Maragold in Sixth Part Three

CHAPTER  9

          During Thanksgiving vacation I returned to Ireland, where I was welcomed home enthusiastically.  It was so good to see Mom and Dad again.

          My mom and dad hugged me constantly, but while in their comforting embrace, I could hear that dreaded, unasked question:  “When are you coming home for good?”

          My return seemed like one big party.  There were birthday parties, reunions, picnics, dances, community dinners and stuff like that.  And even though this was pleasantly distracting, I could not stop thinking of Elder O’Keefe.  I knew I had to see him soon.  He was like a magnet and a compass to me now.  He attracted me to him and gave me direction.

          Then, through the haze of my distracting thoughts, a voice, like pleasing Celtic music, softly touched my ears.  Elder O’Keefe said, “Welcome home, Bert.  I’m glad that you are well and visiting friends and family.  You have been a wonderful friend to Maragold and Matt.  I’m very proud of you.

          “I need to see you, Bert.  We need to talk.  I would like to see my Chosen One, and very good, young friend.  Will you come to the Silver House at Silver Lake about midnight, when your family and friends are asleep?”

          I noticed the urgency in Elder O’Keefe’s voice and quickly said, “Yes.  Of course I will.”

          There was a pause as Elder O’Keefe began coughing.  When the coughing stopped, Elder O’Keefe stated, in a weak voice, “Good.  Very good.  See you then.”

          When our thought-connection was broken an uncomfortable silence settled over me.  Elder O’Keefe’s health must be declining fast, I thought.

          Evening was arriving as the dark shadows of dusk started reaching upward like long, ghostly fingers attempting to pull the sun beneath the horizon.  I watched the sun slowly disappear, then spent time with my parents until they went to bed.

          The Silver House was one of the president’s houses.  However, it was not as fancy as the Golden House.  But the Silver House was Elder O’Keefe’s favorite.  It was about one-hundred feet from the rocky shore of Silver Lake.  At dusk, this round-shaped lake looked like a shimmering, silver plate.  Elder O’Keefe liked the more simple and relaxed life that could be found in this house.  He would often silently sit near the picture window for hours, at total peace with himself, away from the responsibilities of his important job and all the stress that it brought.  When he was younger, he had spent hours fishing in the lake from a rowboat.

          Today, as he sat by this window, he watched the ruby-throated hummingbirds suck nectar from flowers.  He was also delighted watching the robins puffing up their orange chests, young rabbits frolicking on the front lawn with their momma watching over them.  He saw and heard blue jays, cardinals, and red-winged blackbirds chirping, as if cheering from the tree tops.  A pheasant cautiously walked out of the woods, then scampered back into the brush.  Gray squirrels jumped from tree limb to tree limb as if playing tag, their long fluffy tails twitching as they raced away from each other.  Deer and raccoons roamed freely around the silver cabin, somehow knowing that this was a safe place for them.  They acted friendly, almost tame, like animated animals in a Disney movie.

          It was a sight that Elder O’Keefe wanted in his mind just before he died; peace and beauty.

          Midnight arrived.  My knock on the door was answered by a kindly Leprechaun nurse.  She introduced herself to me as “Nurse Sandra.”  When I tried to introduce myself, Nurse Sandra interrupted me, saying, “I know who you are, sir.  Elder O’Keefe is always talking about you.  But it’s nice to put a face to your name.  Please come in.”

          I smiled shyly, almost embarrassed at being talked about and called “sir.”

          Nurse Sandra returned my smile and said, “Follow me, Master Bert, and I’ll bring you to Elder O’Keefe.”

          I followed her, thinking about the “sir,” and the “Master.”  Then I quickly shielded my thoughts as I watched her pleasant figure walking ahead of me.

          Nurse Sandra continued down the hallway, then stood by the last door on the right.  She knocked softly and was invited into the room by Elder O’Keefe’s weak voice.

          Nurse Sandra peeked into the bedroom and announced my arrival.  When I entered, she departed as quickly and as quietly as a cat walking on a plush rug.  She closed the door behind her.

          I walked to Elder O’Keefe’s bed and sat in a nearby chair.  I was at a loss for words.  I asked myself, “Is Elder O’Keefe in bed because it’s late?  Or is he in bed because his declining health makes him stay in bed?”  I looked at Elder O’Keefe’s smiling face and alert eyes and knew that any declining health that Elder O’Keefe might be experiencing hadn’t affected his mind.

          I forgot how easy it was for Elder O’Keefe to read minds.  So I was surprised when Elder O’Keefe said, “All things come to an end, Bert.  It’s the way of the universe.  Things are born, spend time maturing, reproduce, spend time getting old, then die.  Don’t be sad for me.  I’ve had a very good life; very good indeed.  And if I die while Sandra is in the room, I’ll die with a smile on my face.  Beautiful, isn’t she?”

          Elder O’Keefe reached out and touched my hand before he continued speaking.  “The doctor said that if I stayed in bed I might make it six months to a year longer.  Visits are restricted though and I miss my friends a lot.  I miss my pleasant, relaxing walks along the lake shore, also.”

          “I’m so sorry that you must stay in bed and that the doctor’s report was not more hopeful.  I had no idea that your health had declined so quickly.  I have neglected you; I’m very sorry.”

          “I didn’t allow anyone to tell you about my health.  I didn’t want you to know because, if I were you, surely it would interfere with your responsibilities in America,” Elder O’Keefe said with an understanding smile.

          “Oh, please.  Don’t call me Shirley.  I’m a grown, male Leprechaun.  But I can be Frank with you can’t I?” Bert responded.

          “Surely you may be frank with me,” Elder O’Keefe giggled.

          “Well, I can’t be both Shirley and Frank, but I can surely be frank with you, if that’s what you desire.”

          The room filled with laughter from both Elder O’Keefe and myself.  It was good for Elder O’Keefe to hear me laugh, just as it was good for me to hear Elder O’Keefe laugh.  But then Elder O’Keefe started coughing and the laughter stopped.

          I was frank with Elder O’Keefe.  “Elder,” I said, hesitantly.  “The chairperson from the Committee of Elders could take over your responsibilities.  Then you could enjoy your last few months without the mental stress.  You could have unrestricted visits from friends and relatives.  You don’t need to remain president.”

          “I’m gladly doing this for you, Bert.  The chairperson from the Committee of Elders (COE) can not replace me without a special vote.  First, a three-fourths majority of the Elders must vote to accept the chairperson.  Then there must be a general election where a majority of the population must accept the COE as the new president.  That process would take a few months.  Plus, don’t forget, this is politics, Bert.  There are always rumors, slander, jealousy and a struggle for power during elections.  I want to leave you with a peaceful situation.  With my recommendation and a unanimous vote of approval from the COE, which we have already, no election is needed.  You would just take over the presidency after my death.

          “My staying president for a few more months also gives you the time that you need with Maragold.  It means that you can probably stay with her until the end of this school year, then return to us in late June.

          “Bert, I’ve grown to love you like the son I never had.  I think that this is the best way of handling things for everyone, and it allows you to replace me easily, quietly, peacefully.  It’s my last gift to you, Bert.  The COE will be your advisors, but you are the decision maker.  You need to listen to them, but not obey them if you disagree.  I think that you will seldom disagree, though.  They are a very talented group of males and females.  Mostly you will approve or disapprove proposed bills and laws, then sign your name.  But, remember, you are in charge.  They are not your boss.  We do, however, have an excellent relationship and it’s important to do your best to keep it that way, if possible.”

          Tears dropped out of my eyes like a sudden burst of rain out of a dark cloud.  I shifted to “private thoughts.”  I felt like I had a second father and a great friend.  How could I ever replace such a great leprechaun friend and president?

          “You’ll make a wonderful leader, Bert.  You’ll help our Leprechaun Kingdom grow and prosper.  You will have new, creative ideas and I believe that you will be a very popular president.  I know that you have new ideas, that you learned in America, and want to try in Leprechaunia.” Elder O’Keefe stated.

          “I’ll do my very best,”I replied.  “Thankfully, I’ll have the help, support and guidance of the COE.  But I am scared, you know.”

          “You have courage, Bert, but remember, courage is not the absence of fear.  It’s the ability to do what needs to be done, in spite of your fear.  If you were not scared, then I’d think that I had picked the wrong person to replace me.  It’s a very big responsibility and anyone who would accept it casually and fearlessly would not be a good choice.

          “In the beginning, I was afraid, also.  I had a constant upset stomach; vomited frequently, you know.  In a couple of years, though, you’ll have things running smoothly and you will be familiar with all the details of our government and the personalities of the individuals that you work closely with.  You’ll be comfortable.”

          I changed the subject.  “How is your family, Elder?”

          “Not many left, I’m sorry to say.  I’ve out-lived most of my relatives and close friends.  How is your family doing, Bert?” Elder O’Keefe stated, not wanting to express his private thoughts and wishes about family.

          “They’re fine, but anxious for me to come home for good.  I’ve realized that Maragold needs me less and less as she grows, matures and becomes a responsible and kind person.  I thought I’d be with her longer, but I know that she’ll do fine without me.  I need to help you and our people.  I realize that this is where I should be.  I will have to leave Maragold at the end of June.  Thank you so much for giving me the extra time to slowly prepare her for my departure.”

          Cheerfully and surprisingly, Elder O’Keefe smiled and said, “Hey, Bert, have you ever taken a crap so big that your pants fit better when you’re done?”

          I froze; my eyes glued on Elder O’Keefe.  Elder O’Keefe began laughing so hard that he started coughing and his face turned ketchup red.  His eyes watered as he looked at my surprised expression, but he kept laughing and coughing as tears kept running down his cheeks.

          Nurse Sandra burst into the room, saying, “Are you all right, Elder?”

          “Yes, yes, Sandra.  I’m fine.  Just laughing so hard that it made me cough.  But I haven’t felt this good in many months.  You see the concerned, bulging, big-eyed look that Bert’s giving me?  Funny, huh?”

          Nurse Sandra and Elder O’Keefe stared at my shocked expression.  Now they both laughed at me.

          Elder O’Keefe yelled, “Surprised you, didn’t I, son?”  Then the coughing grew more quiet as the laughter was replaced with a smile.  “Don’t look so surprised!  Your friends in America joke like that a lot, right?”

          I looked at Elder O’Keefe, then at Nurse Sandra.  A smile slowly stretched my lips and I was slightly embarrassed as I realized that Elder O’Keefe knew all about the joke sessions of my American friends.  But it still amazed me that the leprechaun president would tell such a joke.  Elder O’Keefe’s job was so serious that I’d begun to think of the Elder as not having a sense of humor.

          “Never lose that fine sense of humor that you have developed in America, Son.  It will help you be happier, especially with the stress of this job.”

          Elder O’Keefe’s mood changed suddenly as he laid his head back against the pillow as his face looked serious.  He stared at the ceiling.  The room was silent for a few seconds, then he spoke in a quiet, thoughtful voice.  “I wish I had married and had a family of my own.  It would have been nice to have a wife, a few children, then grandchildren …”  Elder O’Keefe paused, then added, “Don’t let this job dominate your life, Son.  The Committee of Elders will help you a lot.  Use them.  Use their expert advise.  Don’t try to take all the responsibilities onto your own shoulders.  You need time for yourself, time for your wife and children.  And, remember, it’s your time and attention that your family will need.  Don’t try to replace them with gifts.  Your most important gift to them is you, your time and your concern for them.”

          “I’ll remember that,” I responded.  I paused, then said, “Your toilet humor reminds me of some toilet paper jokes.  May I—”

          “Let’s hear them,” Elder O’Keefe said, interrupting me with a big smile.

          I hesitated as I looked sideways at Nurse Sandra.  The smile disappeared from her face immediately.  She said, “Ah … Excuse me.  I have work to do.”  she departed the room quickly, shutting the door as she left.

          “Well, Son, she’s gone.  Now you can tell me those jokes, unless you’re overcome with embarrassment.”  Elder O’Keefe laughed at my discomfort.  “Hey!  Soon you’ll be the leader of our nation.  If you are old enough for that, then you’re old enough to tell silly jokes every now and then, right?  These old ears of mine are hungering to hear the jokes of youth.”

          “OK … Ah … I … I heard of a person who bought toilet paper so cheaply that bits of bark were still in it.  And, do you know that you can buy toilet paper that has brown stains already on it … ahh …. and some toilet paper, now-a-days is so cheap you have to pull off six feet of it and fold it ten times just so your fingers won’t poke thought it.  Yes, sir, Elder, you can never be so poor that you can’t buy quality turd paper,” I said quickly as if flushing something distasteful out of my mouth.

          Elder O’Keefe and I burst into silly laughter, looking at each other with the excitement of children being naughty.  It was as if there was no age difference; just humor, in bad taste, which is exactly what naughty children would laugh at the most when there are no adults around to accuse them of being immature.  It was that kind of carefree, non-judgmental laughter, equally shared and enjoyed, that brought us even closer together, like a father and son bonding when something very special happens.

          It surprised me when I realized that Elder O’Keefe had been calling me, ‘Son.’  I liked it and felt proud that I would be thought of that way.

          “Hey, Son.  Listen to this.  Your toilet paper joke reminded me.  The price of things goes up and down, but paper always remains stationery,” Elder O’Keefe said as he winked at me.  He continued, “How about this one.  Life is like toilet paper because the closer you get to the end, the faster it goes.”

          As our laughter blended, it seemed like we were both children again, with not a care in the world, just laughter and excitement.

          Nurse Sandra entered the noisy room and said, “Elder, you are overdoing it, Sir.  You’ll make yourself more tired and weak, maybe even sick.  I think it’s time for your guest to leave so you can get your rest.”

          “Rest?  That’s all I do is rest.  Even an old fart like me deserves to have some fun, and I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.  Bert will be staying for a while longer but, truly, I do appreciate your concern,” Elder O’Keefe stated.  Please leave us for a few more minutes.  I’ll ring the bell if I need you,” Elder O’Keefe said politely.

