Wednesday, June 13, 2012
just another memory
For a guy with plans for the future-stories to write--grand children to play with I still get captured by distant memories that I have to pinch to see if they really happened. But first I have to tell you what Samaya said today. She went with me to the bank, post office and Dunkin Donuts where I bought her a multi grain bagel with cream cheese. Her face had cream cheese streaks and her cheeks were bulging--unbelievably adorable. I asked her how did she ever get such puffy cheeks and she informed me, "I was born with them grandpa". To have such grandchildren is to fall in love with life again when you think the flame is flickering dimmer by the moment.But I digress as usual. Last week Laurel was driving and we were going grocery shopping with the kids. We stopped at Dunkin's and my face lit up. They were raising funds for cf. You donate a dollar and they put your name on a sticker. The windows were filling up with stickers. My daughter groaned because she knew what I was going to do and she had to help. "Yes, I will gladly donate a dollar to this wonderful cause. "What name would you like us to write in for you?" Would you mind if I wrote it in myself?" "Not at all" Laurel is giving me a look like she would rather be anywhere in the universe but being a go between for me and the lady waiting on us. I received the sticker and like last year I wrote the name, "Nert Sorry". Who is Nert Sorry you might ask? Fifty years ago in study hall the substitute teacher was taking attendance. She would ask each kid to say their name which she dutifully wrote down on the attendance sheet. I, of course, said "Ronald Tomanio" but my friend Gary Groza said "Nert Sorry" when asked. I know this is juvenile, but I was filled with Buddha- like blissful joy . In the following days when roll call was taken the teacher would call out "Nert Sorry"--no answer. "Is Nert Sorry here?" It didn't matter if I had another frustrating day in advanced algebra or I was feeling alone on a desert island the size of a school desk. For that moment when that poor teacher scanned the room annoyed that once again Nert Sorry was playing hooky, I was in heaven burying my face in my arm crying tears of joy. Certainly, such a fine fellow, although sadly devoid of physical reality, deserves a sticker with his name on it plastered high up on the Dunkin Donut's window. We drive away--my daughter groaning, me shaking with laughter, Samaya's cheeks bulging with cream cheese. Who knew that youth could be recaptured again for the measly sum of one dollar.