TVWSP

Scarred

I have been doing so much questing that I lost enough weight to be able to wear my leather sleeved baseball jacket from the Charles in Charge series we produced while I was at Scholastic Productions.

 Scott Baio wore a similar jacket in practically every episode of the series.  It ran for four years then was rerun to death. Scott was ageless, and while already in his late twenties, could still play TV’s first male babysitter.

 RQ is not ageless, and while the jacket fits again, I feel as out of place in it now as I did back then. I always felt a little guilty wearing that jacket. Yes, Scholastic Productions developed and co-produced the series with Universal Studios on their storied Culver City lot. And yes, I was the President of Scholastic Productions, but you have to remember I’d also been pulled around the classroom by my ear in the third grade (http://tvwsp.typepad.com/tvwsp/2009/07/the-reluctant-quester-fesses-up.html), and was still illiterate in the fourth (http://tvwsp.typepad.com/tvwsp/2009/07/the-reluctant-quester-grade-four.html).

Coming into the studio to watch the very first episode of Charles in Charge being taped was an out of body experience. I was there, but was a stranger in a not so strange land. I had seen this all before, watched productions get shot, but up until then had never seen one of our own being taped in front of a live audience for broadcast in prime time on the CBS Television Network. Woohoo!

 I had no feel for – no way to relate to - this experience…no way in. I was, as I had always remained, back in Mrs. Himber's class staring at the Metropolitan Reading Exam, unable to read the sample questions.

These days RQ is writing, taking pictures, co-creating story quests, and telling his own story here.  In the process, he is healing scars and allowing me for the first time to taste and enjoy my own unique talents - celebrate what is different about me.

 

The Reluctant Quester Meets Stanford-Binet

Seventh grade and hormones kicked in - the kind that make you aggressive and hostile. With more adrenaline than growth hormones, RQ was short but had a very big chip on his shoulder. It was the 1950's, so I had three extra inches, including my pompadour and engineer boots.

On my toes and looking James Dean tough, I would get in line at the movie theater and try to buy a ticket for the latest Bridgette Bardot film. The same lady was always in the ticket booth. She would smile, sometimes giggle and wink, but always sold me a ticket.

Nice lady...who no doubt would be arrested today by ultra right conservatives and crucified in the New York Post for corrupting the morals of a minor.

Short, bad, and angry, I acted out, but did not rob or murder.  I just misbehaved and talked back to teachers. I was never in danger of being sent to Riker's Island or reform school, but was endlessly threatened with a "600" school. Six hundred schools were the New York City Public School's home for the less than criminal, what the NYC family court defined as "PINS" (People {children} in Need of Supervision.

Okay, so I was never sent to a 600 school, but got very close a couple of times. The closest was in a science class taught by a young man we will call Harvey.

As you might guess, Russell Sage Junior High was not a progressive school. However, being the progressive student that I was, I liked calling Harvey…well Harvey… a lot…And I kept it up - compulsively, obsessively - with result that I made frequent visits to the assistant principal's office.

 If it had not been against the law, I probably would have felt the lick of a strap. There was a cane in the corner of the AP's office, and rumor had it that she would stare at, then look at you, then back to the cane…grim, scary stuff.

So one day, during one of our chats, there is a fight in the hall and she flew out of the office to deal with it. Invitingly, left open on her desk, was my "Permanent Record Card!!"

Like a shot I was out of my seat and behind her desk. Numbers and letters I could read, and there, circled in red, was my IQ - 92.

No longer scared or angry, I was just sad.  The worst had been confirmed by Stanford-Binet. Dumb and slow, I couldn't even claim to be an underachiever. I was just stupid...geesh.

Cice Meets Her Match

Before I share my latest thoughts I want to be clear about one thing – it was not my fault.  I am a respectful, well-behaved canine who heretofore felt nothing but mild curiosity about the members of the Mephitidae family.  From this day forward, however, I shall regard them as mortal enemies.  Here are the facts:

 It was late afternoon on a particularly warm day.  I was leisurely sniffing my way around the outskirts of Storybook, looking for a shady place to nap when a large black and white creature leaped from behind a tree and began stomping its feet.  Before I could do more than yip, the dreadful creature turned its backside in my direction, lifted its tail, and filled the air with a foul, overwhelming stench. Alarmed, I yelped and backed away, but the scent clung to my fur and burned my eyes, so that it was all I could do to find my way to Jenaia’s home.