          Nurse Sandra knew that she couldn’t do any more to get Elder O’Keefe to rest.  She nodded to him, then left the room, closing the door.

          “She’s really a wonderful nurse, you know.  Even won an award as one of the best nurses in our nation.  I’m in good hands.  She’s kind, patient, and very considerate.  Luckily, she’s single and can live right here in the house.  So, now we have more time.  Got any more jokes or funny stuff?”

          “Sure,” I said, in a hushed voice.  “Do you know how Americans waste the most water of any nation in the world?”

          “Didn’t know they held the record for wasted water.”

          “It’s because they go to the bathroom and pee a cup of urine, then they flush it down the toilet with two gallons of clean water.  Funny, but true,” I laughed.

          “Oh!  Aren’t you observant, Son.  Now I’ve got some dark humor for you, with my being so close to death.  No!  Don’t get upset.  Listen.  It’s funny.  You see, I don’t understand how cemeteries can raise the cost of burying the ‘dead,’ then blame it on the cost of ‘living.’ Funny, huh?” Elder O’Keefe whispered.

          We both covered our mouths so our laughter would not attract Nurse Sandra.  We were thoroughly appreciating each other, and enjoying our time together.

          “I’m so glad you brought humor with you.  I want to enjoy all the time I have left.  And thank goodness for Mother Nature.  Time, you know, is just Nature’s way of stopping everything from happening all at once,” Elder O’Keefe joked.

          Elder O’Keefe reached for my hand and held it in both of his as a gesture of great friendship.  Then Elder O’Keefe shook hands with me; a man-to-man type of handshake that was much too similar to a good-bye handshake.

          I felt a bulge in my throat and couldn’t talk.  Tears appeared suddenly; my vision blurred as my face got hot.  I didn’t want to let go of Elder O’Keefe’s hand.

          “That’s OK, Son.  You needn’t worry about me.  I have the beautiful Nurse Sandra to joke with.  She’s got a good sense of humor, but she worries too much about me.  I’ve lived a good, long life.  I have no fear about what lies ahead for me.  I’m leaving things in your good hands.  You have much more ability and power than you realize.  You will amaze yourself and others in years to come.

          “Bert, I’ve enjoyed your visit tremendously.  You take good care of Maragold.  I hope to see you again, perhaps this summer,” Elder O’Keefe said with a strained smile—he didn’t know if he really would see Bert again.

          “I’ll miss you too,” I told him.  “You have become such a good friend and mentor.  See you soon,” I hoped.

          I turned toward the door, approached it, and just as my hand touched the door knob, the Elder spoke.  “Good-bye my dear friend.”

          I turned and smiled at him.  Our eyes locked on each other and showed great sadness.  The lump in my throat wouldn’t budge, so I waved instead of trying to say good-bye.  I reluctantly walked out the door and down the hallway.

          Nurse Sandra met me in the hallway, smiled, gave me a pat on the back in sympathy, then thanked me for not staying too long.

          As I walked out of the house, my path was lit by the light that shone through the doorway.  Slowly the light grew dimmer and dimmer as Nurse Sandra closed the door.  I turned to look at the door and Nurse Sandra was standing behind the door window, smiling at me.  I waved and smiled back at her.  She waved back.  Her smile seemed to contain a message.  I sensed it, but didn’t see it clearly, like a bride’s face behind a veil.

          The next day I flew back in Calford, New York.  I learned what Maragold, Matt, Cheryl, Eric and Robby did over the Thanksgiving vacation.

          Maragold and her family went to Chemung, New York to have Thanksgiving dinner with Maragold’s maternal grandmother and grandfather—Mrs. Shane’s mom and dad.

          They also had a very nice visit with Mr. Shane’s sister, Frances, his brother-in-law, Larry, and nephews, Mark, Tony, and Mike, plus Mr. Shane’s beautiful niece, Lori,—he has called her “Princess” since she was a little girl.  He was very proud of his nephews and niece, who were very much like his brothers and sister.  He  valued his close relationship with them and often found joy in the memories he had of them, especially when he would frequently be their baby-sitter.

          Maragold cornered her Aunt Fran and asked her how come most boys were always looking at the prettiest girls instead of the smartest girls.

          Aunt Fran smiled at her before saying, “Simple, Dear!  It’s because most boys can see better than they can think.”  Maragold and Aunt Fran had a private laugh together.  Well, they thought it was private.

          Apparently, Uncle Larry was listening.  In defense of boys, he said, “Well, don’t forget.  Beauty may be only skin deep, but ugly goes all the way to the bone.”

          Then Uncle Larry smiled triumphantly and wisely walked away while Aunt Fran glared at him.  Maragold chuckled quietly.

          Matt enjoyed his Thanksgiving vacation with his mom and dad.  Matt’s dad took him and his mom to the Seneca Park Zoo, in Rochester, then he took them to a fancy restaurant for a Thanksgiving dinner.

          But there was one big bit of news that kept him happy throughout the entire Thanksgiving vacation.  This news made him so happy that he danced around like the fizz bubbles in a shaken Pepsi soda bottle.  At the Thanksgiving dinner Matt’s mom and dad told him that they were getting remarried.  They had secretly been going to a marriage counselor to repair their problems and they felt they had done that.

          When Matt got home, he ran through all the rooms of the house like a crazy person, yelling, “Yippee!  Yippee!”

          Later, Mr. Durkey told Matt about the .22 caliber rifle that he bought for him.  Mr. Durkey informed Matt that he belonged to a shooting club and would take Matt to that club for safety lessons before he could target shoot with the rifle.

          Matt’s happiness started to fade.  He looked at his dad and said, “Mom doesn’t like guns.”

          “Yes, I know.  We feel very differently about guns,” said Mr. Durkey.

          Matt said, “Well, mom says guns kill and no one should have guns except the police and the military.”

          “Well, saying that guns kill is like saying that it’s the pencil that makes the mistakes on spelling tests,” Mr. Durkey responded.

          “What do you mean, Dad?”

          “I mean that it’s people that kill.  A gun is a tool, just like a hammer, knife, or pencil.  Pencils don’t make mistakes, do they?  They just provide the means for writing the answer.  It’s the person using the pencil that makes the mistake, right?  It’s not the pencil’s fault that words are misspelled, just like it’s not the gun’s fault that someone gets shot.  It’s the person whose using the gun, or the pencil, who is to blame.  You understand?”

          “Yeah, but mom won’t.  She gets upset about guns,” Matt added.

          “Yes, I know.  The subject of guns is a very emotional issue because so many people get shot with guns.  If many people were also hurt with hammers, would it be wise to take all the hammers away from everyone, except carpenters?  If students kept getting stabbed with pencils, would pencils then get banned from schools?  Anyway, I already talked to your mom.  I wouldn’t have bought the rifle without talking to her first.  She’s agreed to let you shoot as long as I’m with you and you take NRA approved safety lessons,” Mr. Durkey told Matt.

          Matt’s smile returned.  “When can we start?” he asked, with a huge grin.

          Eric’s family drove to Buffalo, New York, where Thanksgiving was celebrated as a family reunion at Eric’s paternal grandparents—Eric’s father’s mom and dad.

          Eric said that one of his cousins was named, Donald Key, but that friends and relatives mostly called him Donny.  But when they wanted to tease him, they called him Don, Don Key.  They made it sound like the word “donkey” and would make a “Hee Haw” sound, like a donkey to tease him.  Everyone got a big laugh out of that— except, of course, Donald.

          Eric told everyone that one of his aunts is a first grade teacher.  At the dinner table she told the funny story about a little boy in her class who was not getting good grades.  The boy came to school one morning, pulled on her dress to get her attention and said, “I don’t want to scare you, but my daddy told me that if I don’t start getting better grades real soon, somebody’s going to be getting a spanking.”  The boy walked away, not knowing why the teacher was laughing so hard.

          Then one of Eric’s uncles, who is a college professor, was talking and using big words.  Eric always had trouble understanding him because of his large vocabulary.  So when Eric got a chance, he asked his uncle how he had learned the meaning of so many words.  His uncle told him that it was really kind of easy.  He said, “Just use a word ten times and it will be yours for life.”

          Eric thought about that very seriously, smiled gratefully at his uncle, then said, “Grace, Grace, Grace, Grace, Grace …”  After Eric said Grace’s name ten times, he sat back and gave a bug-eyed smile.  His dad explained to everyone that Grace was Eric’s girlfriend.  Everyone at the table laughed at him.  The laughter didn’t erase Eric’s smile and that smile remained long after the laughter stopped.

          Cheryl’s family also took the opportunity to visit relatives.  Her family traveled to North Carolina for the Thanksgiving celebration.

          Cheryl said that she liked it in North Carolina and would like to live there some day, especially on the Outer Banks where there is plenty of ocean, sand, sun and fun.

          Cheryl was glad to see her aunt, uncle and cousins whom she doesn’t see very often because Rochester is a long way away from them.

          She said that her uncle was a highly successful car salesman for a huge car dealership.  Cheryl asked him for the secret of his success and he said, “The secret of all success, I think, is to always look out for number one, while being very careful not to step in number two.”

          Cheryl said it took her a couple seconds to realize he was joking and understand that his joke had a double meaning.  However, she knew for certain that the joke was clever and gross, which meant that she’d have to tell it to her school friends.

          Poor Robby said he spent the whole Thanksgiving vacation at home and was bored stiff without his friends around.  He couldn’t even go to extra karate classes because the dojo was closed.

          His mom did make a delicious Thanksgiving meal, though.  She not only cooked a turkey, but she also cooked a ham.  There were sweet potatoes, pickles, olives, biscuits, mashed potatoes and gravy, and a fruit salad.  Robby said the eating was good but he’d rather have been in school with his friends or at karate class with Matt.

          At the dinner table, Robby’s mom was drinking EVIAN water from a plastic bottle.  It was a new habit of hers.  Robby stared at her bottle of water and wondered why so many people drank bottled water.  Then a thought occurred to him about the word EVIAN.  So he asked his mom if she knew that Evian, backwards, spelled naïve.  His mom just said, with a scowl, that she wasn’t being naïve by drinking bottled water.  Robby felt that it was best not to talk about it further.

          In his room, one night, he started thinking of a gift to get Cheryl, but his mind wandered off into a haze of crazy thoughts.  He laughed at the idea of joking with Cheryl by telling her that he was going to give her a diamond ring, then give her a dime glued to the top of a ring and say, “Look!  I got you a dime on ring.”  He thought the guys would think it was really funny, but didn’t know if Cheryl would.  As he smiled, another thought came to him.  What if he told Cheryl that he was getting her a fourteen karat necklace, then have her unwrap the gift to find a fourteen carrot necklace—he would use baby carrots.  He knew the guys would roll over with laughter.  He thought about the jokes, then hesitated, wondering if it was really worth making Cheryl embarrassed and angry.  He decided that they would be funny, but not worth it.

          After I found out what had happened to my friends during Thanksgiving vacation, I told Maragold about my visit with my parents and Elder O’Keefe.  Maragold was always fascinated by my stories of Leprechaunia, just like I was

fascinated by America.

          The Maragold gang got back into the school routine again and it went smoothly for them as the remainder of November passed by quickly.

                                      BERT’S  QUESTIONS

                    Why is the word “phonics” not spelled phonetically?

                    If it’s zero degrees outside today, and it’s supposed to be twice

                    as cold tomorrow, how cold will tomorrow be, in degrees?

                                      CHAPTER  10

          December arrived wearing snowshoes.  It had been snowing lightly all through the night and continued to do so.  The air was cold, but very calm, almost unmoving, as dime-sized snowflakes parachuted slowly to the ground.  Maragold thought of all the angels in heaven having dandruff and they were shaking it out of their hair.  I guess angels haven’t heard about Head and Shoulders shampoo.  But, then, who would want to put something in their hair that ended in poo?

          The frosty kiss of winter whitened the grass as if a bed sheet had been spread over it.  The houses wore fluffy, snow-hats.  Winter’s frigid fingers would soon wave like a magic wand over the land, allowing more snow to fall, ice to form, chilly winds to blow and gray clouds to command the skies.

          The tops of the bushes were white, making them look as if they were wearing white caps.  The royal-looking pine trees wore long white robes of sparkling snow.  Bare tree branches wore pearl bracelets of small mounds of snow glittering along their limbs.  Cars appeared to have whipped cream piled on their roofs.  The earth hibernated under a soft blanket of winter whiteness.

          One early December morning, as winter was attacking the windows with wind and snow, Mr. B. asked if anyone had a question before the class started their reading assignments.  Usually no one does, but this time Charlie raised his hand and asked, “Mr. B., why did you become a teacher?”

          “You know, Charlie,” replied Mr. B., “I’ve been teaching many years and you are the first student to ask me that question.  But the answer would be long and take time away from reading class … ah, but perhaps that’s a good thing for you, huh?”

          The class laughed, but Charlie looked serious.

          “Well,” Charlie said with genuine curiosity, “can you give me the short version?”

          “Charlie, the short version is that I like working with kids.  I enjoy it.  It’s very satisfying and rewarding.  That’s the short version, but it’s probably not a satisfactory version for you, right?” Mr. B. asked.

          “Yeah.  I guess I was looking for a longer answer,” Charlie stated.

          “But you asked for the short version.”

          “I know, but not that short.”

          “OK.  There is a secondary reason why I became a teacher.  It’s that even though the pay is low, I get the same vacations as all of you students.  Why is that important?  Well, if you like spending time with your family, being a teacher gives it to you.

          “So now you know another reason why I became a teacher.  OK, then, you all have reading assignments to work on.  Do as much as you can with the time remaining.”

          Eric said, “Mr. B. there’s something wrong with my reading book.”

          “What’s wrong with it?”

          “Look,” Eric said, holding the book up for all to see.  “The covers are way too far apart.”

