High School Confidential

Occasionally, especially when he is a bit late, I drive my son Brandon to high school.

The following is a lurid tale of what happened recently during one such 7:25 A.M. excursion.  You decide if I am just another frustrated but relatively normal overage American male for whom "the road ahead seems suddenly all in the rear view mirror," or if you need lock up your daughters, your sons, and most land mammals when I chance by.  

"Isn't that your ninth grade science teacher pulling into the lot there?"  I asked Brandon as were were coming to the "School Zone - 15 mph" sign where the traffic backs up a bit.

"Yes, that's Mr. Fishbein," said Brandon.  "Aside from the fact that we usually had to show him how to light the Bunsen Burner and he always had his lab coat on backwards, he wasn't such a bad teacher."

"But what's happened to him!?" I exclaimed.   He looks as old as Walter Brennan!"  

"Dad, he looks fine.  And he's ten years younger than you.  And who's Walter Brennan?"

"Ten years younger.... can't be!  Say, I know that tall athletic kid at the door.  Who's he?"

"Oh, that's John O'Donnell.  Remember, he was in my third grade class at Oakmont."

"Oh, yeah, the kid who used to eat paste.  Looks like kind of a jock now." 

"Boy, is he!  Captain of the soccer and lacrosse teams.  He really got his act together."

("Great," I said under my breath, "wonder when it's gonna happen for me.")

"What's that, Dad?"

"Oh, oh, nothing.  Just saying wonder when it's gonna happen for me that this traffic clears up and ...  Holy Crap!!!"

"What is it, Dad?  What's wrong?"

"I mean ... umm ... Holy Crap!  Captain of both the soccer and lacrosse teams, you say?" 

"No, that wasn't it.  I don't think you're that excited that a kid who used to eat paste is now captain of two sports teams."

"Well,  frankly, I was looking at that young blonde girl over..."

"Dad!!! I warned you about that!    It's not appropriate for you to be salivating over girls under 30, let alone in high school. There's a Cut-off!"

"No, no, no,  that's not what I was thinking at all!  I was ... er... wondering if she's a good student."

"Really?  Why would you be thinking about that?"

"The way her hair shines so lustrously!   I ... uh ... what I mean is,  I thought perhaps she shines in classroom discussion as well." 

"That's not very convincing, Dad."

"You're wrong, Brandon!  I was merely observing the bulges ... that is, the bulges in her book bag,  because it looks like she's reading a lot of weighty and serious books.  You know, I'm concerned about the entire  student body here ... the lithe young student body ... no, no, I mean ... "

We were at the front door.  Time for Brandon to get out.

Mercifully. 

"Dad," he said,  "we've just got to have a talk when I get home." 

So, am I just another frustrated but relatively normal overage American male or should I get on the phone forthwith to the Wayward Jewish Baby Boomer Counseling Services of America and take their Industrial Strength Plan? 

You let me know.    I'll be at the house, waiting for Brandon.

And reading Lolita.

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The Cut-Off

No, not this kind of Cut-Off!

I never question the authority of the Cut-Off.

The Cut-Off, so-called, exists to tell us that we’re growing old in ways we never dreamed of or imagined. And when you get to be my age, Cut-Offs of all kinds come flying at you like bodies in a Quentin Tarantino movie.

My 15 year old son Brandon and I were one day in Borders, perusing with no particular purpose, when I picked up a couple of books and plunked my 60 year old butt down on the floor.

“Dad!” gasped Brandon. “Get up!”

“What?” I said.

“Someone your age cannot sit on the floor! People will think you’re having a heart attack! Isn’t Borders in enough trouble!?"

I simply hadn't realized it.

I’d reached the point in life where placing my can upon the carpeting acts to rip a hole in the space-time continuum!  Invisible but nonetheless fully existent sulfur spewing demons from a parallel dimension were no doubt dispersing themselves throughout Borders, checking out historical romances and ordering lattes from the Cafe.

“Okay, Brandon,” I asked sadly. “What is the Cut-Off?

“38, I’d say.  42 tops.”

I arose. As I said, I'm not one to challenge the authority of the Cut-Off!

Some Cut-Offs are obvious. I would never, for example, think of wearing a baseball cap backwards. Whenever a guy even many years my junior attempts to sport a backwards baseball cap, he looks like he’s not sure what direction he’s going in.

Show me a 60 year old guy with a baseball cap on backwards, and I’ll show you a guy who may well attempt to get places the rest of his life by backing up.

The Cut-Off?  25.  At most.

There are many Cut-Offs in the world of growing older, virtually all of which I am on the wrong side of.   Here's a brief but admittedly woefully incomplete guide to just a few of them:

Calling a male friend “dude.” Cut-Off: 32

 Calling a male friend “man.” Cut-Off: 54

Calling a male friend altogether. Cut-Off: whatever age you first have children.

Using the word “awesome.” Cut-Off: 41.

Using the word “splendid.” Cut-Off: None.  And it’s a splendid word to use to replace “awesome” when you’re past the Cut-Off for "awesome."

Wearing Painter’s Pants. Cut-Off: 27, unless you happen to actually paint houses for a living.

Stacking the cream containers on the table at the diner to see how high you can get them to go until they fall over. Cut-Off: 19. Sure you can do it when you’re older. But what’s cute and funny when you’re a teenager is liable to nervously empty each and every table adjacent to yours when you're 62!

Going on an amusement park ride called the “The Exterminator Terminator Wowie IV!” Cut-Off: Cannot ever be soon enough!

Brandon and I were one day watching a rerun of That 70's Show when I happened to say to him: “Brandon, you know which of the two young women on the show, Donna or Jackie, I find most visually appealing?” I admit that when I posed the inquiry, “most visually appealing " was not actually the precise verbiage I employed.

Brandon turned a color that can only be described as not existing in nature, and at once I realized I had out-Hefnered Hefner, out-Humbert Humberted Humbert Humbert, and gone all the way to out-little old guying the little old guy who married Anna Nicole Smith!

 “Dad, those are teenage girls!!!"

“Brandon," I sighed, "what is the Cut-Off for admiring young girls?” In this instance, having been chastened, I did indeed utilize the verb “admiring.”

“27.  And no higher!”  responded Brandon. “And you are disgusting!”

“Just so I know for the future," I asked wearily, "who is it okay for me to think hot?"

“Betty White,” said Brandon. “Because there is no Cut-Off!”

Betty White is great, no doubt about it.

But this was the most unkindest Cut-Off of all.

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