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| Me. I wish... |
I was a gum chewer.
Okay there, I said it.
And it wasn’t allowed.
I am going somewhere with this...
When I was in school 1498 (Okay I exaggerate, but it seems like it!) years ago, it was considered the greatest of misdemeanours to get caught chewing gum during class time.
A sin punishable by pointed remarks from one’s teacher. Or teachers.
And the loss of said gum.
Case in point: I was chewing gum during social class. With Mrs. Wolersheim. Probably the best teacher I ever had.
Also the scariest.
I was happily chewing away, all the while busy on whatever project she had assigned—notice the ‘busy’ and ‘assignment’ part of that sentence—and, suddenly, these words rang out over the moderately quiet classroom. “Diane! Are you chewing gum?”
Okay, you have to know that the instant my name was mentioned at any time during the school day, everything I had ever known in my lifetime immediately fled, never to be recovered.
I lifted my head and stared at her, the act of speech now quite forgotten.
Finally I managed a tiny nod.
“Well, get rid of it!”
I simply swallowed.
She waited a moment. Then, “Did you swallow it?”
Again that feeble nod.
“It’ll probably stick your stomach together!”
Uh-oh. Too late. It was gone.
Mrs. Wollersheim went on, “You know the difference between the gum-chewing girl and the cud-chewing cow?”
Okay, I was back to staring. Finally another anaemic head shake.
“It’s the thoughtful look on the face of the cow.”
Well and truly ‘cowed’ I vowed never to chew again.
But you have to know I was weak.
And I’d forget about the gum I put into my mouth almost the moment I did it. During recess. When it was allowed.
Sadly, this meant I would inevitably walk into class still chewing.
I tell all of you this because of something that happened last week.
Or maybe I should say last ‘weak’.
I take a ‘joints’ class. Meant to help we women of a certain age maintain a a passable relationship with said (ageing) joints.
My teacher is fantastic. Knowledgable. Fun.
Observant.
We were walking around the room, warming up.
I was exchanging what I fondly assumed were sotto-voce comments with my tribe and trying to follow the instructions.
Suddenly a voice rang out. “Diane!”
Now you have to know that 70 and I are starting to strike up a friendship. It used to be long-distance. Now it’s a little too close for comfort. And still, when someone in authority speaks my name, everything I ever knew just...flees.
And yes, it takes a wee bit longer to empty my brain now then it did when I was 15. More knowledge, perhaps?
At least I tell myself that.
I looked up.
“Are you chewing gum?”
Uh-oh.
Yeah. Some things never change.
