A Gray Day to Learn about Gay

 

There was a girl on our high school cross country team who repeatedly asserted that “You probably didn’t know what gay meant until you were thirteen,” just because that was the age she learned.  I always tried to correct her, that I learned when I was 11.  Not everyone learns the term at the same age.

The day I learned what gay meant was a troublesome day with an overcast sky.  I was suspended from school for fighting.  “You are not in trouble, Caroline!” my mom said surprisingly after we got in the car.  I was bullied every day in fifth grade, and the morally backwards teacher always coddled my cruel peers, especially the bullying ringleader.  I’m not using his real name.  Let’s call him, “Oscar.”

That day after a game of tag, Oscar kept slapping my back, yelling tag.  After months of abuse, I finally snapped.  I jumped on his back, pulling his hair.  Oscar screamed like a girl.  The teacher, who never intervened when I was harmed, immediately came to his rescue.  The teacher refused to hear my side of the story, and Oscar was not reprimanded at all for hitting me.

My mother and I were on I-95 South, going home.  At least my mom listened, and let me tell her what happened.  One lane over to the right was a truck stocked with red oxygen tanks labeled, “Oscar’s Oxygen.”  My mom laughed and joked, “Look!  That’s all of Oscar’s oxygen being sent to him, because he doesn’t have enough oxygen going to his brain!”  I chuckled a bit, but I still felt down.

We discussed various incidents of bullying at this overpriced private school, and a three-lettered word stood out, Fag.  One day, while waiting for the art teacher to arrive, Oscar was spewing insults, one of which was, “Your brother is a fag!”  I went home and told my family that, and my brother responded with, “Whoa!  That’s really nasty!  Oscar has gone too far!”  I didn’t know what the term meant.  I thought it probably meant stupid-head or something childish.

When we were nearing the Scudder Falls Bridge, my mother told me.  A fag was a gay man, and gay men were “men who try to have sex.”  This was March 1994.  I know these words would not be acceptable today, but it’s what I heard and how I learned.  Continuing, my mom told me that women who are gay are called, lesbians.  The trisyllabic word wiggled out of my auditory memory quickly, while I tried to conceptualize what they did.  I thought their legs scissored, and this was before South Park.

This was why the term, fag, was so offensive, because Oscar was claiming my brother had sex with other boys.  I didn’t get a happy introduction to LGBTQ with rainbow flags and love stories in a health class setting.  I learned through insults and one rotten day at school when I was treated with injustice.

Later on, Oscar organized a group of his Slytherinesque friends to tell the head of the upper school that my brother called Oscar a “Jewish Jackass.”  My brother never uttered that term, which Oscar concocted.  My brother was nearly expelled over a slur he never said, but Oscar was not punished for saying “fag!”

 *   *   *

 

Three months afterward……

Oscar was eventually expelled at the end of the year, for his constant bullying.  He was “not invited to come back to the school next year.”  One member of the board of directors begged me to give the school another chance.  I stood my ground, said no, and willfully returned to public school.

The Best Parental Guidance My Mother Ever Gave Me

 

In the rating system, PG stands for Parental Guidance, as we all know, but how often do parents give guidance during films or even while watching TV with their kids?  Looking back at my childhood, there was one instance that stood out.  It was the best advice my mother gave me about a cartoon, and I still carry those thoughts with me into adulthood.

In the 1990s, people dealt abrasive snap judgments on appearance and intelligence.  It was the norm.  So when I was watching Animaniacs, I saw nothing strange in the narrative of Pinky and the Brain.  After school, I deferred my swamp of homework to relax and watch TV.  After dozens of episodes of Animaniacs, which included the hapless lab rats attempting world domination, I was used to the cartoon’s routine plotline.  Brain was focused on world conquest, and the easily distracted, unaware Pinky said randomly stupid things.

As the theme song went, “It’s Pinky and the Brain.  It’s Pinky and the Brain.  One is a genius, and the other’s insane!”  My mother was listening in and sometimes she would chime in with, “The Brain is insane!”  I didn’t understand at first.  Being smart meant everyone respected you and took you seriously.  Being perceived as less intelligent meant that you would be scrutinized by a closeted eugenics-favoring school psychologist and undergo a battery of medical tests to find out what was wrong with you.  I was in the latter category.  The premise for Pinky and the Brain seemed consistent with mainstream worldviews.  I knew I wasn’t as dumb as Pinky, but I wasn’t nearly as smart as the Brain, who was strangely more respected in the series.