          “Could it be that you’re too lazy, Eric?  Most of the students are much farther along in their books than you are.  You’re a procrastinator.”

          Eric gave Mr. B. a shocked expression, then said, “Oh, no!  Not me.  I would never pro-crash…, pro-rash-ton-ate…, whatever that word is.  Is that a naughty word?  Mr. B., don’t get me wrong, OK?  I really like all this work.  Heck, I may even love it.  It certainly thrills and fascinates me so much that I can actually sit and watch people doing it for hours.  Nothing more interesting, you know, than watching other people work.  And my dad says that hard work is just for people who don’t know how to fish or play golf.”

          Eric covered his mouth to hide his smile, while the rest of the class laughed.

          “Your extra homework assignment, Eric, is to find the meaning of ‘procrastinate,’”  Mr. B. printed the word on the chalkboard.  “Write it at the top of a sheet of regular school paper, not a Post-It note, and then fill the rest of the paper telling how the meaning of that word applies to you.  I’ll expect that paper tomorrow morning, before reading class.  Any other questions?” Mr. B. asked.

          Eric was disappointed with Mr. B.’s reaction.  Eric’s humorous attitude dissolved, like sugar in a rain storm.  “OK,” was his only reply.

          Mr. B. said to his students, “A famous person once said, ‘Children today are tyrants.  They contradict their parents, gobble their food and tyrannize their teachers.’ He must have been thinking of you, Eric, when he said that.”

          Eric asked, “Who said that?  Mrs. Plum?”

          Mr. B. replied, “No.  Socrates said it.”

          “Who the heck is that?”

          “He was a very smart Greek philosopher and teacher who lived about two thousand, five hundred years ago.  Things really haven’t changed much, since then, have they, Eric?”

          “I don’t know.  What’s a tyrant?  Is it like one of those dinosaurs?  You know … ahh … the tyrant-asaurus?”  Eric smiled.

          “Actually, in a way, you are right.  A tyrant is a person who has power and uses it in a cruel or mean way to control other people.  It comes from the Greek word ‘turannos,’ and when combined with the Greek word for lizard, which is ‘sauros,’ you get the dinosaurs name, ‘tyrannosaurus,’ the tyrant lizard, like the Tyrannosaurus Rex.”

          “Oh!  I get it!” Eric said loudly.  “A tyrant is like a teacher then.  A teacher is a tyrant, like the cruel king of this classroom kingdom, right?”

          “Absolutely right, Eric.  Now get to work so I don’t have to bite your head off,” Mr. B. teased.

          “Just kidding, Mr. B.,” Eric responded.

          “Me too.  Actually I only bite the heads off short boys, with curly black hair, and a wise-guy sense of humor.  I love it when I see their eye balls pop out.  Juicy.  Yummy,” Mr. B. said with serious look as he stared at Eric.

          “Were you just joking about that extra homework assignment?” Eric asked.

          “Nope.  That’s still your extra homework assignment for wasting reading time, but I can always add more homework,” Mr. B. responded.

          “Oops!  I guess I should be quiet now, Mr. B., sir,” said Eric.

          The classroom filled with quiet laughter.

          Mr. B. said, “All of you just had a vacation a few days ago.  You should all be rested and ready to work, continue your learning, so please—”

          Mr. B. was interrupted by the rising, hesitant hand of Grace.  It was like watching a rocket take off in super slow motion.  Mr. B.’s first thought was, “We aren’t going to get much reading done today.”

          Mr. B said, “Grace?  You have a question?”

          “Well.  Sort of, Mr. B.”

          “OK.  Ask me your ‘sort of’ question?”

          “One of my neighbors is going around the neighborhood getting people to sign a petition to give to the school Board of Education because he doesn’t want the teachers to get pay raises in their new contract.”

          “Do you know why he doesn’t want teachers to get pay raises?”

          “He said that teachers don’t work in the summer and they only work about one-hundred eighty days in school, out of the whole year.  He said teachers get long holidays and … um … he said teachers don’t even work eight hours in school each day.  But what I remember most is that he said teachers are just overpaid baby sitters.  When you talked about baby sitting your nephews and niece, it reminded me of him.”

          Mr. B. looked sadly at his students.  He was thinking, “Wow!  The same old uninformed crap.”  He wouldn’t say that out loud, of course, but I knew what he was thinking.  What he said was, “What do you think?  Anybody have any thoughts about what Grace’s neighbor said?”  He paused, saw no hands raised, not even Eric’s, then said, “You won’t be punished for what you say.  Just don’t swear.  Tell the truth about what you think and maybe we can all learn something.”

          A girl named Sharon raised her hand.  When Mr. B. nodded for her to speak, she said, “Isn’t that all true?” she asked with a pained expression and the hope that Mr. B. was being honest about no punishment.

          “Well, Sharon.  There’s some truth there, but is it all true?  There’s some false and misleading information, too.  But the facts don’t tell the whole truth, especially when related to a teacher’s pay.”  Mr. B. paused, then said, “I really shouldn’t be talking to you about this stuff.  I’ll just get in trouble for trying to ‘brain-wash’ all of you.  We really should get back to our reading.”

          “Oh, no, Mr. B.,” several voices said, “Please explain it.”

          Mr. B. paused, took a deep breath, then let the air out with a sigh.  “Well … teachers do get longer holidays than most people.  But students are on vacation.  The school is empty and being cleaned.  If our teacher pay is not very good, then the extra vacation time helps make up for some of the low pay.

          “And the part about teachers only working seven hours.  That’s a huge mistake.  It probably comes from adding the hours in a school day.  That usually comes to about seven hours.  But aren’t most teachers in school longer than that?  Aren’t most teachers in school before the students and they stay in school after the students go home?  Don’t teachers have to bring papers home to correct?  What about the hours spent after school and at home?  Personally, I get to school at about seven o’clock in the morning and usually leave about four-thirty in the evening.  That’s nine and one-half hours.  Now subtract a half-hour for lunch and you can see that I work about nine hours each day, but sometimes I stay longer.  Most teachers are like me; some are here even longer than I am.  I still bring papers home to correct or grade.  That’s even more time spent working, but no one sees it so they don’t count it as part of the hours a teacher works.  Teachers also do computer research at home.

          “Teachers do work about one-hundred and eighty days a year.  That’s how long you are here in school.  We can’t teach you when you are having your summer vacation.  Plus, many teachers are taking college courses during the summer so they can be better teachers.  Summer isn’t all fun and games for most teachers.  If we aren’t taking college courses, then we are working because teachers don’t get paid for the summer vacation months.

          “Teachers’ pay is always a sore topic.  It’s probably the chief thing that tax payers and Boards of Education would like to ignore.  Perhaps that’s why some teachers say that they truly are ‘Bored of Education.’  Only minds numbed by boredom would expect to get a Cadillac for the price of a Volkswagon.

          “Being called a baby sitter almost always angers teachers.  It angers me too, but I’ve gotten used to it.  Would you like to help me figure out what my pay would be if I were your real baby sitter, instead of your teacher?”

          “Ting” rang through the classroom.

          Mr. B. turned around to face the chalkboard.  He knew that he was digging a deep hole of trouble for himself.  He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote “9 teacher hours in school each day.”

          “Does the time when we are at special classes like art, gym, music, and library get subtracted from the nine hours, Mr. B.” someone asked.

          Mr. B. turned around and said, “No.  When you are at those classes, I’m still working.  So that time shouldn’t be subtracted.

          “Now,” Mr. B. added.  “Baby sitters probably get about three or four dollars an hour and some get much more, but let’s say it’s three dollars an hour.  And let’s also say that teachers work an eight hour day—”Mr. B. crossed off the ‘9’ and replaced it with ‘8’ teacher hours per day—“even though I can guarantee that most teachers work more hours than that.  Let’s also use one-hundred eighty days for the school year.  Now let’s use twenty students in my classroom, even though there are really twenty-two students.”

          Mr. B. faced the chalkboard again and wrote:

                   8 hours  X  $3.00  X  20 students  =  $480.00  per day

          “So, if I was your baby sitter, then I’d be paid $480.00 a day to just watch you, not teach you, too,” Mr. B. said as he looked at his students faces.  Mr. B. heard the word “awesome” come from somewhere in the classroom.

          “Well, now.  That’s just for one day, right?  But I’m not your baby sitter for just one day, am I?  Of course not.  I baby sit all of you for one-hundred and eighty days a year.  So let’s see what my baby sitting pay would be for watching you for one-hundred and eighty days.”

          On the chalkboard, Mr. B. wrote:

                             180 days  X  $480.00 per day =  ?

          On a separate part of the chalkboard, Mr. B. wrote those numbers large and vertically so he could multiply them slowly for all the students to see.  When he was done, he erased the question mark in the formula and replaced it with $86,400.00.

          “That’s eighty-six thousand, four hundred dollars for being a baby sitter.  OK, I’d love to baby sit you because that’s a lot more money than I could ever hope to make as your teacher.  I could retire after thirty years of teaching and still be about twenty thousand dollars short of making that much money at this school.  So now you see that the guy who’s talking about teachers being highly paid baby sitters is terribly wrong about both things.  We certainly are not overpaid; just the opposite is true, and we don’t baby sit.  We guide and teach our students.

          “And please consider this.  Minimum wage in New York is about six dollars an hour.  I only used three dollars an hour for my baby sitting pay calculations, and that’s a low figure.  If teachers got paid six dollars an hour for baby sitting in school, then I’d make a wonderful $172,800.00 a school year.  Nice, huh?

          “Now consider this.  That money is just for being a baby sitter.  But I would really be a baby sitter who teaches.  Shouldn’t I be paid extra for teaching you while I watch you?  Of course I should.  If I’m performing extra work, I should get extra pay, so maybe I should really be paid $250,000.00”—Mr. B. wrote it on the chalkboard—“a school year for being both your baby sitter and your teacher.  What do you think?

          “Naturally, I’m a teacher and I’m biased.  But the figures speak for themselves.  The fact is, I’m a highly trained, college educated person who is, and will always be, highly underpaid for my whole career.  What’s that mean for you?  Well, if you want to be a teacher, do it for love because you’ll never get the money that you really deserve.

          “Wow!  look at the time.  Enough of my ramblings.  You’re not babies and I’m not your baby sitter.  But we used all of our reading time.  Put your reading books away and take out your math books, please.  And no more questions.”

          The next morning Eric gave Mr. B. the extra assignment concerning the word “procrastinate.”  Mr. B. read it, smiled, looked at Eric and smiled again.  “Not a bad job, Eric.  I’ll give you extra credit for it.”  Eric looked at Mr. B. with total surprise as Mr. B. opened his desk drawer and placed the paper in Eric’s work file.

          The remainder of the morning passed quickly and soon Mr. B. brought his students to the cafeteria for lunch.

          Matt took three drinking straws.  No one noticed.

          The Maragold gang was growing.  Besides Robby, there was Charlie and Grace who sat close to them.  That sure made Eric happy, even though he was quite often tongue-tied when he looked at Grace.  It wasn’t very often that anyone could stop him from babbling, but Grace had that effect on him.  Maybe that’s why she was accepted and liked so quickly.

          Matt stuck two white drinking straws up his nose and pretended to be a walrus.  He even clapped his hands quietly to imitate a walrus’s flippers.  He really looked like a vampire seal with really long tusks.

          Maragold stared at Matt, then laughed hard.  “Hey!  don’t look at me, and don’t you dare sneeze or the walrus tusks will turn into a double-barrel booger gun.  You know?  Like a shotgun loaded with boogers.”

          The gang all laughed.  Then Matt pulled the straws out of his nostrils just in time to avoid a burst of laughter that might have turned his straws into double-barreled snot shots.  He looked down the table at everyone, then held up his two straws and said, “Anyone need a straw for their milk?”

          He got a lot of disgusting looks from his classmates.

          Maragold asked Matt to throw the straws into the garbage can and he agreed.  He got up and turned to her and the others, then suddenly stuck the ends of the straws in his mouth and sucked delightedly on them.  It looked like Maragold, Cheryl and Grace were going to gag, but Matt quickly said, “It’s not the ends of the straws that I put in my nose … ha ha …  Fooled you.”

          When Matt returned from the garbage can, Cheryl said, “How about some new jokes?  Anybody got any?”

          Eric snapped out of his romantic trance, but still looked at Grace and said, “Food!  Go over my lips and pass my gums, then look-out stomach, ‘cause here the crap comes!”  Eric took a bite of food, gave an exaggerated smile and said, “Ah … cafeteria food’s the very best, huh?”  He got no reply, just plenty of sour looks.

          Charlie had only eaten about half his meal.  He’d been eating smaller portions for a long time.  His slimmer body was just starting to be noticeable.

          He also looked stronger, seemed to be in better shape, athletically, and had lost a lot of his double-chin fat.  He smiled more often, was more friendly, and less shy and self-conscious about his weight.

          Mr. B. had noticed this also, but said nothing so that he wouldn’t accidentally embarrass Charlie.

          I knew that Charlie was determined to lose weight.  Matt and Robby knew this, too.  It was supposed to be a secret between Matt, Robby and Charlie, especially concerning Charlie’s weight lifting with Matt and Robby.

          Since he was eating smaller portions of cafeteria food, Charlie finished eating before the others did.  So he decided to start the joke session, after he wiped off the white, milk-mustache from his upper lip.

          Charlie said, “I bet you didn’t know that I went to Catholic school from kindergarten to second grade.  That’s why I’m good at math.”

          Charlie smiled and raised his eyebrows as he waited for some one to ask how Catholic school made him good at math.

          It was Maragold who responded.  “So … Charlie … how did going to Catholic school make you good at math?”

          “I’m glad you asked,” Charlie said with a pleasant smile.  “You see, it was really very important, and here’s why.  When I went to my very first day of school, I walked into my new classroom and saw this nearly naked guy nailed to a plus sign on the wall, behind the teacher’s desk.  So I knew right then and there that math was serious business at that school.”

