8729. THINGS ARE DIFFERENT NOW, Pt. 202

202. TOO MUCH STUFF 

GOING ON

I have to admit, half the

time I didn't know what

anyone was ever talking

about. Photo-voltaic cells?

Positive ions? We often

had to take subjects and

courses of which my

exposure was meager

and minimal. And without

a care. I just was not the

analytic type, the resourceful,

categorical and methodical

type. You had to prove

anything to me first, and

even then I felt it was

mostly all conjecture;

circumstantial, with some

evidence backing it, but

conjecture no matter. I went

by the facile stuff : the guy

or lady in the front of the

room, being mostly an

abject idiot, or coming

across as that anyway,

with doting attention to

their little, black, lesson

plan books, attendance

sheets, decorum and 'how'

people were or acted, as

main concerns. That was

supposed to be education.

How deceitful was that?

If they came cross already

so poorly, why in the heck

should I give them a listen?

'By their works ye shall

know them.' And their

works were all pretty

obvious, blatant, steady.

to me. I already had it in

mind that it didn't matter

what you did  -  life was

a constant rolling frame

of predestination. Your

numbers were already in,

no thanks to you. You

either had the 'moment',

the grace, the shortcut,

or you didn't. God was

a cheatin' fool when it

came to people. He was

OK with birds and cattle,

maybe; but with people

He mostly stunk.

-

In 1960, I was stuck in

the 'portables.' They were

some wooden-shack

additions added onto the

back-side of School 4,

an addendum of necessity

because of the burgeoning

fertility of our mothers

and dads. All of a sudden

there 3 or 4 kids per

household, everywhere.

Don't know how it all

happened, except, frankly,

the usual lustful pursuit

of young marrieds in their

own 'new' homes. That's

all OK, acceptable, the

American way. Except for

us  -  mostly just stuck in

schools, sent off each day

into potboiling slums of

lethargy and kid-angst.

The 'portables' were one

ostensible answer  -  truly,

slum-schooling for kids.

'We built them a ghetto

of their own, and we force

them to go there!' That's

how the Board of Ed

creeps think. I don't

even think  -  in fact I'm

sure  -  that these portables

even had running water,

or water of any kind.

Who would even put

up with that today?

We had to get a

permission, and

then walk (kids do

exaggerate) for a

half-mile of concrete

basement walkways

and slop-rooms used

for volleyball and gym,

to pee. And to pee in

some crap-infested

cold and damp concrete

room, next to the janitors'

closets and sitting room.

Unheard of. Just to learn

some dumb geography

and a Christopher

Columbus rhyme.

('In fourteen hundred

and ninety-two, Columbus

sailed the ocean blue').

Oh man, the pathos and

the sorrow, and the

glory be!

-

Now I ain't no, haven't

never been no, Tom Sawyer  -

much closer, if I was any,

to Huck Finn anyway  -

but how he could ever

do all that stuff he did,

and  -  according to these

stories anyway  -  keep

his fool hands off the

likes of Becky Thatcher,

is beyond me. I guess it

was all some societal

form of Victorian propriety,

but, for me  -  and my

friends  -  it was mostly

about what glimpse of

this or that we could steal,

whose bloomers were

showing, and the new

budding-bump sweaters

of Mary or Jane. So here

we were, any number

of pre-adolescent, or just

about there, sex-thought

predators (about stuff

we didn't even really

know about), locked

in a series of oddball

claustrophobic wooden

boxes for some six

hours a day. It was quite

a trip; memorable and

fascinating.

-

My mother always used to

say to me 'Monkey see,

monkey do.' She said it to

me, and I never knew for

what reason. I mean I

knew what the phrase

meant, why she'd say it,

but I could never understand

why she'd address it so me?

She never followed up  -
so I never knew why or 
what I'd done. Frustrating.

all she had to do was say,

'Raymond holds his pencil

that way, and now I see you

do,' for explanation (That's 
just a made-up example. No

Raymond, no pencil really).

And then, anyway, what

if I did? Why would it

bother her so much? All

these things I could never

figure out. If Raymond had

a nice new black coat,

couldn't I have one? All

the time, just too much,

too much stuff going on.
-
It all began to be a burden, soon
enough anyway. I got tired of
being second-guessed, as if I'd
been caught trying to be some
London greaser with shiny hair,
rolled collars, leather boots and
jacket. A Teddy Boy, I think they
were called. Maybe. Then my mother
could have said, for her monkey-see
monkey-do stuff : 'I see Teddy bops
girls, beats up immigrants, steals
from old ladies, drinks and smokes.
And now I see you do too. 
 Monkey see, monkey do.'
Yeah, Ma, yeah.