Jun. 30, 2002 - 20:44 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Square Peg

I'm what ? Maybe nine years old back then. We're going visiting some hoity toity family on Sunday. Saturday night, after washing and hanging clothes Momma brings the dry clothes in and sprinkles them for ironing. She said something like, "Tomorrow is going to be a big day. Now you must look nice when we go." Then came the snapper, "I want you to wash your white shoes well and let them dry tonight so that tomorrow morning early you can whiten them and still get cleaned up." Uh hunh, me, whiten shoes with that runny whiting without getting so messy that soaking in boiling water might not be enough to get me clean. It is a hot summer night the locusts are sawing wood or what ever the grown ups call it, gee they are sure noisy.

While working on my shoes I look over to see Mom ironing one of my white long sleeve shirts. Oh, gee whiz -- white shoes and a white shirt. Those darn long socks were washed out today and the stiffest, newest ones will probably be the ones I will have to wear tomorrow. Knickers - those knee length button at the bottom things, an abomination among us school kids, the scratchiest in my stable of torture instruments I am sure will be on my legs with the cuffs slipping down, fighting with my long socks.

In the morning I crawl out of bed reluctantly. I don't wanna do this. I manage to get my shoes white, some of the front of me and a bit of the floor before I get a hammerlock on the bottle and get the cap on before it gets worse. Then I hafta clean myself up well or there will be the old washrag in the ears and other uncomfortable stuff. "Oh gee, Mom, can't I sit down a while ?" She replies, "Yes, but do it carefully." "Thanks," I said. Mom says, "Sit right here at the table and don't go outside." Curses foiled again.

Then it is time to get dressed, which I do complaining at every step taken. If Mom only could know the words I am saying in my head about white long sleeve shirts, scratchy, droopy knickers, uncomfortable socks and those dad blamed white shoes it would curl her hair.

Finally dressed, with collar tweaked, hair combed and recombed, I struggle with my darned white shoes, trying to get the bow knots tied just right without smudging the icky white leather. Well, I tried but somehow the shoes had smudges on them. Momma gets a wet wash rag and wipes at the smudges, rubs a dry towel over them and applies more whitening. I am then sat down, ker-plump and threatened if I dare move. I am there about two minutes and, "Momma, I gotta go." Mom says, "Oh, of course, here we go again, go ahead." I come out of the bathroom and stand inspection once more and am put back in a chair. By that time I am hoping that night will hurry up and fall soon so that I can go to bed. But it doesn't.

After a century in the chair, I'm beginning to sweat and wriggle in my ungood clothes, it finally is time to go. Dad takes my good cap off the shelf and Momma puts it on precisely as she wants it. As I try to get out the door Momma spots smudges on my white shirt. So, off comes my jacket and shirt. Momma gets another white long sleeved shirt from the closet and she installs me in it, buttons it, puts my jacket on and reties my tie and I am led by the hand to the car.

To say that I am pouting would be putting it mildly. Gosh, I can't even remember where we went or what we did there other than being miserable. Trying to stay clean and neat, jerking up on my stockings and trying to get my knickers to do something sensible. Trying to figure out how to get a bit cooler, but every time I would edge over towards some shade Momma would call me back.

Somewhere in there Momma discovers that my white shoes are smudged. Oh the horror, the horror. On the way home Momma complains about my smudgy clothes, drooping socks and rebellious hair and the fact that my cap never stays like she had put it. And the necktie gets its share of remarks, Momma says something to the effect. "I just can't understand how you could get your tie and collar so messed up." I can't either, but they were so uncomfortable that I wished they would vanish.

Finally we got home before dark, I was allowed to take off my jacket and cap, shed the necktie, roll up my sleeves and go outside for awhile. Warnings are rendered by Dad and Mom, "Don't get those white shoes any dirtier. Jeepers, I just can't understand why they couldn't see that I could have taken off all my clothes and shoes and dressed in my play stuff. Guess I'm in training to be an Esquire or somethin'.

The sun goes down, it gets dusky and a bit cooler, but shucks I can't do a darn thing in my good clothes anyway.

Rather like a politician, in the beginning I didn't know where I was going or what to do when I got there and when I got back home didn't know where I had been or why. Only that it has been a day of misery for this nudist type kid.

Yet even today there is no round hole to fit this human Square Peg . . . . . . . .

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