          Laughter was like a wind blowing around the table in an oblong circle.

          Maragold asked, “Was that in kindergarten, Charlie?”

          “Yes,” Charlie answered, “and I was the best math student all the way to second grade. Then we moved away and I started going to public schools.”

          Maragold stated, “That story reminds me of something that happened in my own kindergarten class.  Did anyone have Mrs. Dobbs in kindergarten?”  No one replied. “Well, there was this boy in my class.  His name was Christopher, but he got the nickname ‘Kissy-Fur’ because it sounded like Christopher, and because he was always hugging and kissing the stuffed white rabbit that Mrs. Dobbs had in the toy box.  Christopher’s mom and dad owned the local liquor store.

          “Anyway, at Christmas time, most of the kids brought gifts for the teacher.  One boy’s mom and dad owned a florist shop.  When that boy gave her a boxed gift, Mrs. Dobbs said, “Oh, I bet I know what this is.  It must be beautiful flowers.”  The boy smiled and said, ‘That’s right.’

          “Then the candy store owner’s daughter gave the teacher her boxed gift and Mrs. Dobb’s said, with a delightful smile, ‘I’ll bet this is a delicious box of chocolate candies.’  The little girl squealed with joy, ‘I hope you like them,’ she said.”

          “Well, to make a long story short, the liquor store owner’s son, Christopher, the boy that I just mentioned, pushed a beautifully wrapped box across the floor to her.  Mrs. Dobbs picked it up and felt movement.  The bottle inside was not wrapped very tightly, she thought, because I feel it rolling.  Then she felt some wetness and knew that the bottle was leaking.  She held the box upright and tried not to shake it.  She kept a happy smile, so as not to disappoint Kissy-Fur, then she said, ‘Christopher.  Is this a nice bottle of white wine?’

          “Christopher was all smiles as he looked at Mrs. Dobbs.  He could hardly stand still, he was so excited.  He said, ‘Oh, no, Mrs. Dobbs, it’s not wine from the store.’

          “Mrs. Dobbs could now see that the box was dripping at very pale yellow fluid and she knew right away that it must be a bottle of champagne.  She tasted it and it had an odd flavor.  Her disappointment showed because she thought it must be poor quality champagne, or maybe it was old and spoiled.

          “She wanted to open the gift quickly to stop the bottle from leaking, but first she wanted to make Christopher happy because he was being consumed with bubbly excitement.  She tasted the champagne again and said that it was very good and that she liked champagne very much.  She added that he should thank his mom and dad for her.

          “Christopher looked at her with surprise, then said, ‘But Mrs. Dobbs.  It’s not wine or champagne.’

          “ ‘Well what could it possibly be?  It’s dripping on me and on the floor,’ Mrs. Dobbs asked.

          “Christopher looked up at her, excitedly, and shouted, ‘It’s a puppy!’

          Everyone at the table burst into crazy, uncontrollable laughter.  Even I was laughing so hard at Maragold’s story that my vision was blurred with tears.  The other kids’ bodies were shaking with laughter.  The odd movements of laughing kids created a hilarious sight that lasted so long that the cafeteria monitor had to come to the table to get everyone to be quiet.

          When Mr. B.’s class settled down, Eric decided to tell a joke.  He said, “Doctors are always saying that kids should eat more natural foods, but then they admit that most people die of natural causes.  Pretty strange, huh?”

          When the response was only mild laughter, Eric stated, “OK.  Listen to this one.  Did you hear about the two nearly blind old men who were playing the horse shoe game?  They had a hard time seeing the horse shoes when they landed in the pit so they put the horse shoes away and started using their toilet seats.”

          Eric got more laughter with that joke.

          Cheryl said, “I always wanted to try and figure out a system to help me put off doing work.  I just could never get around to it.  Well now I have no excuse.  She reached into her pocket and brought out a round wooden coin that said ‘to-it’ on it.  See,” she said, “It’s a round to-it.  Now I can get a round to-it whenever I want.  You should get some of these, Eric.”

          “Ah … Come on!  Can’t you do any better than that?” Eric asked sarcastically.

          “It’s twice as good as both of your lame jokes.  Here’s another one.  I just read that some astronomers just discover great gaseous clouds around Uranus.  They had to wear oxygen masks just to stay conscious during their search.  Those famous astronomers made that discovery right here in our town.  That discovery was made at your house, Eric.  In your own bathroom while they were studying your anus.”

          Wow!  The laughter was so loud it could have shattered glass.  The table even vibrated.  Tears dripped from some faces.  Red faces, flushed with laughter, surrounded the table.  Kids were holding their mouths, trying to be quiet.  Other kids were holding their stomachs because those muscles hurt from laughing so hard.  Even Eric couldn’t help laughing.

          When the table got quiet, Eric said, “OK. OK.  That was a really good one.  Cheryl, you’ve gotten a lot better with your jokes.”

          Matt said, “As long as you mentioned astronomy and the planet, Uranus, I wonder if you know the answer to this question?  On Earth, some people get hemorrhoids.  But if a person is traveling in outer-space,  they’re not called hemorrhoids.  What are they called?”  A long pause.  “In outer space they’re called asteroids.”

          Matt noticed the different kinds of goofy expressions that kids made.

          Eric said, “Aren’t you going to explain what a hemorrhoid is?”

          “Nope.  Especially while eating lunch.  If you don’t know, then find out later,” Matt said as he looked around the lunch table.

          Matt got some laughter, but no one was going to beat that ‘puppy’ joke.

          Matt, Eric and Cheryl turned and looked at Maragold, who was lost in thought.  She didn’t appear to have any sense of what was going on around her until Matt said, “Hey, gorgeous!  Wake up.  You looked like a mental case staring off into space. … Hey!  That rhymes,” Matt added with a smile.

          Maragold shook the fog out of her head, then realized what Matt had said the words, ‘mental case.’  Oh.  Sorry,” She stated, “Did you all know that I used to be schizophrenic, but we are doing much better now.”

          Eric was whispering to some kids that schizophrenic was like one person having a split or double personality.

          “I can tell a funny story, too,” Maragold stated.

          Curious faces looked at her.

          “One day,” Maragold said, “when I was little, I was pretending to be asleep on the living room couch.  My mom and dad saw me and thought that I was faking, but they weren’t absolutely sure.  Well, very quietly, but loud enough for me to hear, my mom whispered to my dad that, if I were really sleeping, my tongue would be sticking out of my mouth.  My dad agreed and said that people who are really asleep always have their tongues sticking out.  But my tongue wasn’t sticking out, so my mom said that maybe I wasn’t sound asleep yet; maybe I was just half asleep.  Then she asked my dad to go to the kitchen with her so they wouldn’t wake me up.  In a minute they came back to see if I was really sound asleep.

          “Well, when they came back to the living room I had my tongue sticking part way out and they exploded with laughter.  My mom’s hands went up to her mouth, and my dad was slapping his thigh.

          “They stepped over close to me and whispered that they knew I was awake because sleeping people really don’t stick out their tongues.  My dad said, ‘Open your eyes, dear Maragold.  We know you’re not sleeping.”

          “When I sat up my mom and dad sat on the couch, each on one side of me, and put an arm around me.  Then all three of us laughed together.  It turned out to be one of those very special memories … the kind that last forever.”

          Now eyes focused on Grace, waiting for her to tell a joke.  But she wasn’t prepared and felt shy and very nervous, especially when she was sitting by Eric.

          But Eric reassured her by saying, “It’s OK not to tell a joke if you don’t want to, or if you can’t think of one.  Maybe next time.”

          The Maragold gang smiled at Grace to let her know that they all agreed.

          Cheryl knew exactly how Grace felt because she had been the shy, nervous girl back in fourth grade when the group was forming.  Cheryl told Grace about that and Grace gave her a very kind smile.

          Then Grace fooled everyone.  In a very quiet voice, almost a whisper, she said, “I know one that I could tell.”

          Eric spoke up, “Great!  Tell us.”

          Grace responded, “How do you call a police dog in an emergency?”

          “With a special whistle?” Maragold asked.

          Grace shook her head.

          “With a code word?” Eric asked

          Grace shook her head again.

          No one else offered any guesses so Grace said, “You have to dial K911.”

          “Ah … Clever,” Eric said, wanting Grace to feel good.

          Grace was surprised by all the laughter that her joke got.  She smiled at Eric first, then at the rest of the gang.  She was excited and wanted to tell another joke, but she saw Mr. B. coming to get them so she just smiled happily.

          Before going home that afternoon, Mr. B. told the class that he was sorry that he could not give them their regular twenty minutes to start their homework assignments because he had to use that time to catch up with the work time that was lost when they had the teacher pay discussion.  He said, “All of you can do the homework.  It’s not very hard today, and it looked to me, during math class, like all of you understood it.

          “Now, I know that you stink this may be unfair.” Mr. B. replaced the word think with the word stink for it’s funny effect.  “But I want you to know that you shouldn’t stink that way.  Everyone of you is really a good stinker.  If I didn’t already know that you were all awesome stinkers, I wouldn’t do this to you.  So, go home and stink a lot.  Show your mom and dad how well you stink.  If you need them to help you stink then ask them to stink with you.  Oh! And I want you to know that I’ll be stinking about you myself.  You all know that I like you and stink about you often.  You’re the best stinkers I’ve ever had.  Please make sure you stink a lot when you get home.  I just know that your parents will appreciate the extra stinking that you do.

          “OK.  No more joking.  We have a few minutes before you must get ready for home and I’ll use them to tell you about your lessons.  You should start thinking about poetry because after Christmas vacation we will be studying and writing poetry.  I would suggest that you get books from the library or borrow my books, or even find poetry sites on the Internet.  Look at them, read them, study them a little.  You will eventually be writing your own original poems and reading one of them to the class.

          “And perhaps now is also a good time to talk about plagiarism.  Before you ask, plagiarism is when someone copies what somebody else has thought of and written, then claims that it is theirs.  I guess you could say that plagiarism is a fancy word for stealing; stealing someone else’s original idea and work.  It’s also cheating and dishonest.  Please don’t plagiarize.  You are all smart enough to write poetry.  I’ll show you how.  No original poem will get an unsatisfactory grade if it shows good effort and thoughtfulness.”

          Mr. B. noticed that Eric had been unusually quiet.  “Eric,” said Mr. B., “are you prepared to work hard on poetry next month?”

          “Oh,” Eric said quickly as he appeared to be snapping out of a daze.  “You know me, Mr. B.  I think hard work is for anyone who isn’t creative enough to get out of it.”  Then Eric’s face looked worried, like he realized that he may have said too much.

          “Is that what you’re thinking about?  Ways to get out of work?” Mr. B. stated with a disappointed tone of voice and a frown.  He thought, “I’ve failed Eric.  What a waste of good potential.  I wish I could get him to use it.”

          Eric heard his tone and noticed the frown.  It made Eric feel guilty, so he said, “But writing poems might be fun if I can write funny ones, Mr. B.”

          “You can write funny poems as long as they are clean ones.  No bad language or nasty references,”

          In a serious voice, Eric asked, “Mr. B., do you like having to set a good example for all of us?  It seems to me that that would get tiresome, really quick.”

          “Setting a good example for students is usually a good thing, but it’s not always a good thing,” Mr. B. replied.

          “What do you mean?  Why not,” Eric asked, confused be Mr. B’s response.

          “Because, always setting a good example for children takes much of the fun out of being an adult,” Mr. B. answered.  “And,” he added, “Dr. Seuss said that adults are just obsolete children, although I prefer to say that adults are just antique children.  But I don’t find it to be difficult to be a model, in school.  It comes with the job.  I’m a little different person outside of school and with my friends.

          “Another famous person, I forgot who, said that when childhood dies, the corpse is called an adult,” Mr. B. added in a thoughtful manner.

          Mr. B. continued, “In January I’ll teach you how to write poems.  I’ll show you examples of free verse that have no rhyming.”  Excited voices could be heard. “You’ll learn about alternating rhyme, end rhyme poems, internal rhyme, limericks, and free verse.  You’ll also learn about meter, personification, alliteration, similes, metaphors, and a few more things related to poetry writing.  But we won’t start until after Christmas vacation.”

          Mr. B. looked around the room and spotted Cheryl grinning and silently clapping her hands because she really liked writing poetry.  When Cheryl saw Mr. B. looking at her, she silently mouthed the word, “ting,” to him.

          Brandon raised his hand and when he was called on, he said, “Mr. B., my older brother says that writing poetry is really hard, like shooting pool with a rope.”  Brandon was serious, but giggles could be heard around the classroom.

          “Well, it’s not quite that hard, Brandon.  At least he didn’t say poetry was just for girls like a lot of people do.  There are many more famous men poets than women poets, just like there are many more men famous chefs than there are women chefs.  I suspect, however, that that may be because of all the responsibilities that are placed on women to care for their families; cooking, cleaning, children and stuff like that.  I write poetry.  I’ve written a couple hundred poems.

          “Brandon, you don’t need to worry about it.  I’ll be helping everyone, and no one is expected to be an expert poetry writer.  What I want to see is good effort, thoughtfulness, and creativity.  If I see that you are trying your best and giving good effort, then the lowest grade you could get will still be satisfactory.  I want you to have fun doing this, learn from it, not be scared and nervous about getting a poor grade.  Being scared and nervous usually kills creativity.  I don’t want that to happen.”

          Brandon, and many others, smiled and looked very relieved.  Many stressful expressions evaporated rapidly, like a fog when the sun rises in the morning.

          The rest of the week passed quickly, with a lot of excitement.  The room was decorated with colored paper-chains that Mr. B. cut and had students staple together.

          There were Christmas scenes and Christmas pictures all around the room, but best of all was a small, artificial Christmas tree in the back of the room that all the students helped decorate by bringing one ornament each from home.  Mr. B. brought an angel that was holding a candle and a Christmas wreath.  It was hollow so that it could be stuck on the top point of the tree.

