Author: admin

Big Kahuna

…It was cold.  I shivered somewhat, got my bearings and proceeded into the playground. Gerard was already outside, leaning against the white wooden picket fence that led out to freedom.

“Hey Gilly, over here.”

I gave up.

“Hey Gerard” 

“Ready to go,” he asked assuredly.

“You bet”

“Here take these will ya.”  He then handed me off a bunch of notepads. “I cannot carry them because my right arm hurts.”

What about your left arm I thought, but did not dare to ask. I did not want to jeopardize my upcoming windfall.  I took the notepads. 

We got on our way.  Gerard lived at northern border of our school district. It was the polar opposite to where I lived. No matter. The payoff will be worth the trouble.  On we went. I didn’t talk too much, just listened to Gerard’s ramblings.  And what about the caramels I interrupted? Where did you get them? How did you get them? Are there enough there for both of us? Are they old? New? Fresh? Stale? Packaged? In ones? Two’s? Or three’s? What Gerard? Tell me. Are they in boxes? Big boxes? Small boxes? Wrapped up? In singles? What? How many? Enough for both of us? Your family? Your brother Art?  The others? Nooo, you don’t really have any caramels do ya?

Yes, yes, don’t worry, of course, yes, yes, sure are, and more yeses.  I was beginning to sound a bit weird.  My bubba-like questions were beginning to become ingratiating and pedantic. I stopped with my stupid interrogation. Perhaps I was growing suspicious. I needed reassurance. Of course he ranted about how important his uncle is in the Kraft hierarchy. Chief Caramel Kahuna, he bragged. The big Caramel Kahuna, or the Big Cheese. The Big Cheese I queried.  Er, No, no, no, no, my mistake Gerard said.  Make that the big caramel. Kraft also made cheese.  Cheddar I think: slices and Cheese Whiz. And of course that famous staple known to all single, male, intellectually challenged young men the world over – Kraft Dinner or KD for short.  No matter. Vice President of caramel production, his uncle was good enough for me…

Four Horsemen of the Caramelypse

…I was as restless as one could be after a PTA sponsored lunch for the entire afternoon.  I could not concentrate. All I could think of was getting my hands on and my fingers wrapped around a thousand caramels. That would be my take for sure. A thousand caramels, I thought, enough to do me for an eternity, or until the end of time. My candy Armageddon? No, Caramelgeddon! Not a bad way to go I thought. The four horsemen of the caramelypse: all wrapped in those chewy tasty caramel treats, galloping their way to rapturous, heavenly caramel gooey glory,  Happy thoughts as I day dreamed my way through ancient history, geography and English grammar.

“MORRISON”, I could sense what seemed to be an echo like reverberation coming straight down at me from above, through my ear canal right into my brain box.

“MORRISON”

“Yes Mr Kraft” I lamented, woefully.  My teachers name was Mr Bowner.

“MORRISON” for a third time already.  One more take would make the four horsemen of the caramelypse, Caramelgeddon.  But I dare not risk it.

In one cracking instant I came back to reality. That cracking instant was the noise made by Mr Bowner’s ruler as it came crashing down on my wooden desk.  His ruler came down so hard that it almost ruptured the ink-well.  That would not have been pretty.  Lucky for me Sister Mary Bernice was not around trolling about for victims. You see, the lay teachers could not, would not, lay a hand on us. I was not really sure at such a young age if they did that by choice or by an ecumenical papal decree. Regardless, only the black and whites were allowed to strike us.  Perhaps it was part of their training, or better yet, the second Vatican council’s encyclical to instil upon us the threat and the fear of eternal damnation.  After all there was a STRAP factory somewhere in our diocese, as there were in every Catholic diocese – the world over.

At the same time the sound of vibrant laughter permeated the classroom.  As I came out of my drunken like stupor, my drowsy like eyeballs tried to focus on a groggy induced picture of a blackboard. I could sense what seemed to be but a thousand eyeballs ingrained into my entire being.  With that came guffaw, after gut wrenching guffaw, all on my behalf. I didn’t care for I was soon going to be the recipient of a thousand caramels.

