When I was in the 1st Grade, or Grade One to you Canadians and Brits, I had a friend named Charlie. Charlie was a big kid by anyone's standards. Big as in tall and a little chubby. That didn't stop me from being fascinated by him and liking him a lot. But the one thing that Charlie had going against him was the fact that he had the worst luck of anyone I had known up to that point. It could have been luck, or circumstances, or bad decisions, but he always wound up with the worst case scenario.
The first malady that befell Charlie was what I refer to as The Paste Incident. First grade was a brilliant time for creativity. Our wonderful teacher Mrs. Singleton was one of the most patient, smart, and able teachers one could have on their staff. And yet, I could see the frustration in her face when she looked to the back of the room where Charlie and I sat and saw him take his paste wand out of the jar, examine it carefully, and lick off the entire contents of the little stick. I sat in wonder. I didn't know quite what to say other than "That taste good?" I remember he said that he wasn't sure. That was the end of our conversation because the usually even keeled Mrs. Singleton went a little crazy. It wasn't in a threatening or over the top way, but you could tell she was visibly shaken by this lumbering child gulping down a hefty dose of glue. As I sat staring at Charlie, I heard a contained shriek from the front of the class. Mrs. Singleton was up from her seat and headed our way. She asked Charlie why he had done that, to which his reply was "I don't know." She looked up at the ceiling for a split second and told him to go to the office and see if there was anything they could do to make sure he wasn't going to get sick from what he had just done. Poor Mrs. Singleton.
The Paste Incident was just a glimpse into what lie ahead for the rest of the year. Another creative venture for us was splatter painting. We weren't actually allowed to fling paint all over creation like miniature Jackson Pollacks. We were to get a few containers of paint on our desks and, with a regular drinking straw, suck up a small amount of paint and blow it onto our selected paper. You see what's coming, don't you? We were going about our business of creating masterpieces when I hear Charlie grunt in agony. I look in his direction and it looked as though he had just devoured a Smurf. He had bright blue paint completely covering his mouth and dripping down onto his paper and probably his shirt. Again Mrs. Singleton raised her eyes to the ceiling as if to say, "Dear Lord, what is my lesson here?"
And the hits just kept coming with Charlie. There was an Elmer's glue issue, a crayon in the ol' ear canal problem, and the "I'm pretty sick, but I'm going to play on the merry-go-round anyway" debacle. This was a time when the merry-go-round was right outside the door at the end of the school. We had just eaten lunch and Charlie told me he didn't feel very good. I said he should go tell the teacher and she might have some medicine for him. He said, "I think I'm okay to play for a little while." Famous last words. Charlie got on the spinning disc and began to turn green. In a rare insightful moment, I got the heck out of there, but I watched from a distance. Charlie went round and round five or six times and then barfed. He was facing the outside edge of the merry-go-round so his expulsion was not only traveling outward, it was following the trajectory of the merry-go-round as well. This is totally gross, but it looked like a barf sprinkler. As is the case with most kids, the sight, sound, and smell of this occurrence led to others losing their lunch as well. It had turned into a playground of the macabre and I wasn't going to have any part of it. I went inside and pretended that nothing happened.
After that, Charlie stayed around Drummond for a while, but his family eventually moved on. I'm assuming because of a job or something and not Charlie's playground fiasco. My brief time with Charlie led me to the conclusion that some people are born lucky, some people are regular people, and some are born unlucky. I hope Charlie outgrew the unlucky aspect of himself. He always had a way of entertaining me whether he knew it or not. That seems better than luck to me.
See some of the other things I'm up to at www.JonathanElmore.weebly.com
The first malady that befell Charlie was what I refer to as The Paste Incident. First grade was a brilliant time for creativity. Our wonderful teacher Mrs. Singleton was one of the most patient, smart, and able teachers one could have on their staff. And yet, I could see the frustration in her face when she looked to the back of the room where Charlie and I sat and saw him take his paste wand out of the jar, examine it carefully, and lick off the entire contents of the little stick. I sat in wonder. I didn't know quite what to say other than "That taste good?" I remember he said that he wasn't sure. That was the end of our conversation because the usually even keeled Mrs. Singleton went a little crazy. It wasn't in a threatening or over the top way, but you could tell she was visibly shaken by this lumbering child gulping down a hefty dose of glue. As I sat staring at Charlie, I heard a contained shriek from the front of the class. Mrs. Singleton was up from her seat and headed our way. She asked Charlie why he had done that, to which his reply was "I don't know." She looked up at the ceiling for a split second and told him to go to the office and see if there was anything they could do to make sure he wasn't going to get sick from what he had just done. Poor Mrs. Singleton.
The Paste Incident was just a glimpse into what lie ahead for the rest of the year. Another creative venture for us was splatter painting. We weren't actually allowed to fling paint all over creation like miniature Jackson Pollacks. We were to get a few containers of paint on our desks and, with a regular drinking straw, suck up a small amount of paint and blow it onto our selected paper. You see what's coming, don't you? We were going about our business of creating masterpieces when I hear Charlie grunt in agony. I look in his direction and it looked as though he had just devoured a Smurf. He had bright blue paint completely covering his mouth and dripping down onto his paper and probably his shirt. Again Mrs. Singleton raised her eyes to the ceiling as if to say, "Dear Lord, what is my lesson here?"
And the hits just kept coming with Charlie. There was an Elmer's glue issue, a crayon in the ol' ear canal problem, and the "I'm pretty sick, but I'm going to play on the merry-go-round anyway" debacle. This was a time when the merry-go-round was right outside the door at the end of the school. We had just eaten lunch and Charlie told me he didn't feel very good. I said he should go tell the teacher and she might have some medicine for him. He said, "I think I'm okay to play for a little while." Famous last words. Charlie got on the spinning disc and began to turn green. In a rare insightful moment, I got the heck out of there, but I watched from a distance. Charlie went round and round five or six times and then barfed. He was facing the outside edge of the merry-go-round so his expulsion was not only traveling outward, it was following the trajectory of the merry-go-round as well. This is totally gross, but it looked like a barf sprinkler. As is the case with most kids, the sight, sound, and smell of this occurrence led to others losing their lunch as well. It had turned into a playground of the macabre and I wasn't going to have any part of it. I went inside and pretended that nothing happened.
After that, Charlie stayed around Drummond for a while, but his family eventually moved on. I'm assuming because of a job or something and not Charlie's playground fiasco. My brief time with Charlie led me to the conclusion that some people are born lucky, some people are regular people, and some are born unlucky. I hope Charlie outgrew the unlucky aspect of himself. He always had a way of entertaining me whether he knew it or not. That seems better than luck to me.
See some of the other things I'm up to at www.JonathanElmore.weebly.com
As the saying goes "We all have that friend, just look around. If you don't see him it's probably you". For me his name was Lloyd (to protect the innocent...)
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