The Dumb Things We Have Done

Bubala and I have been talking a lot lately about sharing some of the dumb things that we did when we were younger either accidentally or because we were just really dumb. I think I will go first. As I look back now, I realize that most of the dumb things that I did as a child were completely calculated in order to defend myself against a frightful, harsh and cruel world that I found myself living in and feeling very alienated in while living there.

Age 3:

Well, we've all heard Mom say don't run with scissors in your hand, but mine forgot to mention to me that I should also refrain from jumping on the couch with a very sharp pencil in my hand. So, I proceeded to do just that and somehow I was able to stick to sharp pointed end of the pencil right through my tongue. All the way through my tongue. Mom freaked out at the sight of a No. 2 piercing my tongue and had to get one of the neighbor moms to remove it before I went to the hospital. Luckily, tongues heal pretty quickly. At age 3, I probably didn't talk very well anyway, so maybe nobody even noticed my newly acquired speech impediment that resulted from my holy tongue. I always thought I had an edge on Jesus Christ though. I mean he only got his hands and feet punctured. Maybe if they had stuck a pencil through his tongue to keep him from talking and prophesizing, things might be very different now. To this day, I have no interest whatsoever in getting my tongue pierced for obvious reasons. Been there, done that, and I did it all by myself.

Age 5:

I started school overseas in the UK. My Dad was an international spy, and we were transferred over there to spy on the Brits because they made better music. This had a profound effect on my tastes (even more so than that pencil did) in terms of art and music and such. So much so that even after spending the rest of my life on the East Coast of the U.S., I think I still identify more with the culture of the UK than with the culture of Texas. Anyway, on to the dumb thing I did... This dumb thing happened when I was in kindergarten. This could have been social suicide had these been the kids I would later spend grades 1-12 with. But, I guess I figured in my five year old head that British kids are so gay-acting anyway, what have I got to lose? You see, we had a playhouse in kindergarten called "The Wendy House." The other kids and I would get into fights over who was going to get to play the family roles in the playhouse. And, no matter how much I argued and pleaded, my kindergarten teacher would never let me be who I wanted to be. So, I took matters into my own hands and had my mother write a note to the teacher saying that she didn't think it was fair that Steven wasn't allowed to be the MOTHER in the Wendy house. After that, once a week I got to put on the apron, rattle the pots and pans, make sure that the kids got off to school in the morning and make sure that the husband got off to work okay. The other kids didn't go for it too much though. They had a lot of problems with the sexual role reversal. I on the other hand knew that I was a pioneer of something. I wasn't sure what, but it still felt good to mix things up and confuse my peers.

Age 10

Okay, we've skipped forward a few years. We came back to The States and like a lot of American boys who grew up in the 70's, I got enrolled in the Cub Scouts. Now, at first, it seemed like a good idea. That is, until I found out that a lot of the guys in the scouts were over achievers who were being forced by their parents and their military families to do all this academic kind of stuff. And, that they didn't know how to think for themselves and they hadn't even discovered Rock and Roll yet. Now, at about this time in my life, I thought that Robert Plant was the coolest person in the whole world. He didn't wear a Cub Scout uniform, and he didn't get his hair cut, something that I made very clear to my parents that I never wanted to do by turning into the exorcist child every time the subject of either would come up.

Every few months or so, all of the Cub Scout packs in the area would gather and have a big meeting and give out awards during a ceremony. Well, this one year, my pack was chosen to do the opening ceremonies. We were all going to gather and march together to the front of the large room. We were in carrying flags, American and Cub Scouts flags, and someone would yell out some commands at us or something. We got together and decided which kid was going to do what and we practiced it a bit. My task was to hold the American flag. You had to hold it some weird way so that the back of your hands faced towards you. It was awkward and difficult. So, on the night of meeting, we get there and the flags that we are using are about twice as heavy as the ones we practiced with and the hand positioning is difficult to get a grip on. So, we start. Some commands are shouted, and we begin to march. We get about half way to the center of a room full of about 50 people. And, then the American flag I'm trying to carry gets all wiggly like it had been drinking or something. I'm fighting to gain control, but I lose my grip and the American flag drops to the floor and I drag the along the floor like it was a janitorial dust mop for a good 10 or 15 feet.

Now, British kids that you don't see anymore will soon forget that you wanted so bad to be the mother in the Wendy house, but U.S. military/cub scout kids who watch you drag their beloved Old Glory across the floor will NEVER let you forget that. I heard over and over again for a long time things like "Now we're going to have to burn the flag because of YOU. You not only let it touch the ground, but you dragged it across the ground for a while too." I'm sure that if something like that would happen nowadays, I would surely be accused of being an Al-Qaeda terrorist to which I would respond by saying yes before detonating myself on my suicide mission to destroy the evil Cub Scouts of America. After all, I've never seen anything in their handbook that says that I could win a badge for having long hair or for looking like Robert Plant, so what good are they?