At one point my mom stepped in.  I think it was the episode with a role reversal where Pinky became smart.  The song lyrics deviated, “One is a genius, and the other’s ……….. the Brain.”  The producers just couldn’t imagine Brain being in a strait jacket like Pinky was in the regular theme song.  However my mother saw what was plainly obvious.  She reemphasized her point, “The Brain is the one who is insane!”  I argued otherwise, but my mom explained something important.

She told me that even though Pinky is dumb, he’s nice.  He’s harmless.  The Brain is the one who is mentally ill.  People who try to take over the world are crazy.  “Even if he’s a genius?”  My mother strongly answered, “Yes!  There are crazy geniuses!”  I was surprised to hear this, and I was 11 at the time.

I’m glad my mom stepped in and taught me that mentally ill people can be intelligent, and that less intelligent people can be sane.  Nowadays this seems like common sense.  The terms, “crazy genius” and “insanely smart” are not oxymorons.  However, when I was younger, negative conclusions were drawn quicker, and I’m grateful my mom opened my mind so I wouldn’t sink into the crevice of narrowmindedness where everyone wanted to fit in.  Sanity and intelligence are not the same measure.  Although, Pinky was technically the accomplice, he otherwise never posed a threat to himself or others.  Brain was power hungry, and taking over the world would involve controlling everyone.  Thankfully, my mother didn’t just let pop culture misguide me with animated ableism. 

I still watched Pinky and the Brain and appreciated it, but with a more mature mind.  The funny cartoon was written with trending attitudes towards IQ levels.  I learned society could be ignorant and lack moral insight, while one sane mother saw through the cloudy craziness, and taught me something important that my “normal” peers would only figure out decades later. 

Thank you, Mom, for opening my eyes. 

I know it’s early, so I say in advance,

Happy Mother’s Day!

 

Slick Santa

 

My family has a tradition that we don't necessarily do every year, only when the opportunity arises.  My family tends to buy Christmas presents near or right in front of each other without getting caught.  This tale is just one example, but it's a Yuletide memory worth telling.

It was many Decembers ago.  I believe I was a teen or a pre-teen.  My dad, my brother, and I went jewelry shopping for my mom.  We looked around, and I used to really love going to jewelry stores.  My dad asked me which ones I liked as usual, and I said I liked the semi-precious stone items, particularly a blue topaz ring.  Since I was a kid and obviously could not afford to give my mom anything in the store, my job was the try on pieces of jewelry and give my expert opinions.

Dad said that we were going to play jokes on Mom, since Mom always likes to snoop around.  Really, she doesn't always snoop around.  Sometimes she finds things by accident, ....just like I do on occasion.  Dad had decided on some earrings, and he said as a joke we would have each earring in a separate velvet box to make Mom think we got her two pieces of jewelry.  Technically, two earrings were two pieces of jewelry.

When we got home, Dad decided to keep playing jokes on Mom.  Dad told her to hide in the basement, saying we got her something large; no peeking and no snooping!  He told me to get out of the way, and told my brother to help him with the large box.  They mimed and heaved the imaginary box through the house and up the stairs.  They pretended it was very heavy and difficult to haul up the steps.  This was to make Mom think that she was getting something really big.

On Christmas day, I was happy, and opening presents with the family.  Mom was opening one of the little boxes that had an earring in it.  I stopped unwrapping my presents to see her surprise.  To my surprise, both earrings were in one box.  Dad handed me the other box and said it was for me.  I opened it, and it was the blue topaz ring.

 

In Memory of Mrs. Claire Eberhart

 

I remember children crying on the last day of school in third grade, including myself.  Mrs. Eberhart was retiring and we wouldn’t see her in the halls the next year.  Thirty years later, Mrs. Claire Eberhart left this world on January 26, 2022.  She was 87.  She may have left this world, but she left countless memories for countless children.

Mrs. Claire Eberhart was one of the few good teachers at Quarry Hill Elementary.  She truly cared about her students, and she believed in us even when other faculty did not.  Other teachers were there just to collect a paycheck while Mrs. E went above and beyond her job description.  She was good enough that the local paper had a two-page article memorializing her, and I learned even more about my favorite teacher’s life.  I would like to add to it by telling what I remember about her.

For starters, she had a reward system of a candy jar and prize box.  Candy was for correct answers, and little trinkets were for completing special assignments, such as researching the origins of specific words, like hamburger.  Moreover, every project we had involved a presentation, and the best reports received awards.  For instance, we didn’t just go on a scavenger hunt, we showed our findings in front of the class.  When we studied the solar system, the report covers were judged by Mrs. E, her husband, and Sam the Cat.  Sam liked the cover decorated with colored packing peanuts, and Dr. Eberhart liked my report on Saturn.  This is just for starters, though.  Her brilliance didn’t stop here.

