To My Unsatisfied Reader

It has been brought to my attention by an "anonymous" reader that I failed to mention one of my nicknames in my first post "Welcome to the Freakshow". Please allow me to remedy this omission. Well, my sweet little "anonymous" reader who happens to love the band The Schwag, stands about three apples high, and has an incredible talent at hoola-hoopin' ... not because I know who you are or anything ... *wink wink* ... This post goes out to you, my tiny little hippy girl (oops, did I give it away).

Ah well, let's go back in time, say about 18 years ago. Crap! My fellow Henderson Junior High alumni throw your Hawks up!! I can recall what HJH meant to me. I had just escaped the clutches of the parochial school system and fell into the life saving arms of the Little Rock public school family. So as not to get too wordy (ya right) I'll list the things I recall most about my experience of switching to public school.

• I had no idea that kids didn't carry their bibles and rosaries to class with them. I probably looked like a total freak.


• It was IMPOSSIBLE for me to foul out of a basketball game. Awww, yeah! Now this is basketball! A whole new world of athletics just opened up to me. I no longer had to worry about the whining of an opponent about how I played "too rough". Granted, my coach was a rather tough white woman with the unfortunate monogram KKK (I'm serious people). Regardless, public school ball knew how to get down!


• Lockers that actually locked?? What the ....? Search me? What for?


• We didn't have to talk to Jeebus before lunch, or before the Pledge of Allegiance, or ever for that matter. Methinks my knees (church pews with kneelers are a bitch on the knees) will be better maintained at a school where mass attendance isn't mandatory ... or hell, isn't offered!


• Damn, I have to think about what to wear to class. Uniforms, though ugly and boring, had their perks at the Catholic schools.


• Woo Hoo! The Dance Team / Cheerleaders can do routines to Rob Base and BBD rather than be forced to display spirit hands to the likes of lyricless poppy techno of the decade.


• Security guards and Vice Principals with walkie-talkies waving metal detector wands were a new concept to me as well. I remember thinking my handy dandy compass was at risk of confiscation. Did you know that taking away an Asian kid's math paraphernalia can potentially cause panic and a mild seizure? I swear to god, if they took my TI-81, I might have hyperventilated.


• I see BROWN people! Am I in heaven? Is this what the real world is like? Oh My God! I'm not the only Asian in Little Rock!!!!

Okay, back to the nickname, after all this was supposed to be a post for the unsatisfied reader, not just a rehashing of my "awakening". So there I sat in English class in front of a Patrick Swayze obsessed teacher who talked to her plants ... or was it algebra class in front of a pleasantly plump teacher with overactive sweat glands ... no, wait, maybe it was civics class in front of a very tall nicotine-addicted teacher with those glasses that make your eyes look itty bitty. Dude, this WAS 18 years ago, I'm allowed to have forgotten some things. Besides, the specific class and quirky teacher who commanded it are unnecessary details anyway.

Damn, there I go meandering again. I was never diagnosed with A.D.D., though I often wonder. Soooooooooooooo ..... there I sat, the innocent (shush, this is my blog) little private school doe, and behind me sat the "Unsatisfied Reader" to whom this blog is directed. We became friends because she was one of the most genuine and kindest people I had met at the school. We shared similar interests, including TV programs. Does anyone remember the show Dinosaurs? It was a puppeteered sitcom on ABC about a dinosaur family. I would liken it to the Flintstones or the Honeymooners. At any rate, there was a baby dino named Baby Sinclair whose tag line, "Not the Mama!!" was heard every time Baby Sinclair smacked his dad over the head with a frying pan. I don't remember for sure if it was a physical similarity between ole Baby Sinclair and I, or if it was my distinct loud cackle of a laugh much like the baby that caused my three-apple high hippy friend to begin calling me simply "Not the Mama!!". Ah yes, hats off to you, my "anonymous" reader, for reminding me of yet another fine nickname and another trip down memory lane. Peace.

Isn't it appropriate that in my ears right now is the album "Eat A Peach" by the Allman Brothers. Cheers, to all you hippies and deadheads out there who can appreciate the genre that encompasses classic southern rock jam bands!