          No one noticed anything unusual about the Christmas angel, except Eric.  The first chance he got, he went around the room whispering that Mr. B. was being very mean by sticking the Christmas tree up the angel’s butt.  Mr. B. was never aware that Eric was saying this, although he did hear giggles wherever Eric went, but that could almost always be expected.

          Under the tree were an accumulation of Christmas gifts for the party that would be on the final day of school, before Christmas vacation.

          All the girls would bring a gift that they thought a girl would like and all the boys brought a gift that they thought a boy would like.  The gifts would be labeled “For girl” or “For boy” and placed under the tree.  At the party, Mr. B. would have all the students’ names in a bowl, then randomly draw names.  If a girl’s name is picked, then that girl will pick a gift from the girls’ pile of gifts, bring it to her desk, but not open it because the gifts would all be opened a the same time.  The same would happen for the boys.  Also, no one could pick the gift that they brought and all trading of gifts were final, which prevented a lot of arguing.

          The final day of school was difficult for teaching and paying attention to lessons for Mr. B. and his students.  Everyone was distracted by the holiday spirit, their vacation, the food and drink brought by students, and by the pile of gifts that lay under the Christmas tree.  By the end of the day, when the party finally started, all the students were nearly wild with excitement.

          After the gifts were opened, Cheryl walked around the room looking at them, talking to friends and excitedly saying “ting.”  Soon, nearly everyone was saying it and the sounds of “ting” echoed throughout the classroom like Christmas bells.

          When the students went home, happiness seemed to flow from them like sap from a tree.  Their eyes glowed brightly and their lips formed crescent smiles.  Good feelings soared like peaceful doves on refreshing currents of holiday air.

          Snowflakes were falling lightly, swirling around all those happy faces.  Nickel-sized snowflakes settled on students’ hair as they walked to their buses.  Some joyful students were sticking out their tongues, trying to catch snowflakes.

                                      BERT’S QUESTIONS

                    If the sky is the limit, then is outer-space over the limit?

                   How much faster could lightening go if it didn’t zig-zag?

                            CHAPTER  11

          I had already discussed, with Maragold and Matt, my plan to return to Ireland for the Christmas vacation.

          What I didn’t tell them was that Elder O’Keefe was very old and sick, that he knew he did not have long to live, that he was one of the best leaders that the Leprechaun nation ever had, and that we had become very close friends.  Nor did I mention that I was his “Chosen One” to replace him as president of our nation.

          I dreaded the day that I would have to tell her that I had to leave her permanently.  I thought we’d always be together.  I am much more mature now and realize that “forever” is usually a childish fantasy that most adults shed, like a snake shedding its skin as it matures.

          In the two and one-half years that I’ve been with Maragold we have both matured greatly, but leprechauns mature at a much faster rate than humans.  Although I was in my mid-teens in years, my maturity level, in human years, would be equal to twice as many years.  That’s just a natural growth process for all leprechauns.  That’s also why a young leprechaun president might appear to humans—if we let them see us—to be too young for such a demanding, responsible and stressful job, a job that requires so many important decisions, each with consequences that could possibly be tragic if the correct decision is not made.

          I was sitting on the base of Maragold’s desk lamp, lost in serious thoughts of home when Maragold startled me by saying, “Snap out of it, Bert!  You look like you’re in a trance.”

          “Oh. … yeah. … I guess I was.  Sorry.  Did you need me?” I said to her.

          Maragold joked, “Are you lost in thought because it’s such unfamiliar territory?”  She giggled.

          I understood, but I wasn’t in the mood to laugh.  My thoughts of things to come ruined my holiday spirit.

          “You’ve been day dreaming a lot lately, Bert.  Are you OK?  Is something wrong?” Maragold said in a concerned tone of voice.

          I didn’t want to tell her what was really bothering me for fear of ruining her Christmas vacation.  I wanted to wait and discuss my permanent departure after the new year came.

          So I hesitantly said, “It’s just my trip to Ireland that’s been troubling me lately.  I want to be with my family, and friends, and Elder O’Keefe for Christmas, and I’m hoping that they are all doing well and that nothing ruins their holiday.”

          Maragold was in a pleasant mood and said, “Oh, you just need to laugh more.  Humor takes the stress and worry away.  My dad likes to say that ‘He who laughs, lasts.’  It works too.  Even doctors say that laughter is good for your health.  It releases some kind of good chemical into the blood.”

          “Well, that’s nice to know.  I’m glad it works for you and your dad.  I guess it would work better for me if I didn’t have so much on my mind, but I’ll give it a try. ‘He who laughs, lasts’ huh?  Interesting.”  We smiled at each other.

          Then Maragold said, “Do you like Elder O’Keefe or is he just your boss?”

          “First of all, he’s a wonderful person.  He’s kind, caring and considerate.  He has been one of our most popular leaders.  He’s never been married and has no children.  He treats me like a beloved son.  Next to my own dad, he’s the man I love the most.  I really respect him and appreciate his friendship.  I only wish I trusted myself as much as he trusts me.”

          “Bert.  You may tell me if this is none of my business.  Do you have a girlfriend in Ireland?”

          Maragold’s eyes twinkled with unhidden curiosity as an embarrassed smile spread slowly, like thick molasses, across her face.

          “No. … Not yet, anyway.  But Elder O’Keefe has a nurse that is quite attractive.  I want to ask her for a date during the Christmas holiday.”

          “Ting!” Maragold shouted.  “That’s wonderful, Bert.  I’m really happy for you.  That’s terrific news.  Maybe I can meet her some day.”

          “Maybe,” I said, as I tried to smile.  It was an awkward smile since I knew that Maragold would probably never meet Nurse Sandra … unless I could arrange it, somehow, with magic.  Yes, I thought, maybe that would work.  Maybe they could meet in a dream.  I hadn’t thought of that.

          “Hey Bert!  You’re day dreaming again.  Pretend that we are in school and try to stay awake,” Maragold said with a teasing voice.

          “You know, dear friend,” I said to her, “I think Mr. B. would agree with this, too.  The human, and leprechaun, brain is such a glorious and wonderful thing.  It immediately starts working when you wake up and faithfully never stops until you get to school.  So … I guess I thought that I was in school,” I said to her.

          We both had a good laugh.  I tapped my magic wand excitedly on Maragold’s desk and she was slapping her thighs as if she was playing the bongo drums.

          “How can teenage leprechauns be as smart as a humans who are thirty years old?” Maragold asked.

          “Wow!  That was a quick change in subjects.  Where did that question come from?” I asked

          That was one of Maragold’s unique traits.  She could be talking about one thing, then suddenly switch to something completely different that it’s startling.

          I said, “I can’t answer that question.  That’s just how we grow up.  Asking me that question would be like me asking you, ‘How come humans grow so much taller than leprechauns?’  That’s just the way it is, right?”

          “Yeah.  OK.  I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’m sorry for neglecting you, Bert.  It just seems like I get so busy with school and friends, especially Matt, Cheryl and Eric, and Grace too, that I run out of time or I’m too tired at the end of the day.

          “I’m sorry that we usually only get to talk at the end of the day.  I’ve gotten used to talking out loud to you, in my bedroom, and sometimes when you aren’t even here I talk to myself.  Mom and dad think I’m going crazy because they sometimes hear me talking in here.  They think I’m talking to myself and wonder what’s going on with me.

          “Maybe you don’t know this.  Maybe I forgot to tell you, but one day they heard me talking in here and asked me about it.  I told them I was reading a poem out loud.  They asked me about the poem so I said this to them:  Roses are red, violets are blue, I’m a schizophrenic, and so am I.

          “You should have seen the look on their faces.  It was terrific.  They were at a loss for words until my dad said, ‘Kids!’ and walked away.  And my mom?  She turned around and caught up with him.  I heard her say, ‘There’s nothing wrong with kids that a little logic and reasoning won’t aggravate.’  I heard their laughter fading as they walked down the hallway.

          “I quietly followed them down the hallway, to the foyer, then hid behind a wall and listened to them.

          “The news was on TV.  The news person was talking about a possible female candidate running for President of the United States.  My dad made a joke about America not being ready for a female president and mom glared at him.

           “My mom said, ‘If women ran the world there wouldn’t be any more wars.’”  She laughed after she said that.”

“Why are you laughing,” I asked Maragold?

          “Because my dad said to my mom, ‘Sure, but there wouldn’t be a second of peace for men either.’”

          “Then my mom said, with a smirk, ‘Dear.  You are such a deeply superficial man.’”

          Maragold added, “Their laughter grew louder, then my dad looked at my mom and said, ‘Perhaps, my dearest, but at least you know that I’m not the kind of man who climbs the ladder of success, one wrong at a time.’”

          Maragold paused, so Bert asked, “What else did they say.  Sounds like they each have a good sense of humor.  You must get it from them.”

          “They didn’t say anything else.  Actually, they smiled at each other, kissed, then my dad started reading a book, and mom worked on her Sudoku number puzzles.”

          “You were being nosey; listening to a private conversation.” I said to tease Maragold.

          “Yep,” she answered proudly, “How else am I supposed to learn things.  I keep getting curiouser and curiouser, you know?”

          “Yes.  I certainly do know,” I responded.

          The next morning was very cold.  The night before there had been a drizzle of rain that would have been snow if it had been a couple degrees colder.  This morning there were puddles that built up during the night in small depressions on lawns, driveways and roads.  Dawn was coming quickly.  The puddles now had icy crusts, as if hot, white wax had been poured onto them and had hardened.

          I had said good-bye to Matt in school and good-bye to Maragold before she went to bed.  It was especially difficult to say good-bye to Maragold even though I’d be in Ireland for only about a week.  But saying good-bye seemed like I was practicing for the real, permanent good-bye in June, and that made me sad.

          The cold and the wind no longer bother me when I travel.  I use my magic wand to shield me from them as I fly eastward.  Soon I’d be flying toward the rising sun, that glorious, golden globe that keeps the Earth from being a frozen, icy lifeless sphere.

          I was speeding through the sky when I saw and felt the first few warm rays of the sun reaching out for me like tentacles, wrapping me in warmth and comfort.  At this same time, I also had the strangest feelings, like I was being pulled by a force that I could not explain.  Maybe it was the force that Maragold told me about that tends to pull someone toward home and family, like a comforting, magnetic wind.

          I looked up at the white, cottony clouds as the sky grew brighter.  I was flying by those clouds so quickly that my vision blurred.  I set my magic wand to steer me automatically toward Ireland, then closed my eyes hard to squeeze the blurriness away.  While my eyes were closed, an image of Elder O’Keefe appeared.  Next to Elder O’Keefe was another image in a green uniform.  It was his nurse, Sandra.  She smiled at me with hazel eyes that sparkled brightly.  Her smile gave me a feeling that a moth must feel when it can’t stop itself from flying toward a bright light.

          When I saw Elder O’Keefe smile and raise his wand, I realized that what I was seeing was not my imagination.  It was an image of them in real time; an image of what they were actually doing right now.

          Elder O’Keefe’s magic wand was pointed at me.  I saw the light green, laser-like beam coming toward me, and at the same time pulling me toward the two of them.  It was the source of that comforting, magnetic pull that I had been feeling.

          I landed in the highlands that were closest to Cork, Ireland.  I was welcomed with cheers, smiles, pats on the back and various praises.  It was nice to have a home and friends who loved and missed me, and also respected and appreciated me.

          First, however, I found my mom and dad.  Papa shook my hand vigorously, and when I saw his misty eyes, I pulled him close and gave him a hug.  I whispered, “I love you and I missed you, Papa,” to him, then he squeezed my hand with both of his.

          I turned to my mom who was crying openly.  I kissed her, then hugged her closely while whispering the same affectionate message to her that I had whispered to Papa.  As usual, mom showered me with kisses.  If she had been wearing lipstick, I’d have looked like I had a bad case of giant measles.

          Then I stood up on a tree stump and waved to all my other relatives and friends.  I promised them that I would see them all during my vacation.

          I had arrived in late morning, so I talked with my family until noon, then had a corned beef and cabbage lunch with them, where I related more news and answered their questions as best as I could.  But they were full of questions, wonder and curiosity, so I talked to them after lunch, and during dinner, which was Shepard’s Pie, and for an hour or so after dinner.

          After dinner we also watched TV.  It was a British comedy on the BBC network.  A very funny show called “Father Ted.”  We laughed together and had popcorn and orange juice for a snack.  We watched two more very funny BBC TV shows: “The Vicar of Dibley and Little Britian.”  We shared our thoughts and laughter, and enjoyed each other’s company.

          As the late night news was coming on the TV, Papa made us some Irish coffee.  We all sipped, relaxed and watched the news.

          Papa said that a lot of the news was about Elder O’Keefe these days because of his poor health.  Sure enough, a news report came on the TV concerning Elder O’Keefe.  Film of Elder O’Keefe started and he could be seen smiling as he sat up in bed.  Nurse Sandra sat next to him reading a book—I saw that the first word in the title was “Keating’s,” so the book was probably “Keating’s History of Ireland.”

          Nurse Sandra looked like a delightful angel to me, with short reddish hair and gold, wire-rimmed glasses.  It could not be seen while she sat, but she was taller than the average female leprechaun.  I liked that.

          I thought, what a remarkable person he is and so few leprechauns have had the privilege of knowing him personally as I have.  I knew that I was very lucky.

          The next morning I flew to Silver Lake.  Elder O’Keefe was expecting me.  The door was opened graciously by Nurse Sandra.  She smiled shyly, then led me down the hallway in a business-like manner.

          Elder O’Keefe and I talked business first, then about Maragold and Matt and about the holiday season.  He wanted me to be free to enjoy the holiday without worrying about him, especially since he was feeling much better.