Mrs. Eberhart organized the class to sing songs at nursing homes.  Our class was an ensemble of about 24 students, learning pieces lyric by lyric.  I remember practicing singing, “When You Wish Upon a Star,” “Somewhere Out There,” and of course, “My Favorite Things.”  Mrs. Eberhart loved The Sound of Music, which the whole grade watched one day in Mrs. Johnson’s room.  In a way, Mrs. E was like Sister Maria and the class was the Von Trapp family.

We learned dozens of songs, and we performed in two nursing homes and in the school auditorium.  We had props for “My Favorite Things,” and umbrellas for “Singing in the Rain.”  If anyone knew how to play piano, they had a chance to perform, and about seven students performed a dance routine to the C+C Music Factory song, “Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now).”

Mrs. Eberhart believed anyone could sing.  Even if you “couldn’t carry a tune,” she believed she could help you hit the notes.  I have a feeling she originally wanted to be a music teacher, but being positioned in third grade did not stop her from that possible dream.

She believed not only in our musical potential, but also in our aptitude for learning, despite that we were in the lowest class.  I was lucky to score into her class.  Instead of just following the curriculum, she had us memorize William Blake and Emily Dickinson and recite the poetry in front of the class.  We had the usual spelling bees, but we also had a US capitals bee.  The top four or five students received ribbons.

Mrs. E taught us about black history, which gripped my attention.  We learned about black slavery, Jim Crow, and read a book on Jackie Robinson.  We also learned about vision impairment through the biography of Louis Braille, who invented the communication named after him.  To liven up the lesson, Mrs. Eberhart invited a blind woman to give a presentation on Braille, and she brought a large book full of braille with her.  Guest speakers were not a one-time thing.  Another presenter was in costume giving a Civil War lesson.  He brought a table full of artifacts from the time period.  

Another pastime our teacher shared with us was baking.  One day we made fudge, and another day we made pumpkin bread.  I’m pretty sure it was pumpkin if memory serves me right.  We all had a treat at the end.

The Yardley News covered these events organized by our teacher, and we had opportunities to be included in the newspaper.  Whether it was singing in the nursing homes, making fudge, or having a guest speaker, Mrs. E always made sure each student had a chance to be photographed for the paper.

The Hobby Fair was one of those times our class was in the paper.  Each student showed their hobby on their desk, and the whole third grade passed through the room, listening to us talk about our hobbies.  My hobby was having a pet rabbit.  Mrs. Eberhart said, “This is the first time I had something alive in the Hobby Fair.”  Mrs. E brought all her antique banks from home.

We would see those banks once again when the class visited her house for lunch on the weekend, later in the school year.  I think it was a Sunday.  It was a party where students, their parents, and Mrs. E’s family were all together; indoors and outdoors, playing and eating food.  She had many cats throughout her life, but at this point in time, Sam was the mascot.  He didn’t care much for children, but he listened to me.  ……….He really did.

Mrs. E always talked about her family and her cats, and Sam the Cat was known for his tales.  He would count the teacher’s coins, mewing, “One, three, three, five, three, three, one, three.”  Whenever her late cat Winston was stuck high in a tree, Sam helped him down.  Then there was Sam’s repeated attempts to follow Mrs. Eberhart to work.  He would try to get in her briefcase, or hop in the car, but she would intervene every time.

Back to the party – Sam listened to me.  I instructed him to wait until Mrs. E opened the backseat door, hop inside the car while she was getting her briefcase and other stuff, and to stay low and quiet when she returned.  The very next day, Mrs. E needed a substitute because she was late coming to work.  When she finally arrived, she had a story to tell!  She was almost to school, possibly on the last turn, “and I looked in my rearview mirror, and I saw this fuzzy face.”  Sam was in the backseat, and he had almost succeeded in following his owner to work!  She had to drive all the way home and drive back to Quarry Hill.

Sam the Cat was a black feline with a milk mustache and white paws.  He was born in March 1980, and he outlived my older brother for years.  I don’t know when the cat crossed the rainbow bridge, but Sam and the rest of Claire’s cats have reunited with her now.

To live 87 years is a long life, and she added so much to people’s lives.  As I read through the commemorating article, I learned that she helped people her whole life.  I didn’t know she had a tradition of finding out struggling families’ Christmas wishes, and clandestinely leaving presents on the doorsteps on Christmas morning.  She did that for 40 years, almost half her life.

Mrs. Claire Eberhart was an angel on Earth, and now she has regained her wings and halo.  She will be missed.  She was the best teacher in my childhood, and I was lucky to know her.