description. As well as having a uniquely innovative mind, my father was also extremely cheap, in fact my father was so cheap that he would frequently not use his blinker in hopes that he would not have to replace an expensive car part. From my extensive description of the “pathway” to the school it should be quite obvious that my brothers and I walked to school. So when the snow came and my older brother and I needed snow boots we jumped in the old mustang and took off to Deseret Industries ( a local thrift store). To my father’s delight he found just what he was looking for, some cheap, durable, waterproof boots. In fact these boots were so durable that it would take more force than any elementary student had to damage them. It wasn’t until years later when I was learning to snow ski that I realized that these amazing snow boots were actually ski boots.
Since I was not to be “engaged in mental labor” at this point in my life, I neglected to employ in a debate with my father over the value of purchasing boots that I could not walk in. Luckily I had a mother that would have proudly worn the badge to represent MADSOVBPVYC (Mothers Against Destroying Shins and Other Vital Body Parts of Vulnerable Young Children), so I did not have to make the trek to school in those boots more than a couple of times.
This as well as many other humiliating experiences in Kindergarten, such as standing in the corner at recess because I was scared of other children, made me determined to take charge of my life and start speaking, at least a few words, to a few other people besides my mom, including my father. I was out of control, a renegade with no real focus; just waiting for those opportune moments in which I could shine.
3 comments:
I don't know what's funnier...imagining the conversation your dad had with himself about why a burned out blinker bulb or switch is such a bad thing, or watching you walking a mile up the street in ski boots. And Zerin thinks we're mean for making him wear a tie! :) This one is hilarious :)
I vote for the image of bryan walking uphill in ski boots!Thanks Bry, truly a gem of a story.
Just for the record, we had to have the entire workings of the column on the mustang replaced at what at the time was an outrageous price. I always will feel guilty over the things like the ski boots that I didn't put the kabosh on immediately.
OH WHAT HAVE WE DONE TO OUR CHILDREN??????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Post a Comment