Finally, the bell rang. I grabbed my stuff and like the other 20 some odd boys in our class ran a beeline for the door like a rapacious gathering of the male clan; crashing into one another, like a mêlée of imbeciles that we were, about to be the first to taste a sense of freedom, at least for this day…

Sugar: Those Were the Days

…Lucky those kids.  How I envied them, of course, but for the wrong reasons.  Would it not be neat to be able to stay at school for lunch, then fly outside to the playground and play until that afternoon bell sounded the afternoon alarm? Of course, and there were times when we could stay at school for lunch but those days were few and far between and were only allowed when lunch was sponsored by the Parent’s Teachers Association. We did have to pay for the privilege, a small stipend, for that other important food group of a lunch at school: two boiled hot dogs on white spongy hot dog buns; soda and a maple frosted donut or two, or three.  Sugar, those were the days.

“Mom, can I go to Gerard O’Neill’s house to play after school?”

“Yes, but why the O’Neill’s? You hardly know them.  Least of all Gerard”

So true.  I can’t lie about that nor can I appear to be too enthusiastically inclined to go otherwise my Mom may become suspicious. These parents of ours seem to have a thick inner sense that something may not be quite right with us.  Something may be amiss.  No doubt she was right.  She was always right.

“I don’t know Mom. We have become friends in the schoolyard. He asked me if I could help him out with some things at his house. He wants to show me some of his toys. He has a model train,” I lied, more black spots “set in his basement that he wants to show me.”

She looked at me somewhat inquisitively, then smiled.

“Okay, but be home by six”

That was it.  Whew, Say no more.  Chow down, slurp that soup down, then get the hell out of there and get back to the school yard.  Done, home, and back to school in less than 45 minutes. I still had 30 minutes before the hand bell went. I scanned the schoolyard for any sign of Gerard.  No luck.  Perhaps he had not arrived as yet.  But then, just as the bell began its incessant ring marshalling all of us like cattle to the slaughter like good little Catholic boys and girls, Gerard showed up.  He looked at me from a distance.  I gave him a thumb’s up gesture.  He smiled, returned the salute and off we went to our afternoon classes…

11th and 12th Commandments

…I saw Gerard over by the ball diamond with a couple of other kids, friends of his no doubt.  As they saw me coming toward them I thought I detected a smirk or two directed in my direction. Can’t be sure though.  Was that a chuckle I heard?  At my expense? Don’t know. Gerard seemed to shoo them, correct them, and silence them for some reason unbeknownst to me.

“Hi Gerard” I said coolly, nonchalantly in my best, I don’t really give a damn fashion.

“Hey Gilly” Gerard answered with a sly look of confidence in his eye.

“Don’t call me Gilly”

“Okay Gilly”

“Okay Gerard.  So what have you in store for me? What is this surprise?

“It’s at my house.  You’ll have to come home with me after school to see it.”

“What?” I stammered, somewhat in nervous anticipation.

“Caramels”

My interest suddenly piqued: “Caramels? As in Kraft caramels, the only kind, the real McCoy?”

“Yup.” he said with that youthful brash and assurance of a braggart.  “I have boxes of them at home in my basement.”

“No way”

“Yesss” Gerard confirmed. “My uncle works for Kraft. He gets them for free.  As much as he wants but he can’t eat them all himself so he gives some to my family. We keep them in our basement for safe keeping. We have tons!”

Figuratively thinking perhaps? But then? At that age?  Literally thinking of course. Perhaps naivetévly.  Tons of caramels, mmmm, wow. I was a sucker for caramels. Like the old Barnum and Bailey proverb says: there’s a caramel sucker born very second! There really is.

“Really?”  Excitedly! I couldn’t believe it. Kraft Caramels, by the box load, in Gerard’s basement no less. Tons of them.

“So, um” I asked somewhat timidly and with mild trepidation. “If I come to your house with you after school can I have some?”

“As much as you want.  As many as you can carry.  You just have to help me with some chores, that’s all.”

“Okay Gerard” Wow, man, this is great, unbelievable, I thought excitedly. Then added: “I’ll just have to go home for lunch to check with my Mom to see if I can go to your place after school.”

