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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Welcome Summer!

Are you ready for the Summer?

Welcome, Summer, my favorite time of year!

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways …

What I truly love about summer are burnished memories of that school bell ringing on an afternoon in mid-June, spelling liberation from the annual trials and tribulations of reading, writing, and getting beaten up by the fifth grade girls.

“No more classrooms, no more books, no more teacher’s dirty looks” was truly a rallying cry in a time when teacher’s dirty looks meant a disapproving glare because eating your homework had become a regular part of your dog's diet rather than an ardent and soulful “Come hither, Timmy, you do so remind me of Colin Firth!”

And it seemed incredible that even as we grew older and school was displaced by a new type of daily endeavor that didn’t recognize that it ought to come to a full two and a half month hiatus in mid-June every year, the feeling of Summer as a liberation still remained with me for years to come.

Until one year in the 1980’s when it stopped as dead as the career of a moderate in the Republican Party!

And then it seemed incredible that although the feeling of Summer Liberation was gone forever, continuing unto the present day was and is that recurrent nightmare that I'm still in school, facing an enormous final I haven't studied for, and will be sold into life-long bondage to the goofiest six members of the school's Audio-Visual Club if I flunk!

But what I truly love about Summer is the wonderful warm weather!

What can match the joy of knowing you can go outside anytime without a thought to the elements, aside from my usual obsessing about cadmium,  and never have to worry about bundling up? 

Yes, that six second walk from air conditioned house to air conditioned car when it’s 81 degrees out is so incredibly more comfortable than that six second walk from heated house to heated car when it’s 18, don't you agree?

And the great weather brings with it a whole complement of outdoor fun with camping, boating, fishing, and the mountains!

Of course, I get nauseous whenever I climb aboard any type of nautical vessel, camping may involve spiders!, fishing is cruel and heartless …. to the fish, I might point out, as well as to me …. and mountains, well, I have fear of heights whenever I step on a scale in the drug store to check my weight and fortune.

But what I truly love about Summer is hitting that beach!

Though it’s strange how global warming --- violently unleashed all throughout the globe --- has so far failed to make its way to New Jersey, where the ocean water remains so arctic even the jellyfish opt anymore mostly for mini-golf. 

Who the jellyfish are leaving behind to sting folks in the water I don’t know, but I’ll bet they’re pleased with the progress reports they’re getting on days I venture out into the limb numbing, teeth chattering, something-I’m-not-engaged-to-just-grabbed-my-leg foaming surf and brine.

But back relaxing on the beach, feet in the sand, sun overhead, and all’s well! 

That is, until the copperhead flies begin dive bombing me in the same precipitous trajectory as a Ben Affleck movie the week after release, the sun bakes the top of my insufficiently hair-cushioned head such that Poppin' Fresh dinner rolls all but pop out the top of my scalp, and sand granules settle intractably between both of my contact lenses and my adjacent eyeballs until droves of passing young bikini–clad women cannot help but utter:

“Look, that elderly man is crying!  It must be tough to be that goofy looking and that old!”

But what I truly love about Summer is sitting here in my highly air conditioned den, beer in hand, serene in the knowledge that this July the new season of Curb Your Enthusiasm will finally hit HBO!

After that, there’s not much happening on TV until the Fall.

Ahhh, the Fall!

How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways ….

~~~~~~~~~