Fire Alarm

I wrote my first memoir when I was 10 or 11. I can't remember if it was 4th or 5th grade. Regardless, the assignment was exactly that, "Write a memory from your past". Of course there was much discussion and silliness that ensued. None of the kids in the class, including me, could get our heads around the idea of "the Past". Yeah, we had heard of it, but it was something only old people talked about around the dinner table at dinner. My mom and dad often told stories of their younger days to fill in dinner conversations when the topics became too toxic or just ran out of steam.

The assignment of course was much more than telling a story from the earlier days when we were younger. It was an exercise in penmanship, thought construction and punctuation. There was no word limit to meet; It just had to be as neat as possible, with the periods, commas and spelling laid down as cleanly and correctly as possible. I cannot remember my grade, nor do I remember it being highlighted in any way by the teacher in front of the class.

I do remember the subject however. I wrote about the time I set off a fire alarm in kindergarten when I lived in Japan. The whole school emptied, I freaked and ran to the teacher outside and immediately admitted I did it. I didn't however snitch on the older kids who kinda teased me into it.

The type of fire alarms we had in that school had small thin glass windows designed to be punched inward with something thin, like a pencil or maybe even a finger. Some big kids, they must have been at least 2nd graders, spotted me looking at the fire alarm. They encouraged me to break the little glass window without setting off the alarm. They insisted that they did it all the time. 

"Go ahead kid, I dare you", or something along those lines caused me to step up to the alarm and use a pencil to punch the glass. Instant Chaos erupted. The big kids looked at each other with huge eyes, turned and disappeared into the depths of the school. I remember a panic I had never felt before. I probably spun a few circles and who knows, I might have peed my pants. If I did, I buried that part of the memory deep enough to not really remember if I did or didn't.

I remember writing about it because in my young life at the time, it was a memory I had still not really gotten over. Seeing all the kids in school standing in lines out on the playground, looking at me as I had been marooned and condemned to stand next to the principal; well, I never forgot that.

The magical moment came later at home where I had been cooling my heels in my room for several hours. My dad came home and immediately came into my room; in full uniform no less, his tie still tight and his cover still on. He sat down on the bed next to me. I fgured it was spanking time. I was not a stranger to spanking; seemed the natural "next step". Instead, my father talked to me, well, he sort of grilled me. I ended up snitching on the big kids. He looked at me and chastised me for allowing anyone to influence my decisions. He stood up and left. No spanking, no yelling, just a lecture on not allowing people undo influence on my actions. And even cooler, he didn't tell the school there were others involved. He allowed me to take the blame.

Of course, my short essay in 4th or 5th grade about that incident in kindergarten was nowhere near as deep of a dive as this post is. I just remembered now that the essay was the first memoir I ever wrote. It might have also been the first essay I ever attempted also.

To me, it seems logical that as an adult, I would follow up with over 200,000 words in 280 blog posts about shit I did in my Past.

I will add this one to the post count and move on.

Keep it 'tween the ditches .....................................

_______________

This past weekend, my wife and I joined our daughter and her husband at another Rustic Overtones concert. It was held at Tuckerman Brewery in Conway, New Hampshire.A day sitting in comfortable chairs, swilling excellent craft beer and listening live to the band I have seen more than any other band ever. My first concert of their's was also my daughter's first concert of her life. It was held at the worst music venue in New England, the Portland Expo, a very, very large quonset hut tunnel. The reverberations in the hall made it impossible for me to enjoy the music. Lis loved it. She loved Rustic Overtones.

Almost 30 years later, we still go see them play. I guess I have seen them 20 times; Lis , many, many more. They are an old favorite.

Here is a favorite song, "Combustible"