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2004-05-02 - 12:08 p.m.

Okay, in a little while I ought to be on my way to Fry's Electronics to buy this networking stuff I described last night. But first I feel like writing another entry here. I'm getting my fingers and my mind warmed up for the tech stuff to come. And the spending of money, which I think I've already done enough of lately...but it can't be avoided. (Well, yes, I guess it can, but I am self-indulgent.)

I wrote about my Aboriginal Art lecture to the first graders last Thursday. If this is going to sound like bragging, I can only say that in my view, it is allowed for one to be happy over one's abilities and successes and if you will notice, I don't brag about my marathon running abilities (of which I have none...I would like to drive the marathon) or about all my patents (I would patent myself a machine that would slam down my alarm clock's snooze button for me) or the diseases I have cured (well, I have figured out how to absolutely, reliably, get rid of hiccups, but that's just about it), so there is a difference between "these things I can do, and these other things, well, listen to me, I'll give lots of praise and admiration for those who can do those, or even to those who can do the things that I can do better than I can." So I think it is okay. Because I am not a "behind the scenes" type. Instead, I am a "star," as my friend Bob says, and that includes all the things that go with it, the good and the bad.

At lunch that day I was sitting at the picnic table with the school's registrar, the Headmaster's assistant, and the school nurse, telling them about the success of my lecture. They were all kind of nodding with a "yeah, yeah" sort of demeanor, like how good could it possibly be, they couldn't get a mental grip on the whole thing as they basically view me as just another office slave. (Who does, occasionally, substitute teach in some of the classes, and has had some impact in chaperoning the kids on some of the long trips, so there is something "academic" and "student-oriented" going on in me, but on the whole they probably view that as an aberration rather than an essential part of who I am.) That I would somehow create on my own a specialized talk (Aboriginal Art? I mean, where would that come from?) to give to a unique audience (first graders? How could he possibly?) didn't really compute in their mind. You know how you can feel that the communication somehow just isn't going over?

Well, as we were eating, the art teacher happened to walk by. "Once again, I've got to tell you, that was the greatest, you are the best. I want you to know that I have altered my curriculum because of you! I want to keep going some of what you got started. Thank you so much for inviting me."

The three others at the table were nodding amongst themselves, "hmmmm, something must have been going on there."

Then a little while later, the teaching assistant walks by. "You know how much I love you, don't you? I've been hearing about this lecture for years and finally I was lucky enough to be assigned to this class and I could finally hear it. And all I can say is 'wow!' You really have something, there." The three at the table are getting more agitated with recognition.

Next come up a couple of little kids, standing there all nervous and excited, hoping that I remembered that I had just been with them a couple of hours before. They sheepishly say "Hi" to me by name, I'm a celebrity, now, for ten minutes. I, of course recognized them, said a few nice words to them (including "You know, we'll be talking about turtles with you two weeks from now!") and they nodded, excited, and ran off laughing. The three women, they started to flush, their lips getting looser and thicker.

The best of all, the actual teacher then comes up. "Did you get my voice mail message?" I said, "Oh yes, I sure did, thank you so much, I loved your words, I saved it like I have your messages from the previous years, I've got to figure out a way to record them so that I don't ultimately lose them."

"Oh yeah, I know, I, too, do that, when I get parents calling me, raving about one thing or another, we don't get as much of that as we should."

Then she went on to explain the reason she had sought me out: "Do you remember the little boy who had to leave in the middle of your lecture because his mother had come to take him to a doctor's appointment? Well, when they came back later, she wanted to speak to me and tell me that he was so mad at her, saying to her, 'Mom, why did you have to take me to the doctor when Mr. Pitbullshark was giving us a lecture on aboriginal art,' he wanted to stay and hear the end of it. Now this is a boy who never says anything good about school and is always looking for an excuse to get out of class. But this time, he didn't want to leave!"

By this time, the registrar, assistant, and nurse finally got it. They exploded with questions, "How did you ever learn about aboriginal art, what led you to designing this talk, is there any way you can do it again for other people, what other plans do you have for it?" Finally, some recognition from the office quarters.

Then on Friday, I had to work at the receptionist desk for a couple of hours, as the receptionist was sick. Four of us are assigned to share that load when she is sick (although that plan is going to be changed after the end of this school year) and more and more I feel like a business executive during the recent supermarket strike, driving a refrigerated truck or trying to butcher meat.

However, as I was sitting there, I was treated to a visit from a boy who had had the lecture in his class last year. He is now in second grade, and he is one who has been brave enough to continue to visit me. This means that he had actually had the courage to explore the wilds of the administration building, going upstairs to the mysterious second floor and actually finding his way down to my office. Ordinarily for a kid to do that would be the equivalent of Stanley Livingston finding the lost Elephant Graveyard in legendary darkest Africa. And not only that, but he was the one who later brought his two brothers to meet me, and then sometime after that, brought his little sister. This time, he was very happy to see me right there, conveniently located in the building's lobby. Of course, he is too small to talk to me over the counter (I wouldn't be able to even see him), so he just came around behind and got into the receptionist's station. He really is the cutest little boy and he always touches my heart when he first sees me, because I can see a little flicker of anxiety that I somehow might have forgotten who he is, as if I could possibly. His visits mean a lot to me.

I said, "I bet you've got some amazing plans for this upcoming weekend that will make me really jealous, like last time you came to visit to tell me you and the family were going skiing!"

"Yep," he said, all excited that I remembered that, "this weekend I'm going to have a birthday party at the beach!"

"A birthday party at the beach...well, happy birthday, how old are you, now?"

"I am nine." When he said it, he said it with such pride and clarity that I could see the perfectly-formed roundness of the number as he spoke. "But it really isn't my actual birthday tomorrow, I already had that on Wednesday."

"Oh, so now you are already nine and sure, it's good to celebrate your birthday on a day when all your friends can come to your party. What beach do you like to go to, Will Rogers, Santa Monica...?"

He said, "The Beach Club." I almost laughed.

"Sure, of course, The Beach Club, what a wonderful place for a birthday party!" The Beach Club was a place I would gaze at longingly like a London orphan selling pencils out in the snow on Christmas morning, gazing into a fireplace-warmed room filled with Christmas treats except in my case the scene would be fighting the relentless traffic searching desperately for a open parking lot on a fabulous beach day, while Rolls Royce Corniches and various other luxury cars casually ambled on in past the Beach Club's elegant security gates. I knew the Beach Club well, from outside on the highway!

After I enthused over the expected fun of that party, I went on to tell him that "Guess what, just yesterday I gave the aboriginal art lecture like I gave your class last year."

He said, "I wish I could have heard it again."

I said, "Thank you. Well, be happy you got to hear one of the few, because we're not going to have it anymore."

"Oh yes you will," he said, "you have to give it next year so my sister can hear it!"

Ah, okay, his sister has to hear it. The teacher of the class, after I finished it Thursday, said, "I'm not so sure you won't be able to give it anymore. We just have to keep on having it. There must be a way." And now I hear some of the kids are behind it. Well, it's like trying to trim a dogwood hedge. You can clip and clip and clip all you want, make that hedge conform to the straight edges of the box you want it to be, but guess what happens overnight? Little shoots rise up and wreck the lines of the box.

Little kids, little shoots in the hedge, their power is relentless. And I for one, am glad that we are on each others' side, Beach Club or no Beach Club!

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