If you’re a school-age child, there’s a brief window of time each year known as summer vacation. Some view it as temporary parole, but in my case more apt terminology would have been Work Release Program.
My dad began the countdown a month before school ended. He busied himself preparing and planning activities to occupy my time and to protect me from restlessness or boredom. While hoeing two-acre truck patches or shoveling manure, I would often long for the company of my cellmates and the hard, cold concrete walls where we were institutionalized nine months of the year. Summer was no vacation.
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Root Elementary School operated a supply store on the premises. This is where I received my first academic lesson involving the human anatomy.
The size of one’s fingers and hands is inversely proportioned to the size of the required writing instrument. For example, if you have fists like King Kong, your pencil should be no thicker than a toothpick. However, if you have fingers like Tinker Bell, you’re forced to use crayons the size of a baseball bat.
How they expected us to color within the lines when we couldn’t see the paper for the crayon was beyond me.
*the above is an excerpt from “Dragonslayer” in The Perils of Heavy Thinking.
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This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
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