From June 7, 2013
Well another year and we now left my favorite month, May.
My birthday falls on the 23rd (feel free to send cash) and I love sitting outside in the early morning drinking coffee in the fresh crisp spring air.
May also brings to mind great childhood remembrances; the near-end of the school year, playing baseball, swimming, summer camp, and the opening of water pistol season.
We could not wait for the water pistols to arrive at the 5 & 10, as we would rush to get the latest model, the best squirter, and be at-the-ready to retaliate when a friend would inevitably throw down the gauntlet and begin the summer-long battle.
Now the mere mention of the word “pistol” today may heap upon me all sorts of unspeakable horrors. As kids at St. Attica’s elementary the punishment inflicted for bringing a water gun to school was the confiscation by Sister Jack Palance and the return at days end along with a stern warning to not act like a real child.
Today a 7 year-old student sitting at the lunch table, playing with a piece of shoelace licorice and forming something that remotely resembles a gun will find himself shunned by his classmates, banished to the schools dungeon tower, having to meet with counselors & therapists, while his parents will be looked-upon with shame by the other soccer moms and spoken of in hushed tones by family and friends.
He will probably make the local 5 o’clock news just after the daily dog story and the investigative journalist who discovers some granny was over-charged $30 on her phone bill.
There may also be a YouTube video that “goes viral”.
This will all go on his permanent record forever preventing him from holding office, entering an Ivy League University or even the Pillsbury Bake-Off.
The kid is doomed. Sorry junior, you should have been born in simpler times.
Well I am now going to post a history of water pistols. I acknowledge my sin; throw myself on the mercy of my readers, as I go on-the-lam before government officials wearing jackets with acronyms on their backs, invade my home, confiscate my meager possessions, and attempt to round up my arsenal of water shooters.
When I go underground I still will never be able to escape the image of Sister Jack Palance. Today she would be telling me to act like a real adult. That punishment is eternal.