Part 5: Strange Questions

Spent the night watching basketball and then getting drunk and listening to people go on about werewolves, so we’re shirking our blogging duties. JP fills in again with a new installment…

Strange Questions
By JP

It’s not that the word I used in a sixth-grade indiscretion has governed my life (the action denoted by that word has, yes, because I am a guy), but there are two other occasions when events did revolve around it. I’ve already mentioned Jimmy Stewart (I do not make up names for these reminiscences) and his false charge against me. The strange question in that episode came from my sainted mother, who felt compelled to use the word in conveying the unexpected accusation. Shocked me, I’ll tell you right now, but it also cemented in my brain the importance of that word to adults as One to Be Avoided, therefore One to Always Be Conscious Of.

The other strange question came about because of Educationist Suspicion. This is a state of mind common to all adults who work in public education, and could best be described as the attitude that all children are up to no good all of the time. It comes with the job. Educators learn not to let it overwhelm their belief in the inherent goodness of children; educationists do not. Kids learn early on how to spot who is which and tend to be afraid of the educationists, and to appreciate the educators (while at the same time always trying to figure an angle on them).

During my first year at Mathewson Junior High School, I was adopted as a friend by Jimmy Leigh, a slick, streetwise boy who made fun of everything and everyone. I don’t know why Jimmy picked me as a friend, for I was this nerdy little white kid who was innocent and unfailingly nice (I had learned not to be smug and overbearing sometime early in the sixth grade), but he did, and even though it was a slightly uncomfortable friendship for me, we only saw each other in a couple of classes, three or four times a week, so it was bearable. Occasionally, Jimmy was even fun to be around, because his mind was quick, and he was edgy and could be funny. Teachers didn’t quite know what to do with him, so they would keep one eye on Jimmy and the other eye on the rest of the class. It was kind of exciting to be friends with an outlaw. My first one, if you don’t count Quirt Evans.

One day, right before music class began, Jimmy told me a joke. It was exceedingly off-color, and it confused and embarrassed me to hear it, but I laughed anyway, half-afraid not to, but also aware on some level that this was a rite of passage, my first really gross adult joke, and I liked that idea. My pleasure was soon to be obliterated.

The obliterator was one Mr. Johnson, the vice principal and resident ogre (not Boots Johnson, the gym teacher, may he roast in hell; he always made me wrestle Delbert Flickinger, who was six feet tall and liked to hurt little kids like me, or Larry Dolloff, who was six feet two inches tall and liked to hurt little kids like me) who came to my English class and asked to talk to me in the hall. Which meant, of course, that I was in trouble, with no idea why.

Mr. Johnson had long been on the lookout for Jimmy Leigh. His first question to me ascertained that I was, indeed, Jimmy’s friend. I felt relief; someone else was in trouble, not me. My relief was short-lived, for Mr. Johnson’s next question was about the joke Jimmy had told me earlier. I cautiously allowed as how yes, he had done so. Then came the strange question, “Did he mention anybody’s name?”

What kind of a question was that? It had nothing whatsoever to do with the joke, which even then I barely remembered. I had no idea how to even answer such a bizarre question; I was flummoxed by it. Then it hit me. Forgetting totally the real substance of Mr. Johnson’s question, I jumped to the conclusion that he was concerned about the use of Certain Language at school. So, being an honest upstanding kid, I uttered The Word for the second time in my life, “Well, he said f*&.” Mr. Johnson, I guess since he was an adult and inured to all forms of adult language, did not bat an eye but just said, “No, I asked if he used anyone’s name, anyone here at school.” That one my brain let me respond to as it was phrased, and I assured Mr. Johnson that no, Jimmy had not used anyone’s name. He obviously didn’t believe me, but there was not much he could do about that, so I was allowed to return to class.

I was completely ashamed – again – by my vocalization of this word, especially so as I began to realize what an idiot I was when I responded in the way I had to Mr. Johnson. It was literally years later before I was able to view this incident with even a modicum of amusement, and I do not think I have ever told anyone this story before. I’ll tell you one thing, though; it turned me into a really good listener.

Disclaimer: When one writes about real individuals in real situations, names come up which have familiarity to people. Let me right now assure the Leigh family, the Leigh family, and the Leigh family that the Jimmy Leigh mentioned in my last post is purely, strictly, and solely the Jimmy Leigh who told me the off-color joke and then threw out my name as a sop to the vice principal. He is no other, and any similarity to someone still living or still revered is completely coincidental.

JP