          Then he embarrassed and surprised me by saying, “I know from your thoughts, and the romance in your eyes when you look at her, that you are interested in Nurse Sandra.  What you don’t know is that she constantly talks about you.  She drives me crazy, Son, because she wants to know everything about you.  So for my mental and physical health, would you please get off your butt and ask her for a date?  Have several dates.  Just get her out of the house regularly.  Party.  Have fun.  But don’t get me wrong, though … she’s the very best, and I could not get along without her.  But we both need a break now and then, especially me.  I’m tired of talking about you.  I need some peace and quiet, Son,” he said with a note of humor and a teasing smile.  He paused and when I didn’t respond, he added, “I can arrange to have another nurse any time that you date her.  That’s no problem at all.”

          He looked at me with question marks in his eyes.

          My face was as red as a ripe cherry and my mouth was extremely dry, so all I managed to say was, “Yeah.  I was going to do that.”

          “Something else, that’s personal, I want to talk to you about,” he said.

          “Yes.  What is it?” I asked, as my attention focused on his serious voice.

          “Leaders are much happier when they have a wife to share their lives, and to help calm their stresses and frustrations.  And, don’t forget, if she’s the right one for you, marry the lass or I’ll personally kick your … ah … Well, you get my meaning.”

          I grinned at him and said, “Yes, sir, I do.”

          “And Son,” he said, more seriously, “after you’re married, have children because your grand children will be the biggest, brightest pleasure of your old age.  You get to spoil them.  It’s a grandparent’s job, you know.”  He smiled at the thought.  Then a funny vision must have appeared to him because his smile spread and laughter followed.  He laughed so hard that he must have knocked some phlegm loose because I could hear it rattle in his throat.  He coughed hard and I became concerned for him.  I was about to call for Nurse Sandra, but he held a hand up to stop me.

          As he caught his breath I was thinking.  I knew his first name was Liam—the English translation is William—but I never used his first name, out of respect for him.  I just could not call him Liam any more than I could commonly call my own dad by his first name.  But Liam was a fine, Irish name.

          I forgot that he could read my thoughts, so he startled me when he said, “Oh … Yes.  Liam’s a good, ancient Irish name.  Means a protector.  Did you know that?  Liam is also the last four letters of William.  Could you start calling me Liam, Son?”

          I felt embarrassed.  I’d thought about this a lot and I already knew that I couldn’t do it, so I said, “Sir, I’m not comfortable doing that.  As a sign of respect, I’ve been taught to address older, respected, adult males as ‘sir,’ in Ireland, and now I’ve learned to use the term ‘mister’ in America.”

          “Well, at least your mom and dad taught you well.  Perhaps some day you’ll feel more comfortable using my first name, huh?”

          I knew I would not, so I did not speak.  Instead I smiled.

          “Bert,” he said, thoughtfully.  “You’ll have a hard job when I’m gone, so laugh whenever you get the chance.  Sometimes I think that you don’t stop laughing when you get old, you get old because you stop laughing.  Make sure you have plenty of laughter with the wife and children.  They’ll be your number one job, though I must be honest and tell you that the job of president has a lot of stress, pressure, and frustration.  But I know that you’ll do your very best.

          “Another thing, Son.  You are good at this already, but you need to be excellent.  Sharpen your diplomacy skills.  The wrong phrase, the wrong word, even the wrong gesture, sometimes even the wrong letter of the alphabet can mean the difference between you looking like a bright, and responsible leader and looking like a fool.  Believe me.  I’ve made some mistakes like that when I first became the President.  Learned quickly from them too.  Same as you’ll have to do.”

          I was puzzled.  “I can understand that the wrong phrase, word, or gesture could be embarrassingly misinterpreted, but you said the wrong letter.  How can that be?”

          “Oh!  Easy, son.  Easy.  For example, what if you’re inviting a really important person, or leader, to the Gold House for dinner.  You have important business to talk about and you need his assistance.  You also know that this leader has an almost irrational fear of germs and dirtiness.”  Then Elder O’Keefe grabbed a notepad and pen from the side of his bed and printed on it.  “So you send an invitation to that very important person that includes this sentence: “My master chef and his cooks will be fixing your favorite food. whatever that is, and he will clean every one of his cooks bowels with his own hands to insure cleanliness.”

          I read the printing.  “Bowels,” I said, with a grimace.

          “Yep.  You see how bowls is one letter away from being bowels?.  Just one letter changes everything.  Do you think that important person will want to come to a dinner when the master chef has cleaned the bowels of all his cooks with his own hands.”

          We both laughed, but I sure did understand his point.

          Elder O’Keefe pressed a button near his bed and Nurse Sandra entered almost immediately.  “Yes, sir.  May I help you,” she said very politely.

          “Sandra, I’d like you and Bert to go into my office and talk.  Bert has something to ask you.  You’ll need to talk privately.  Go now,” he said with a smile that grew when he saw our faces flush with redness.  He waved the back of his hand towards the door and repeated, “Go on.  Talk in my office.”

          Nurse Sandra walked out into the hallway.  I followed her, but before I closed the door, I looked at Elder O’Keefe.  He was smiling, then he winked at me.  He was being a ‘matchmaker’ and enjoying our embarrassment.  I closed the door and followed Nurse Sandra down the hallway, to the office.

          It was an awkward situation, but we managed to shyly sit in chairs so that we faced each other.

          Sandra had a fascinating and beautifully shaped face.  Intelligence and innocence brightened her expressions, particularly her eyes.  It appeared that both traits were in a constant, but friendly, struggle to dominate each other.  Her skin was like a smooth peach, but her fragrance was better.  Her rich auburn hair was short, but framed her face and drew my attention to the lines and angles.  Those lines and angles seemed to point to her green eyes and to her mouth.  Her flawless teeth gleamed as white as polished piano keys.  She looked fragile as a spider web, but tough as leather, if that’s possible.  I knew that she was quietly decisive, yet could be aggressive and fearless if the situation called for it.  She had a good sense of humor, but her job mostly called for her to be very serious, concerned, caring and empathetic.  After all my observations about her, I couldn’t help focusing on just one thing; she was the prettiest leprechaun I’d ever seen, with a laugh that was genuine and friendly.

          We started talking and a couple of hours vanished.  We were only interrupted once when another nurse knocked on the office door to inform us that Elder O’Keefe was asleep and that all was well with him.

          We talked for a short time more, then I asked her to go to dinner with me; a date.  She shyly accepted my offer.

          From then on we saw each other every evening.  We had dinner together each night, following my short visits with Elder O’Keefe.

          Sandra and I grew emotionally closer and closer, liking each other more and more.  We fell in love quickly.  I knew that she was the right one for me and I asked her to marry me.  I was overjoyed when she said yes without any hesitation.

          I told her about Maragold and my years in America.  She was extremely interested and asked to hear more.  Then I told her all about Cheryl, Matt, Eric, Robby and what little I knew about Grace.

          Sandra talked about her family and work, then told me about herself in more detail.  I got to know her much better and felt myself growing closer and closer to her.  She already knew that I had to leave Ireland and return to America soon.

          By using my magic power, I arranged it so that Sandra and I would be constantly in touch with each other.  I gave her the ability to send and receive mental messages.  We agreed that we would be together again in late June to discuss our marriage date and to make plans for the wedding.

          When I returned home, I sent a mental message to Maragold, telling her that I would be back on December twenty-eighth.  I wanted to surprise her, so I didn’t tell her that Nurse Sandra and I had become engaged to be married.

          Her return mental message said, “Wonderful!  You will be here for our party.”

          I departed for America a couple of days later, but it was a difficult task leaving Sandra.  My love for her had grown very strong.

                                      BERT’S QUESTIONS

                             Can vegetarians eat animal crackers?

          What happens if a person gets scared half-to-death, twice?

                                      CHAPTER  12

          Maragold had received permission to invite the gang to her house on December twenty-ninth.  She was excited about having a party with her closest friends, but extra excited because I would be there.  Actually every one in the Maragold gang was excited.  Now they wouldn’t have to wait until school started to share the excitement of their holiday.

          When the gang got together, Eric was the most excited.  He couldn’t wait to tell about the puppy that he got for Christmas.  He told everyone that he named the dog “Timex” because it was supposed to be a good “watch” dog.  He said that it was a good name for the dog because Timex had been “doing-time” at the local dog jail—dog pound.  Then he told about his previous dog that was killed a couple of years ago, before the gang met.

          Eric said, “Yeah, I really loved that dog, but it ended up as blacktop pie.”  He wasn’t joking.  That’s just the way he talks.  Sometimes it’s hard to tell if he is serious, sad, or joyful because of his weird sense of humor.

          Cheryl should have known better.  She asked anyway.  “What’s blacktop pie?”

          Eric answered, “Well, that dog’s name was Tar because it was as black as tar.  He was run over by a truck while trying to run across the road.”  Eric sadly added, “Tar was as flat as a pancake.  Like blacktop pie without the crust.” The way he said it was almost funny, but you could see that that sad memory bothered him.

          Then Eric saw his friends staring at him.  He didn’t like to show sad emotions because he was afraid of being teased.  He changed the subject quickly by saying, in a very serious tone of voice, “Hey, I got a car for Christmas.  From my rich uncle.  It’s a real beauty,” he said, proudly.  “A perfectly restored, 1967 red Mustang with black leather, silver decorations and sparkling chrome trim on the outside and inside.  Oh, man!  Listen to this.  My Uncle Richard said that he’d come to the house about once a month, drive the car out into the country, then let me drive it.  Incredible, huh?”

          I didn’t understand it.  Isn’t a Mustang a horse?  Why would his uncle buy him a horse and only let him ride it in the country, once a month?  And how do you restore a horse?  How can you decorate the inside of a horse?  Isn’t that horse incredibly old?  I listened closely, hoping that I’d learn what Eric was talking about.

          Everyone looked at Eric with wonder.  Matt and Robby looked a bit jealous.  Then I saw an image of a car in Matt’s mind.  The front grill of the car had a picture of a horse; a mustang.  Ah … it was an old car that Eric was talking about.

          Eric pointed at Matt and Robby, then said, “Gotcha.” He laughed as he added, “If you believe that story then I have a bridge to sell you.”

          Then Robby asked, “Oh yeah!  And what bridge would that be?”

          Eric looked at Robby kind of funny, like Robby should know the answer.  Eric said, “The bridge of my nose, sucker.  Gotcha again.”

          Well, you know, laughter comes easily to Eric and he was having a good time teasing Robby.  Then Eric also added, “And I won’t even charge you for all the precious emerald boogers that are under the bridge … of my nose.”

          That last comment got a good amount of laughter, Robby included.

          When the laughter quieted down, Eric said that he saw the old version of the movie, The Exorcist, with Linda Blair.  He said that, in the movie, she was supposed to be possessed by an evil demon, and in one scene she turns her head completely around; 360 degrees.  Another scene she projectile-vomits some green, slimy puke.  Eric said that he thought it all looked much too fake.  He said the movie should have been a comedy because parts of it were actually very funny.  He continued to tell everyone that if the people who made the movie wanted to change it to a comedy, they should get rid of the projectile-vomiting and replace it with projectile-diarrhea. He thought that would be a lot funnier.  Naturally, the rest of the gang thought it was a disgusting suggestion.  I know for a fact that the image it created left a big stain on my brain.  Where in the world does Eric get these ideas?

          Next, Eric told his friends about his mom making a chocolate pudding pie for Christmas dinner.  She didn’t want to put the pie on the table to cool off because she hadn’t placed the table cloth or the plates and silver wear on the table yet.  So she placed the pie on a dining room chair to cool.  She returned to the kitchen, got distracted, and forgot about the pie.

          Eric was really into telling his story now.  He was full of hand motions, facial gestures, eye and body movements.  He looked like a puppet controlled by stings.

          He told us that he had just gotten Timex that Christmas morning so he was running around the house playing with him most of the day.  Before dinner time he was playing with Timex too.  He said he got tired and carelessly plopped down on a dining room chair and Timex jumped into his lap.

          Eric’s eyes bulged with excitement.  I actually thought that they stuck out from his head so far that he could have looked up his own nose.  Eric continued by informing us that he didn’t see the pie.  First of all he didn’t know it was there, and secondly it was difficult to see it because the chair had dark colored wood with a very dark brown leather seat, and the pie was dark chocolate.  He said that it is was like sitting in a large, warm lump of fresh cow poop that was slippery and squishy.  But he said that it smelled much better.  And after he nearly slipped off the chair, he stood up quickly and looked behind himself.  The pudding was all over the chair, dripping on the floor and plastered all over the seat of his pants.

          Anyway, Eric said his mom rushed into the dining room, saw the mess, then swore.  Eric said his mom almost never swears.  She stared at him and he said he froze in place.  At the same time, Timex was gobbling up the chocolate pie off the floor and the chair.  Eric said his mom shoved a damp cleaning rag into his hand and angrily told him to clean up his own mess and that there would be no dessert for dinner.

          Eric said that he got onto his hands and knees to clean up the floor and Timex started licking the back of his pants.  Eric tried to push him away several times as he was cleaning the floor and the chair.  Eric had pushed Timex away so often that Timex got mad and started biting Eric’s butt to get the chocolate pudding.  Eric said that he got up yelling when Timex nipped him hard on his butt.  He ran around the house with Timex chasing him wherever he went.  His mom ignored his yelling because she was mad at him.  His father rescued him by picking up Timex.  Eric finished cleaning up, then changed his shirt and pants, his underwear and his socks.

          But Eric said that was not the end of it.  He said that we may not know it, but chocolate isn’t good for dogs; it makes them sick.

          An hour or so after dinner, after guests had arrived, Eric was playing with Timex when he suddenly had diarrhea on the living room rug.

          I think Eric saw that projectile-diarrhea was not nearly as funny as he thought it would be.  He had to clean it up, clean Timex, take a shower, then change his clothes, again.  Furthermore, the smell was so bad that the guests went home quickly.