Imagine my chagrin when she took one sniff, ordered me outside, and insisted on bathing me in acidic red juice poured out of cans.  Not only was I mortified to be seen covered in this sticky red sauce, but the results only added insult to injury.  The original, noxious odor remained, but now it was overlaid with the scent of Solanum lycopersicum.

Clearly less than satisfied with the results of her efforts, Jenaia suggested that I pay a visit to RQ.  While polite and careful not to wrinkle his nose, I could tell he was not pleased to see me either.  Therefore it came as no surprise when he failed to invite me into his living quarters.  Rather than feel sorry for myself, I decided to console myself with a bit of questing.

Questing, as Jenaia has explained it to me, is not the clever form of torture RQ claims.   While it does involve writing, there are many curious and occasionally puzzling activities to engage in which do not require making black marks on paper.  As a matter of fact, most humans would benefit greatly from an afternoon spent questing as a canine.  By this I mean focusing their attention less on what they can see and more on what they can feel, hear, smell, and touch.

 It would also do them a world of good to get their heads out of the clouds and down near the earth.  There are marvelous things to be discovered creeping, crawling, and slithering along, as long as you do not encounter a member of the Mephitidae family that is.  Here then, in brief, are my impressions after an hour or so of “questing” in and around the home of Uncle D.

 Sun streams dusty with pollen

and the smiles of bees,

pine bark sweating woody love

while tired leaves spend the last of their lives

lighting up the sky in yellow, orange, and russet twirls

spinning like pinwheels

into the water’s embrace.

 

The silly buzz of gadflies drunk on sun,

the endless, busy march of ants

muttering to themselves

against the burp and burble of water

tickled by light.

 

The musk of deer lies heavy

In trampled, still warm grass

Their startled looks and white flagged rumps

Holding a moment hostage

Before it catches its breath

And the day moves on.

Next I shall investigate the house, which is layered with peculiar odors ranging from medications and coffee to scented candles and cats.  Even more tantalizing, however, are the faint whispers I hear from the building itself. Clearly stories are waiting.

 

 

 

 

The Reluctant Quester Learns to Sew

Having mastered electromagnets and reading, I was ready by grade 6 for a new challenge. Mrs. Traeger was the consummate pro…all confidence, grace, and warmth. Funny how good teachers don't have trouble makers…and can get their classes to do anything…even sew? 

Okay, picture this. The Reluctant Quester, and most of the other boys in the class, were not the academic elite of PS 139. If we had the necessary hormones, every one of us would have needed a shave. We had to satisfy ourselves with greasy Brylcream pompadours, t-shirts rolled up to the armpit, motorcycle boots, and leather jackets.  

The girls were ahead in the hormone race, so there was a new distraction to have to cope with - breasts. Yikes!  All of a sudden, out of nowhere, there they were. Some hidden under sweaters and bulky sweat shirts. But some were right there, proud and demanding attention. 

Well if I was hopping and jumping around before, without raging hormones this was a game change, but not in Mrs. Traeger's class.  Been there seen that. True insanity would have to wait until junior high school. All would be calm in her class and relaxed - a perfect time to learn how to gather around and learn how to sew.

Smash cut to Grease - Danny Zuko, Sandy Olsson, and Betty Rizzo! Sure Sandy (Olivia Newton-John) would be delighted to learn how to sew, but Betty (Stockard Channing) and Danny (John Travolta) ...not on your life. Never going to happen. 

Mrs. Traeger made it happen.  RQ, a pretender, and the real goons and juvenile delinquents were going to make shop aprons. The girl would make aprons for Home Ec. 

For the boys in my class expectations were low. The dye had been cast. We were being readied for metal and wood shop and a lifetime of blue collar work. 

Freed from having to decode black dots on a page or struggle with math…I could focus on a needle and thread. Learn how to pick up one single thread and learn a basting stitch. I used basting tape that I secured with blind stitches. No metal shop for me, I could learn to be a tailor!  

Actually what the career possibilities might be were irrelevant. I was in a classroom and doing something, making something, succeeding and learning. And, I was good at it. 

There was Mrs.Traeger breaking down sex role stereotypes before anyone even knew there were any. Letting us be creative, use our hands, teaching us to focus…project based learning. The grade…the finished apron. What a radical idea!!!