Jeremy:
|
I read your blog about Jason
Collins coming out of the closet.
|
Me:
|
Thanks. Did you like it?
|
Jeremy:
|
It was OK. Wasn’t Jason Collins also the name of the
guy who beat you up in the 7th grade?
|
Me:
|
No, that was Jerome
Collins
|
Jeremy:
|
Why don’t you blog about him?
|
Me:
|
Because of the off-chance that
he is not in jail right now and has suddenly learned how to read, I am afraid
he may wish to do it again.
|
Jeremy:
|
I really love that story.
|
Me:
|
Thank you. Which part of your father's pummeling entertained you
the most?
|
Jeremy:
|
I guess all of it.
|
Me:
|
I think I’m going to take a
pass on Jerome Collins. In fact, I was
thinking about taking a week off from the blog.
|
Jeremy:
|
The blog is too new for you to
take a week off. You need to maintain
your momentum.
|
Me:
|
Why are you such an annoying
person?
|
Jeremy:
|
Genes.
|
Me:
|
Your mother?
|
Jeremy:
|
No.
|
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We used to refer to middle school as Junior High
School. And since Joseph Pulitzer was
not a roll off your tongue kind of guy or even a president, we simply referred
to our school by it’s municipally bestowed, “JHS 145.” I was in the SP Program at 145 which combined
7th, 8th, and 9th grade into 2 years, the goal
being to enter high school as a sophomore and finish it in 3 years. On the other side of the spectrum were those
students who seemed intent on stretching out their public school experience as
long as possible. I will tackle them
later, or perhaps more aptly, they will tackle me. 
My friends were a mix of my fellow SP class mates plus kids
from my afternoon Hebrew School class.
At this point you are probably thinking “WOW, kids from the SP program
AND Hebrew School.. What a cool group
that must have been!” Well, we certainly
thought so. We harassed our substitute
teachers as well as those girls who had not fully developed by the age of
14. We played poker a couple of days a
week after school and we wore denim jackets, which were called dungaree
jackets. They were “bright blue new” and
definitely not faded. They allowed
minimal arm movement and made a rustling noise if you tried too hard.
At one Friday poker
game Todd was excited to show us something great. It was a round embroidered patch with a
picture of a snake on it. He saw it when
he was in the fabric store with his mother and decided that it would be a great
idea if we all sewed snake patches onto our dungaree jackets and become “kind
of like a gang.” “We could call
ourselves “The Snakes,” he added, demonstrating his fine-tuned flair for the
obvious. He was so positive that we
would be enamored with his idea, that he took out seven more patches from his
bag and gave one to each of us. Now I
was not a student of gang history at the time.
However, I was fairly certain that the tougher ones did not trace their
roots to a visit to Jo-Ann’s Fabrics with one’s mother.
And speaking of mothers, none of us were adept at sewing, so
the task at hand lay in convincing them of the benefits of “snake camaraderie”
and then having them sew the patches on the back of our jackets. Doing our homework, taking out the garbage,
and running errands -- we had the weekend to apply the charm and work our
magic. On Monday, we would show up in
our Snake Dungaree Jackets and win the admiration of our friends and
schoolmates.
I unfortunately was dreading the embarrassment as I could
not convince my mother to ruin the beautiful dungaree jacket that she had paid
$11 for by sewing a snake on it. Todd
and four others were successful in convincing their mothers to do the
deed. Jeff and Stewy did poor jobs of
sewing on their own emblems but at least they were part of the gang.
“Wait a minute,” I said turning around, my back facing them. “I’m not a snake. See,” I pointed, “no patch.” When I turned back around, the tough kids
were already walking away as we looked at each other in despair. And thanks to my lame protest, I also
happened to snag a few looks of disdain as well. During the course of the school day, The
Snakes got desperate. Jeff and Stewy
were thankful for the poor sewing job they did and started pulling out the
threads of their snake patches with scissors from the art class. Lee and Carl threw their jackets in the
garbage can in the bathroom. Todd faked
an asthma attack and had the school nurse call his mother to pick him up
early.
3’o clock came and we decided that the school yard might not
be the best place to congregate and walking home as a group might not be the
wisest thing either. I was walking home
quickly, eyes constantly looking back over my shoulder when maybe 2 blocks from
school, my path was blocked by Jerome Collins.
He was the tallest kid in the 7th grade as I believe he was
the previous year as well. He wore a white
t-shirt which had a box of Newports rolled up in one sleeve. He wore black jeans without the nerd cuff and
a new pair of black Chuck Taylors. As I
tried crossing the street he blocked my path and said in a muffled voice “you
the biggest snake of all.” And if that
bit of irony and symbolism didn’t hurt me enough, he then powered into me with
a fist to my stomach that bounced me off a parked car and onto the
sidewalk. A small group of students
looked down on me as I took deep breaths and tried my hardest not to cry. I was successful for all of 3 seconds when I
started wailing. Mission accomplished, Jerome walked away and lit up a
cigarette. Another day in the life for Jerome Collins. As for me, snake patch or not, I never wore a dungaree jacket again.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Me:
|
Do you like the draft?
|
Jeremy:
|
You seemed to cry a lot more
when you told me the story.
|
Me:
|
I’m allowing myself literary
license.
|
Jeremy:
|
What does that mean?
|
Me:
|
It means that each embarrassing
detail need not be embellished.
|
Jeremy:
|
I guess that’s why you failed
to mention pissing yourself as well.
|
Me:
|
I guess. Why do you continue to be such an annoying
person?
|
Jeremy:
|
At least I’m not a snake.
|
