News
ENLARGE
It is nearly impossible to look cool and maintain your composure when a dog is humping your leg.
And when that leg-loving occurs on your first day of first grade, on the playground, while the entire school watches from the safety of the class rooms, it's enough to really sour a kid on education. There's little wonder I never went on to college.
My mate and I have become one of those weird couples who constantly peak out our windows at our neighbors. Unlike one lady on our block, we don't care about who's parking where, whose lawn needs mowing or house needs painting; we like to spy on the abundant children.
Watching kids is a lot less expensive and time consuming than owning them. Over the years, we have seen the children mature; when we moved to the hood some of them couldn't speak English (or any language) — now they are riding bikes.
From a safe vantage point, we enjoy watching them play and interact. Of course, both Ellen and I have our favorites — she prefers the sweet and imaginative girls and I like watching as the boys knock each other around playing street hockey. It is also interesting to see cliques forming and to see who is included and who is not.
The parents will sometimes engage in the ruckus, but mostly they keep their distance and let nature take it course. Whereas I grew up in a world where children mostly played unattended, I now see a time when kids are, in my opinion, over-supervised. But the mothers and dads in my hood seem to have reached a good balance of both.
It was the first day of school and kindergarten last week. As I was getting ready for work and Ellen for play, we kept our eyes glued to the window because we knew, India, one of our favorites, was heading off to her first day of school. We both hoped she would not be too nervous. While some others kids seemed to shuffle reluctantly out of their homes, heads down and eyes forward like soldiers to battle, India sprinted towards the car pool wearing pink and ready to conquer.
As we watched India head off to class, I remembered my first day of school. I had a rough three years in kindergarten and was not looking forward to first grade. Being the youngest of six, I was assured by my siblings that first grade was a piece of cake; how could have they known about the black mutt.
At the time we had a dog named Trouble. Trouble was in heat. Back then I wasn't sure what that meant, but I did know our dog was relegated to the garage or a leash, and my mother told me to keep him off my bed. Before I went off to school that first day, I fed and walked Trouble and gave her a big hug.
The morning went without incident and I was looking forward to recess. After lunch and play time we were being herded back to the class room when a mangy black dog appeared out of nowhere and started sniffing me. At first I was flattered: Of the 30 or more children, I was the one he sought out. A teacher asked me if that dog belonged to me. When I told her no, she said to leave it alone and come back inside. I tried to obey, but the mutt had different ideas. It seemed the mutt smelled Trouble (our dog in heat) on me.
When it began loving my leg, I panicked and ran. The mutt obviously thought I was playing hard-to-get and pursued. By the time it caught me I was on the other side of the playground and had fallen to my hands and knees. When I looked over my shoulder to see if the teacher was coming to my rescue I saw only the black dog — he looked happy.
The teacher, Mrs. Beischell, had to be in her 50s and thus born at the turn of the century and raised in a time when rabid dogs weren't so rare. Her reasoning was to get the rest of the children to safety first then to come to my aid; she did so soon after with a mop handle in hand. By the time she reached me the dog was tired and was easily chased away. (It did not have rabies, just lonely.) I was not hurt but had torn my new school clothing. As Mrs. Bieschell walked me across the playground I saw 30 faces in the windows. As we got nearer she suggested that if I stopped weeping I'd look like a hero and not a cry baby.
Unfortunately, that first day of school, just before recess, might have been the high point of my scholastic career. After escaping a dog in love I had to reckon with reading, writing and arithmetic with only limited success. No matter, you have to go with your strengths. The next day I headed off the school reading to conquer the world, but first I fed, walked, and hugged our amorous dog Trouble; this time while wearing my brother Mark's jacket.
Jeffrey Bergeron, under the alias of Biff America, can be seen on RSN TV and read in several newspapers and magazines. He can be reached at biffbreck@yahoo.com. Biff's book “Steep, Deep and Dyslexic” is available from local book stores or from www.webersbooks.com
And when that leg-loving occurs on your first day of first grade, on the playground, while the entire school watches from the safety of the class rooms, it's enough to really sour a kid on education. There's little wonder I never went on to college.
My mate and I have become one of those weird couples who constantly peak out our windows at our neighbors. Unlike one lady on our block, we don't care about who's parking where, whose lawn needs mowing or house needs painting; we like to spy on the abundant children.
Watching kids is a lot less expensive and time consuming than owning them. Over the years, we have seen the children mature; when we moved to the hood some of them couldn't speak English (or any language) — now they are riding bikes.
From a safe vantage point, we enjoy watching them play and interact. Of course, both Ellen and I have our favorites — she prefers the sweet and imaginative girls and I like watching as the boys knock each other around playing street hockey. It is also interesting to see cliques forming and to see who is included and who is not.
The parents will sometimes engage in the ruckus, but mostly they keep their distance and let nature take it course. Whereas I grew up in a world where children mostly played unattended, I now see a time when kids are, in my opinion, over-supervised. But the mothers and dads in my hood seem to have reached a good balance of both.
It was the first day of school and kindergarten last week. As I was getting ready for work and Ellen for play, we kept our eyes glued to the window because we knew, India, one of our favorites, was heading off to her first day of school. We both hoped she would not be too nervous. While some others kids seemed to shuffle reluctantly out of their homes, heads down and eyes forward like soldiers to battle, India sprinted towards the car pool wearing pink and ready to conquer.
As we watched India head off to class, I remembered my first day of school. I had a rough three years in kindergarten and was not looking forward to first grade. Being the youngest of six, I was assured by my siblings that first grade was a piece of cake; how could have they known about the black mutt.
At the time we had a dog named Trouble. Trouble was in heat. Back then I wasn't sure what that meant, but I did know our dog was relegated to the garage or a leash, and my mother told me to keep him off my bed. Before I went off to school that first day, I fed and walked Trouble and gave her a big hug.
The morning went without incident and I was looking forward to recess. After lunch and play time we were being herded back to the class room when a mangy black dog appeared out of nowhere and started sniffing me. At first I was flattered: Of the 30 or more children, I was the one he sought out. A teacher asked me if that dog belonged to me. When I told her no, she said to leave it alone and come back inside. I tried to obey, but the mutt had different ideas. It seemed the mutt smelled Trouble (our dog in heat) on me.
When it began loving my leg, I panicked and ran. The mutt obviously thought I was playing hard-to-get and pursued. By the time it caught me I was on the other side of the playground and had fallen to my hands and knees. When I looked over my shoulder to see if the teacher was coming to my rescue I saw only the black dog — he looked happy.
The teacher, Mrs. Beischell, had to be in her 50s and thus born at the turn of the century and raised in a time when rabid dogs weren't so rare. Her reasoning was to get the rest of the children to safety first then to come to my aid; she did so soon after with a mop handle in hand. By the time she reached me the dog was tired and was easily chased away. (It did not have rabies, just lonely.) I was not hurt but had torn my new school clothing. As Mrs. Bieschell walked me across the playground I saw 30 faces in the windows. As we got nearer she suggested that if I stopped weeping I'd look like a hero and not a cry baby.
Unfortunately, that first day of school, just before recess, might have been the high point of my scholastic career. After escaping a dog in love I had to reckon with reading, writing and arithmetic with only limited success. No matter, you have to go with your strengths. The next day I headed off the school reading to conquer the world, but first I fed, walked, and hugged our amorous dog Trouble; this time while wearing my brother Mark's jacket.
Jeffrey Bergeron, under the alias of Biff America, can be seen on RSN TV and read in several newspapers and magazines. He can be reached at biffbreck@yahoo.com. Biff's book “Steep, Deep and Dyslexic” is available from local book stores or from www.webersbooks.com