          “Oh-my-God!” Eric said to us, “My mom and dad were furious.  They had to get a professional carpet cleaner to clean the living room carpet.  I went to my bedroom and stayed there the rest of the night, for my own safety.”

          Then Matt told us about his Christmas presents.  He said he got clothes—he sounded bored with getting clothes—a new karate uniform (from his karate school) and protective karate equipment for his sparing classes, plus two video tapes that taught different styles of martial arts defensive skills.  One tape was about an Israeli form of martial arts called Krav Maga.  The other tape was about his own style of Japanese karate called Isshin-Ryu.  He also said that he got a new watch—not a Timex—and showed it to everyone.

          I thought he should have gotten a comb, too, because he arrived at Maragold’s house with his hair sticking out in all directions.  It was a nice, cold morning, with hardly any wind, but he arrived with hair that looked like it had gone through a tornado last night, then a hurricane this morning.

          Matt said he lost his comb and didn’t have a hair brush, so he tried using the toilet bowl brush.  The gang all eyed him with suspicion.  Maragold said, “No!  You’re kidding, right?”  Matt kept a straight face and tried to say something more believable.  He said, “OK, my hair looks like this because I had to use the toilet bowl brush, and I stupidly used a really cheap shampoo that came in the mail.  You all satisfied now?”

          The gang gave him strange looks because his hair gave off an unwelcome odor and they weren’t sure what to think.

          They laughed at Matt, then squeezed their noses with one hand and fanned the air with the other hand as if he had farted.

          I flew to Matt’s shoulder and said, “You are a stinky, winky, poopy head.”  Of course, I knew he was joking about all of his story.

          Matt said, “You’re all very funny, but looks aren’t everything.”  Then he laughed at the gang.  “I’m just kidding,” he said.  “I used some hair gel to make it look like this.  It’s the new hair style that’s catching on with the older boys at school.”

          Robby received a new karate uniform also.  He also got karate gloves, chest and leg protectors for his sparing classes.  He got his own TV and VHS/DVD player for his bedroom.  He was also very excited about the skis and ski equipment that he got.

          He said he’d been skiing twice already and he really liked it.  The first time he went skiing, he said he used rented skis.  Then he went once after Christmas, with his own skis, and loved it.  Skiing would make winter more fun, he said, especially if you enjoy the bitter cold, the stinging snow in your face, the frozen hands and feet, and a frozen and sore rear end from falling down often.  But the best part, he told us, is having tree branches whip across your face and knock you over.  “Man!” he said with a voice full of sarcastic laughter, “I love it.”

          Cheryl showed everyone the joke books and poetry books that she got for Christmas.  She also received clothes, and a beautiful, expensive necklace and bracelet set.  She also got new clothes and some books.  But, she said that her best present was a heart-shaped pin that she was currently wearing.  It was given to her by Robby.

          Robby’s face gleamed scarlet and got hot from embarrassment.  Tiny beads of sweat formed on his forehead, like tiny, baby pearls.  But his eyes and lips showed that he was happy.

          “Any good jokes in your joke books?” asked Eric.

          “Sure.  Plenty of good ones,” Cheryl responded.  “How about if I tell you the answer to the first joke, then you guess the question?”

          “OK,” Eric stated.

          “Eric,” Cheryl said.

          “What?” Eric answered.

          Cheryl paused, staring at Eric, then said, “No!  I wasn’t calling you.  The answer to the first joke is you, Eric, and the question is, ‘Who’s the ugliest person in our group?’”  Cheryl started laughing and the rest of the gang followed.

          “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Eric repeated.  “Any of them jokes start with your name and end with your name?”

          “Oh! Don’t be so touchy,” Cheryl said with a smile.  Here’s another joke.  What’s 5Q plus 5Q equal to?”

          “10Q,” answered Eric, quickly.

          “Your very welcome, Eric,” Cheryl giggled.

          It took a second or two for Eric to realized that “10Q” sounded like “thank you.”

          Eric grimaced at what he thought was a poor joke, so Cheryl said, “OK, here’s a romantic joke.  “What did—”

          “Oh, no!” interrupted Robby.

          Cheryl smiled, then continued, “What did Mr. Volcano ask Mrs. Volcano?”

          When Cheryl heard Maragold say, “I don’t know,” Cheryl looked at Robby and said, “Do you lava me as much as I lava you?”

          Robby was shaking his head at the awful joke, but everyone else was laughing, even though Eric tried desperately not to.

          “Oh!  That was just awful,” Eric blurted.

          Cheryl immediately said, “How about this one then?  How do you spell hard water with only three letters?”

          Grace said, “Don’t know.”

          Cheryl replied, “The letters are i-c-e.”

          Cheryl continued, “I can only remember one more.  Want to hear it?”

          Everyone shook their heads up and down,” except Eric.  He said, “Noooo!” loudly, but it was a teasing voice not a serious voice.

          Maragold said, “Ting!  Tell it, girl.”

          “OK,” Cheryl stated with a bright grin, “Is anyone here a good enough scientist to tell me where the center of gravity is?”

          Matt answered, “North Pole?”

          Cheryl replied, “Nope.”

          Maragold guessed, “Equator?”

          Again Cheryl replied, “Nope.”

          Matt tried, “South Pole?”

          Cheryl said, “Nope.”

          Cheryl looked at Robby and Eric for guesses, but they had none.

          Cheryl laughed and said, “The center of gravity would be where the letter ‘v’ is in the word ‘gravity.’  See?  You learn some science even on vacation.”

          Laughter and a groan could be heard.  Then Eric said, “You better get some better joke books.”

          “You think you can do better?” Cheryl teased.

          Eric smiled sarcastically at Cheryl.  “I don’t even have to tell a joke to be better than all yours put together.  Listen.  The pro football playoffs will be starting next weekend.  You know, the best teams play to see who’ll be in the Super Bowl.  And last month there were games to see which college team was the best.  College football has the Orange Bowl, Sugar Bowl, Rose Bowl, Cotton Bowl, and a half dozen others.  So why don’t the colleges teams and the professional teams have one bowl game to see who’s the worst team in the nation?  Call it the Toilet Bowl.  Wherever those games are played, all the stadium seats should be changed to toilet seats.

          The boys roared with laughter, but the girls only smirked at Eric’s persistent toilet humor.  But that didn’t stop him from smiling back at them, especially at Cheryl, in unquestioned triumph.

          Grace volunteered to go next.  First she mentioned the presents that she got for Christmas.  She said she received a couple of dresses, new jeans, a pair of shoes, a DVD player, and softball equipment.  She shyly said that she had played on the girl’s softball team at Nova Central School, where she was before coming to the Kroy.

          Eric bit his lower lip hard enough to leave red teeth marks—he was not athletic at all and worried about being with an athletic girl.

          Grace continued, saying that she got a new glove, ball, hat, spikes, socks and a practice uniform so she’d be ready for the spring try-outs for the girl’s softball team.

          Then Grace said that her mom and dad also enrolled her in a dance school so she could take dancing lessons—information that also made Eric frown with worry because he didn’t like to dance.  He bit his lower lip, again, but harder.

          “Very nice, Grace.  And may I ask what Eric got you for Christmas?” Robby said with a mischievous smile that drew everyone’s focus to Eric.

          “Oh,” Grace said casually, “he sent me a very nice card for Christmas.”

          “And that’s all?” Robby asked.

          Eric was so embarrassed that he almost got mad at Robby, then almost told him so, but Grace spoke first.

          She said, “It was an expensive card, with a nice message.  I liked it.”

          Eric was looking at his shoes, still embarrassed.

          Now Robby felt bad about embarrassing Eric.  When Eric looked up at Robby, Robby mouthed the word, “Sorry.”  Eric grinned, as if to say, “OK.”

          Grace reached over and held Eric’s hand to show him support.  Eric looked at his friends and smiled, even though his face was as red as spaghetti sauce.

          Oh, dear reader, I just had a funny vision.  It was of Eric with a spaghetti sauce face, meat balls for his eyes and nose, and noodles for his mouth and ears.  Childish American humor must be contagious.  I giggled to myself.

          Maragold’s turn arrived and she said that her dad got her an expensive ring and ear rings.  She was wearing them, so she showed everyone.  Then she said that her mom got her some beautiful dresses and some expensive perfume.  She also received a new pair of athletic shoes and a purple and gold Kroy School jacket.  Finally, she said, her parents both got litter boxes and two soft beds for her cats.  There were also matching water and food bowls.

          Eric said to Maragold, “And what did Matt get for you?”

          Maragold replied, “Uhm … He gave me a personal gift.”  She didn’t explain.

          “Personal, huh?” Eric said with a grin.  Then, “But we are your best friends.  You can tell us, right?  You do trust your best friends, don’t you, Mara?”

          Maragold felt trapped.  If she didn’t say what it was, then she was saying she didn’t trust her friends.  If she did tell her friends, it might be embarrassing for her and Matt, especially if Eric made a crude comment.

          Grace saw Maragold hesitate and poked Eric’s arm lightly so that he would stop teasing.  But Eric paid no attention to her.

          Eric said, “Oo-la-la!  Personal, huh?  What could it be?  Perhaps a ring?  Yeah!” he said loudly, then repeated, “It was a going-steady ring, right?”

          Maragold walked to Eric and got nose to nose with him.  It startled him.  He backed up as Maragold said, “No.  Not a ring, Mr. Nosey, know-it-all.  He kissed me,” Maragold stated sternly as she stepped toward Eric so that they were still nose to nose.  Her eyes were like drills boring holes into Eric.

          No one could see Eric’s face because Maragold’s face was so close to his, but Maragold heard him whisper, “Ah … I’m sorry, Mara.”  But he was thinking, “Wow!  They’ve been ‘kissy-facing’ already.”

          Maragold smiled and walked away.

          Matt said nothing, just smiled proudly.  He did, however, unconsciously reach up to feel the inside of his right ear.  It looked like he was cleaning it with his forefinger, but he was really testing it for wetness.  He was thinking that when he first kissed Mara, he felt so warm that he could have sworn that his earwax had melted and was running out of his ear.  But his ear felt dry now and he lowered his hand.

          The room became cemetery quiet; no talking, no movement except for Eric’s and Robby’s eyes and jaws.  Their eyes bulged out with surprise and their jaws flopped open so much that they looked like trap doors that would slam into their chests.

          They were both thinking that Matt gave Maragold a ring, or took her to a movie or to Subway for lunch; stuff like that.  But a kiss?  They were both startled into embarrassment, especially Eric—Cheryl and Grace stood by, quiet and envious.

          A little later Mrs. Shane fixed lunch for everyone.  After that Mr. Shane played a DVD Spiderman movie for Maragold’s friends. While the other four friends were watching a movie—and holding hands—I whispered to Maragold and Matt that I needed to talk to them privately.

          We went into the dinning room, but Mr. and Mrs. Shane were nearby, in the kitchen, so we went into the magic room to talk.

          I told them that I had to leave permanently, after school ended in June.  I told them that I was sorry that I could not stay and keep my promise.  I told them that I had been chosen to be the next leader of my leprechaun nation.  They were happy for me and congratulated me.  I said that I had extremely important duties, obligations and responsibilities waiting for me that would keep me busy for many years.

          “Are you saying that you can’t come back to visit?” Maragold asked with tears forming.  Her happy expression changed to a sadness that robbed her of her naturally beautiful expression.  Her lips trembled, then I saw the tears fall to her cheeks and slide slowly downward.  I felt like a monster for hurting her.

          Matt put his arm around her shoulder and leaned closer to her.  He looked at me with disappointment, but no tears, thank goodness.  His sadness was sincere, yet understanding.  He never did talk as much as his friends.  He did talk with his eyes, though.  He could say a lot with his eyes, if you looked closely at them.

          Maragold wiped her eyes and tried to smile to show that she understood.  “I understand, Bert.  I really do, but I just … you know … I just hate to see you go.  You are like a wonderful big brother to me … but I understand … really, I do.”

          “I’ve also met a wonderful female,” I added.  “I’ve started dating her.  We seem very well suited for each other.  We are engaged and I am going to suggest that we be married on July tenth, your birthday, Maragold.  So, when July tenth comes every year it will be your birthday and my wedding anniversary.  We can think of each other.”

          “Bert?  Will you tell us a little bit about her?” asked Maragold.

          “Oh, sure … Uhmm … Yeah, her name is Sandra O’Neal and she’s the personal nurse to Elder O’Keefe.  She won the Nurse of the Year award last year for her knowledge and professionalism.  She’s a little younger than I am and she’s gorgeous.  You’d really like her.  I told her all about you.”

          “Oh, that’s so wonderful!” Maragold stated as she clapped her hands.  She smiled at me then added, “We’ll miss you and always remember you, my dear friend.  And Matt and I will both cherish all our wonderful memories.  Right, Matt?”

          “That’s for sure,” Matt said.

          Maragold, Matt and I rejoined the gang.  The party ended with even closer feelings of friendship.  This group was six strong links in a sturdy chain.

          Christmas vacation, like all school vacations, went by quickly, and now it was a brand new year.

          Bright hopes and fresh thoughts occupied the minds of most parents, teachers and students.  It was like having a fresh start, where the mistakes of the past could be learned from, and forgotten.

          The first day back to school Maragold was riding the school bus.  She was lost in thought while staring out the bus window.  She stared at a field covered with snow.

          It was so cold that the frost on the bus windows was thick.  Maragold had to constantly wipe it off so she could see Mother Nature’s vast freezer.

          When the bus arrived at school, Maragold could see the teachers’ cars were parked awkwardly in the freshly plowed parking lot.  The white lines for parking spaces could no longer be seen due to the snow.

          After the morning announcements and the Pledge, the academic routine went smoothly.

          At lunch time Eric said to Matt, in a whisper, “Hey, Matt.  Have you seen the new nurse lately?  You know.  Mrs. Bullock.”

          “Of course I’ve seen her.  We got in trouble with the girls when we talked about her before.  Remember?” Matt answered.

