Dec. 14, 2001 - 21:39 MST

THE WONDERING JEW

Gee Whiz Ma

Wandering the mists of time ago, way back when learning to button my shirt was at times an insurmountable task. Only knowing that I couldn't do what the grown folks did so easily was unsettling. Not realizing that not only I had a learning process to go through but a difficulty in achieving coordination. For the most part I think a child tries what he is ready for. I don't think he will try to climb a tree until he knows he has the strength to do it. He will try often, honing his skills, gaining strength and coordination though.

All I knew was that most of the time I couldn't button my darn shirt no matter how hard I tried. Then when I could manipulate buttons I embarked on the stormy seas of lacing my shoes and tying them. It was a new game and I was starting out way behind.

I didn't spend my time being downcast because I had such difficuty doing those complicated things, more it was a feeling of unbearable delay, of being held away from the things I wanted to do rather than that darn old stuff.

For a long spell Mom would comb my hair and wash my face and ears, I guess until she had faith I wouldn't stick my fingers in my eyes and confidence I could use soap and water to her satisfaction.

Then on to the fun things, it was a gamble to make it from point A to point B without falling over my feet, tripping and all that stuff, my gamboling was iffy to say the least.

Then I was initiated in running, playing tag and all that good stuff the big kids did. But not only was I tanglefooted but I could not run without knocking my ankle bones together. I was always skinning them or trying to run wide-legged to keep from knocking scabs off.

Now a couple of things I learned, one was that any new shoes bought for me were first of all dress up shoes only to be worn for good. New shoes meant a brace of blisters on each heel -- no matter how many times the shoe salesman would crush the heels with his hands, new shoes equaled painful blisters.

Later I faced the grim reality of cleaning and combing myself and getting into my dreaded dress-up clothes. They were uncomfortable, too tight in spots and almost impossible for me to keep strung together. My long socks were always headed for my ankles, my knickers (not undies, but short pants fastened below the knees) would be trying to reach my crotch while my shirttail was racing to see how fast it would be flapping in the breeze.

Yes, well, came the most despised things encountered yet. Late one spring I guess it was, when I had to get into my hated dress up clothes I was given a new pair of oxfords. Should have been a thrill, 'twasn't though, the darn things were white, stark, staring white.

To this day, no matter how careful I am it is impossible for me to make it out the door in a white shirt without smudging it somewhere. It was laughable really, not funny to me at the time but as soon as I saw them and was informed that I would be wearing them out in Phewlite society, I knew it would never work no matter how carefully I could try to walk, in my minds eye I saw them all smutted up with dark streaks first off.

Of course the call to rebellion came, "Be careful, you want your shoes to be nice when we get to Aunt's house." Golly I hated them. Soon I was expected to keep them clean. Soap and a rag judiciously applied, let them dry and then use that terrible white icky shoe stuff. I usually ended up with more white on my hands than on the shoes. And they had to pass parental muster before they could be called done.

The grown ups tried to jolly me into wanting to be all dressed up, yeah right. I was ready to run away into the forest, but I couldn't stand to be bare footed.

Finally I reached a point where I was acceptable with the grown ups for awhile before my hair would flop over my eyes or my shirt tail would work its way out of my pants or my hated long socks drop to my ankles. But still it was a mixed bag trying to play with my cousins and keep clean and neat, I could do one of the three.

Later on the folks gave up on the white shoes, a little later my knickers and long socks departed. I still had my black or brown high top shoes to polish but that wasn't so bad for me, they looked nice to my eye when all shined up.

By the time I began to wear oxfords I had found other problems to create for myself. But that is another tale.

But for a long time around our house the words could be heard coming from me, "Gee Whiz Ma" . . . . . . . . . . .

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