“Okay, but for Kraft’s sake this has to be our secret.  No one needs to know.”

Thinking that that was a strange way of putting things, I agreed. And what was that about chores I thought?

I ran home and for what seemed to be an interminable journey.  Home for lunch, soup and sangy.  It never changed.  Campbell’s canned chicken noodle, or canned tomato with a peanut butter and jam sangy. Yes, all the major food groups in those halcyon days.  We lived for salt and sugar.  We were living the life.

Our school did not allow us to stay for lunch as they did not have the resources to supervise us.  Only those kids who had prior permission from the school board were allowed to stay over lunch.  Usually both parents worked or the child was from a single parent household. Not many of those around in our parish.  No, better to be knocked up and married to some brute then strike out on your own. As long as the brute was Catholic was all that mattered. We really didn’t have a clue as to what went on in that parish.  Like good old Mr. Delvechio and his two Catholic wives.  Misogyny and misandry may be, after all is said done or thought, the 11th and 12th commandments.  Perhaps that is why Catholic men and women get on so well and stay together for a lifetime. Divorce, in the Catholic vernacular, is not an option…

Indolence

…One day in school, as I was sucking away on my caramel, Gerard inadvertently bumped into me during recess. I almost choked and coughed from the caramel laced spittle in my mouth.  Embarrassed, some of that spittle flared out and onto Gerard’s jacket. He looked at me somewhat miffed but then smiled and began to laugh.

“Smells like butterscotch caramels” he stated unquestionably. “You should be more careful. The teacher may find out. But I won’t say anything cause I love caramels too. Got anymore? He queried. “Can I have one?”

“Sure Gerard.” I took one out from jacket and handed it to him.  He took it and in one smooth singular motion had the wrapping off and the caramel in his mouth.  Sign of a true caramel sucking professional.  Admirable!

Nothing more was said as he walked away and met up with some of his friends.  It was, truly, the unspoken acknowledgement of a true caramel sucking professional.

I turned away, then ran over to some of my friends to watch them play Conkers all the while sucking away in peaceful contemplation, as if an eight year old can really contemplate anything.

Just before the bell rang to end our morning recess Gerard yelled over to me to wait up. I complied but had no idea what he wanted.  I didn’t really hang out with Gerard although I knew most of his family and had met his older brother Art under very inauspicious circumstances.

“Hey John, hey Gilly, so what are you doing after school?” he chuckled

“Um, well nothing Gerard. And don’t call me Gilly”

“Okay Gilly, so why don’t you come home with me after school today. I have a big surprise there just for you.   It has your name all over it”

Intrigued? You bet. He had my undivided attention

“Oh yeah, like what”

“Can’t say right now. See me during lunch and I’ll fill you in.”

We parted and went our separate ways to our individual classrooms.  For the next hour and 45 minutes I had to pretend that my mind was on the lesson at hand.  Not really. I could not even begin to ascertain or suggest to myself what Gerard had in store for me. And why me? Perhaps he was duly impressed with my shared experience with his older brother Art during a recent strap session. 

What could it be? The teacher seemed to be able to peer into my mindless eye and share his lesson with my soul.

“Morrison, pay attention or would you like to share your thoughts with the class? Try not to be so indolent”

Indolent? I thought. What the hell does that mean? I continued to daydream about Gerard, but in a good way, and what he had said to me. 

History, or was it Math. Don’t matter too me to much.  Perhaps English grammar or spelling is what we should be doing. Whatever, I couldn’t have care less for all of my thoughts were on Gerard’s words to me at this morning’s recess.  A surprise?  A surprise for me! What could it be?  What could IT be?

Finally, for what seemed like an eternity, the lunch bell rang.  We all ran for the door. School was like that for us.  The girls formed up in single file as good girls always do to await the teacher’s permission to vacate the classroom and go for lunch while the boys scrambled out and charged the door, en masse.  Pushing, squeezing and shoving our small frames through that opening: tripping, falling, yelling, and screaming brutes, all of us.  Somehow, we were able to get out at the same time, as we did every single day.  It is no wonder and no surprise to me that girls are far smarter and far more mature and patient than us lads…