          Robby said, “I’ve noticed her, too.  Va-va-voom!”

          “Yeah?  Well then, you guys know what I’m saying.  Wow!  She’s a real looker.  She should have been a model because, I’m telling you, she’s one very good-looking lady.  I’d love to see her in a bikini.  Heck, man!  I’d like to be her boyfriend for a day.  What?” Eric said, as his head snapped back and forth when he saw that Matt and Robby were staring at him, very seriously.  Then he felt their hands on him.

          Matt and Robby, who were sitting on each side of him, both had a hand on one of Eric’s shoulders.  Eric looked at Robby, then turned and looked a Matt.  They both had warning looks in their eyes to help prevent him from saying something crude and embarrassing in front of the girls.

          Matt whispered, “You’ve got diarrhea-mouth, again.  Keep it clean around the girls.  You can tell us the crude stuff in private, OK?”

          Eric looked at Matt, then quickly said, “Oh yeah.  I forgot.  Thanks for the reminder.”

          Robby whispered in Eric’s other ear, “You’ve been pretty good about not being rude around the girls, but you need to think before you talk about stuff like that.”

          “Yeah.  You’re right.  Thanks Robby.”  Then in a real low whisper, that the girls could not hear, Eric turned to Matt and said, “You really gotta get another look at Mrs. Bullock in her, white uniform.  Your eyes’ll pop out when you see her.

          A few days later, as Mr. B. was finishing a morning writing lesson, there was a quiet knocking on the door, then the classroom door opened.  The school nurse, Mrs. Bullock, peeked her pretty face in and asked Mr. B. if it was OK to come in.

          “Of course,” Mr. B. said with a smile.

          Mrs. Bullock stepped inside the classroom and let the door close behind her.  She smiled at Mr. B. and said, “Mr. Bunnlow, I need to check your students’ heads.”  She meant she wanted to check for lice, but did not want to say the word.  “I know it’s a bit earlier than usual for me to check, but I thought if I checked early, then I could stop a more serious problem in the future.  Do you mind?”

          “No.  Not at all Mrs. Bullock,” Mr. Bunnlow said as he looked more closely at Mrs. Bullock.  Her beauty reminded him very much of his niece.

          The students were relaxing and glad for the break in their work. It was nearly the end of their lesson, anyway.

          Mr. B. asked his students to work independently on their writing while Mrs. Bullock walked around the classroom checking their hair.

          Mr. B. and Mrs. Bullock started walking around the classroom; Mr. B. checking his students’ work and Mrs. Bullock checking for lice.

          After about ten minutes passed and she found no head lice, Mrs. Bullock asked Mr. B. if she could share with his students some funny excuses that she had received over the years from parents whose kids were absent from school.

          Mr. B. thought it would be a nice break from work for his students.  He asked the students to put away their writing work and textbooks, then listen to Mrs. Bullock because she had something special for them.

          Mrs. Bullock told the students about the humorous nature of the excuses, then started reading some of them aloud.

          “Listen to these.  They’re so funny,” Mrs. Bullock said with a laugh.

          Eric’s eyes were focused on her.  His mouth was open and it looked like his tongue would fall out mop the floor.

          Mrs. Bullock said, ‘“My son’s doctor said that he should not go to gym class today so please execute him.”’

          Laughter followed, then Mrs. Bullock said, “I know you have to get back to work so I’ll just read these slowly.  All of them.”

          She started again, ‘“Please excuse Lisa.  She was sick and had to be shot.’  Sounds bad, but it was the doctor that gave her a shot of medicine with a needle.”

          ‘“Dear School:  Please execute John for being absent from January 28 to January 33.’  What?  Does January have more days now?”

          “This one says, ‘Please excuse Tim from gym class.  He fell out of a tree yesterday and misplaced his hip.’”  Mrs. Bullock was laughing hard now.

          “And this one.  ‘Chris will not be in school because he has an acre in his side.’  An acre of land?  If it’s in his side, he’ll need a bath in a lake to wash off all that dirt.”

          The classroom echoed with laughter.  Even Mr. Bunnlow couldn’t stop himself.

          “Try this one,” Mrs. Bullock said. ‘Please excuse Raymond from school because he had loose vowels.’  I’m glad his consonants were tight.”

          Mrs. Bullock started to read the next one, but burst into laughter.  She tried again and again, but couldn’t stop laughing.  She laughed so hard that she couldn’t read the excuse.  Finally, on the fourth try she made it, saying, ‘“Please excuse Kim for being absent from school.  She had diarrhea and her boots leak.’”

          The class burst into breath-stealing laughter.  Mr. B. was glad that the classroom door was closed.  He held his hand on his belly because it had started hurting.

          When the noise level lowered, so she could be heard, Mrs. Bullock said, “Do you want to hear more?”

          The students responded with loud yeses.

          Mrs. Bullock looked at Mr. Bunnlow to get permission to take more time.  When Mr. B. nodded his head, Mrs. Bullock continued.  “OK.  How about this one?  ‘Please excuse Jimmy for being.  It was his father’s fault.’”

          Many heads turned and eyes bugged out now because of the reference to making babies, but Mrs. Bullock just continued, saying, ‘“Please excuse Jenny’s absence from school, yesterday.  We forgot to get the Sunday paper off the porch and when we found it on Monday, we thought it was Sunday.’ … Now there’s a good one, huh?”

          “And here’s another one.  ‘Sally won’t be in school next Friday.  We have to attend her funeral.’  I wonder if she’ll be ‘dying’ to get back to school?” Mrs. Bullock added. with a giggle.

          “You see?  It’s not always serious, being a school nurse.  I get a lot of laughs from notes like these.  Pretty funny, aren’t they?” Mrs. Bullock asked.

          “More, more, more,” came anonymous voices.

          “I’m sorry.  I really don’t have any more.  Maybe next time I’ll bring more of them with me.  But I do have a funny story; something that happened to me and Mrs. Plum.  May I tell it, Mr. Bunnlow?”

          “Love to hear it,” Mr. B. said.

          “Well, back in November we were having a problem with the eighth grade girls in their bathroom.  They were using lipstick and would use the bathroom mirrors to put on the lipstick.  That’s fine, but after they put on their lipstick, some of them would kiss the mirrors.  Then their friends started doing it too.  Of course, that left kiss prints all over the mirrors.  The teachers couldn’t catch the girls that were doing it, so Mrs. Plum asked for my help.

          “We came up with a plan.  Mrs. Plum called all the eighth grade girls into the girls’ bathroom, with me and Mrs. Carrick, the lady custodian.  Mrs. Plum explained to the girls that all the lip prints were causing a problem for the custodian who had to clean the mirrors every night.

          ‘“Now,” Mrs. Plum continued, ‘to demonstrate how difficult it is to clean the lipstick off the mirrors, I’ll ask Mrs. Carrick to show you how hard it is to clean them.  OK, Mrs. Carrick.  Please show them.”’

          “Mrs. Carrick, whom Mrs. Plum and I had already talked to before meeting the girls, took out a long-handled sponge mop, dipped it into one of the toilets, then took it out and tried to clean the mirrors.  Some of the lipstick came off, but most of it smeared as the dripping toilet water went all over the mirrors, then the sinks and started dripping on the floor.  The custodian dipped the mop into the toilet again, then applied more pressure to the handle of the mop as she rubbed it across the mirrors.  It smeared the remaining lipstick and made the mirror look even worse.

          ‘“Mrs. Carrick can apply a lot of pressure with that wooden handle.  That’s how she gets the floors so clean.  But when she uses the mop to clean the mirrors, she can only get a little bit at a time.  That means that it takes a long time to clean your mirrors.  Doing it with a hand sponge is almost impossible.  So,’ Mrs. Plum said, ‘you see how hard it is?  We all want to ask you girls not to kiss the mirrors any more.  I hope all of you will cooperate.’

          “Then I said, ‘Now it’s my turn to talk to you girls.  You know that lipstick is sticky.  So when you kiss the mirror, your germs stick to the lipstick, and the germs from the breath of other girls sticks to the lipstick also.  Even after the mirror is cleaned by Mrs. Carrick, the germs are not all killed and you could get sick from another girl’s germs, especially if she has a cold or a cold-sore on her lips.  So that’s another very good health reason not to kiss the mirrors.’

          “After I told the girls that, I heard some coughing sounds, or maybe they were sounds of gagging, as the girls went back to their classrooms,” Mrs. Bullock said as she finished the story.  Everyone laughed; the boys the hardest, while some girls grimaced.

          “Since then,” Mrs. Bullock added, “there have been no kiss prints on the eighth grade girls’ bathroom mirrors.  Now, I’ll let you in on the secret of that humorous story, but, please, you must keep it a secret, OK, because Mrs. Carrick doesn’t really clean the mirrors with a mop soaked in toilet water. She cleans the mirrors with a very clean sponge and she uses antiseptic soap that kills germs.”

          Some of Mr. B’s girls made gruesome faces, as if they were going to vomit, but the boys were nearly screaming with laughter.  One boy was laughing so hard that he had drool coming out of one corner of his mouth.

          Mr. B. laughed, then clapped his hands vigorously to show his pleasure with Mrs. Bullock’s story.  When his students saw him clapping, they immediately followed his example.

          Nurse Bullock waved good-bye to the students, said, “Keep the secret,” then disappeared out the door.

          “Ting!” Cheryl yelled when the door closed.

          “Ting, ting, ting”—many other students shouted with excitement.

          Eric kept staring at the classroom door as if he didn’t want to let go of the beautiful image he had of Mrs. Bullock.

          Mr. B. reminded his students that he would soon begin the poetry lessons that he talked about before Christmas vacation.  Mr. B. said, “You’ll have a week to practice, to pick your poem topics, and to decide what kind of poem to write.  Remember, prose and free verse forms of poetry have no rhyme, but they describe something or some one in a colorful, or unusual way.  Effort is more important than quality to me.  I can see your effort, but I’m certainly no poetry expert, and quality is very subjective … that means it’s mostly just an opinion.

          “And don’t be fooled by those strange sounding poetry words that I said a little while ago.  You’ll be surprised how simple they really are.

          “Now, I hope you will find your afflatus and show good effort, too.”

          Eric immediately raised his hand.  Mr. B. asked him what he wanted.

          “Ah … Mr. B. did you say flatus?  Find our flatus?  Well … ah … I know where that is,” Eric stated, then grinned.

          A few students who knew the meaning of Eric’s word giggled quietly.  Maragold and Cheryl shook theirs heads, knowing what Eric was doing.

          “That’s enough, Eric,” Mr. B. said, without his usual patience.  Then he walked to the chalkboard and wrote:  AFFLATUS = A CREATIVE INSPIRATION.  “That’s what the word means,” he told the class.

          Eric was disappointed that he did not tell the class that the meaning of the word flatus was intestinal gas; a fart.

          The lessons continued through the remainder of the morning. The math and science lessons were interesting, but shorter than usual because of the extra time that Mrs. Bullock used to read her funny excuses and tell her funny story.

          The class had its usual bathroom break before lunch, then lined up single file and followed Mr. B. to the cafeteria.  Eric told a few people the meaning of the word flatus, then the gang moved on to eating quickly and having their regular joke session.

          When Mr. B. brought his students back to the classroom, after lunch, the chalkboard looked different.  Under the word AFFLATUS and its meaning, this was written: FLATUS = INTESTINAL GAS RELEASED THROUGH THE ANUS; A FART.

          As the students sat at their desks, their eyes squinted with wonder, surprise, then uncontrollable laughter.  Mr. B. was surprised, too, and looked immediately at Eric.  Mr. B’s brow wrinkled and both eyes squinted.  His eyes seemed to be stamped with question marks as he stared at Eric.

          But, to Mr. B’s surprise, Eric looked genuinely surprised too.

          Eric looked around the classroom, then at Mr. B. who still stared at him.  Eric shrugged his shoulders, eyes still wide with surprise, as well as confusion, then simply stated, “I didn’t write it.  It’s too neat to be my writing.  You know that!”  He said this while looking directly at Mr. B.  Then, “Yeah!  And I never left the cafeteria.  Anybody can tell you that.”

          Mr. B. agreed that it certainly was not Eric’s writing.  He looked around the classroom, especially at the Maragold gang, and saw their agreement with Eric.  It puzzled him greatly, but it also made him smile.  He liked a mystery.  However, by the end of the day, neither he nor the students could solve that mystery.

          What Mr. B. and his students didn’t know was that when Mr. B’s students were going to lunch that day, they were half way down the hallway when Mrs. Bullock came out of the classroom next door to Mr. B’s classroom.  She went back into Mr. B’s classroom to get a folder that she had forgotten.  She hoped that Mr. B. had a very good sense of humor because she wrote on the chalkboard, then left the room smiling.

          When report card time came, Mr. B. was a very happy teacher.  Everyone was now doing average or better work.  Even Charlie, who had adjusted very well, was getting average grades and seemed so much happier.

          Mr. B. noticed that Charlie looked slimmer and guessed that that gave Charlie good feelings about himself.  Mr. B. felt a great happiness for Charlie because he knew how difficult life was for fat kids and adults.  The teasing and ridicule were often emotionally shattering, causing serious depression, lack of confidence and a hatred of their own bodies as well as their school environment.  Mr. B. also knew that quite often the emotional pain from the teasing and humiliation hurt much more than the pain of a physical injury which would heal quicker.

          Mr. B. had already lectured his students about not teasing overweight people, or anybody that’s physically different, telling them how hurtful it was.

          Mr. B. also knew that American kids and adults were getting fatter and fatter and he felt helpless.

          Dear reader, I hope you will also take seriously Mr. B.’s lecture, about not teasing over-weight people, and not do things that hurt another person deeply.

                                                BERT’ QUESTIONS

          Why do parents and teachers put their two-cents in, when it costs only a

          penny for their thoughts?

          If America is so proud of free speech, why are there telephone bills?