I finish breakfast and grab my book bag. I put on my light blue short sleeve button up shirt now. It along with dark blue slacks and brown shoes comprise my required school uniform. There is no tie but but it still is a lot more uncomfortable than my normal clothes. Also I have already pitted out, just seconds after putting it on. It is late August and the muggy St. Louis summer has not relented one bit. It’s eight five percent humidity, and already eighty degrees. My step-dad tried to talk me into wearing a t-shirt. I tried one on. But I tugged and pulled at it. I am totally unaccustomed to layering clothes. I would much rather have just one big t-shirt. While my sister is putting on her uniform a checkered skirt, white blouse and black tie. My mother does a final inspection. She sees I pitted out and does a quick smell test. Bravely but quickly putting her nose near my pit. She recoils suddenly and lightly slapping me on the back of my bowl cut head.
“Shit, you stink already, get some of your Dad’s after-shave under them!”
She takes off my shirt and pushes me toward the bathroom, while heading to my sisters room for her inspection.
“And brush your teeth too. You got to a make a good first impression.”
I go to the bathroom, my confidence drained a bit. I first brush my teeth. I give them a good once over, cherishing a bit more time with out the constrictive uniform shirt. I also hit my teeth with the water pick, making sure nothing embarrassing is hiding between my tiny teeth. For me dental hygiene is really just a habit and not for vanity. My teeth are actually smaller than normal. And they are set in my head in such a way that you hardly ever see them even when I smile. It’s that I am ugly or deformed or something it is just that that my big nose and naturally pouty mouth is extended in such a way that give me slightly lizard like appearance. My mother says I get it from my “Jew” father but most people say I take after my mother.
After the finishing with my teeth, I go for the good stuff. If I came into the bathroom lacking confidence I surly wont leave that way. Because there next to my step-dad’s electric razor is the elixir. The cool white porcelain bottle with the blue clipper ship. The Old Spice. I may just be starting the fifth grade but today I am a man. I gingerly remove the small stopper from the bottle and raise it to my wide nostrils and take a big whiff. After the coughing subsides I liberally drizzle the potion onto my cupped left hand. And with lightning speed slap it under my right armpit. I switch hands and get my left pit. One additional drizzle and rub my hands together then slap my face with both hands. I psych my self up in the mirror. I am feeling good. I can do this. Suddenly I am caught by a bit of a twinge as if an alarm from the back of my conscience that reminds me I didn’t finish the preassigned homework. Oh well. It’s my first day how bad can it be. One more slap to expel the negative thoughts. I leave the bathroom as my mother meets me with a second clean blue uniform shirt. The alcohol in the the after-shave has cooled my skin a bit. I am not sweating even as she buttons it up. Fine.
“Greg you gonna have to tuck it in.”
Nothing is more uncomfortable than a tucked in shirt. And that’s doubly true for a chubby kid. I clumsily and aggressively begin tucking.
“You’re gonna need a belt…”
my mother runs up the stairs muttering about how she could forget to prepare everything we needed. But we knew how. She was really busy. She cooks and cleans drives us here and there and she is also a full time nurse at a hospital. So she has often works the night-shift. Nights which we usually spend back at Grandma’s. Every two weeks our step-dad works nights too. It’s pretty cool. That shes a nurse we have all kinds of medical books and she brings home cool things like bandages and syringes. Dad’s job is pretty cool too. He works at brewery. He has been working there since he was a young boy not older than me. He knows lots of people from the plat that do odd jobs and things. One of his friends from the brewery put in an second bathroom in the basement. And another one helped to drywall the basement and attic. He can also get lots of cool stuff too. Like he got a special satellite dish that picks up Showtime for free. And we got our VCR that way too. He is always bringing something home.
My mother now in a huff barrels down the stairs with the belt in hand. I am still standing outside the bathroom trying my best not to move too much so my shirt doesn’t come untucked. An act made more difficult with the occasional teasing from my sister.
Mom, deftly threads the belt through the loops only twisting my dark blue trousers a bit.
“wow look at that, just one hole short of dad, what a waist!”
I liked that pun even though it was a bit hurtful. I am definitely big. Ok I am usually the fattest boy in the class. I was the fattest boy in my last class. But not by a lot. I still run and ride bikes. And it definitely was on my mind. Was I going to be superlative for fatness at in this class tool.
With the belt on my mother puts the comb one time through me hair. My new back to school hair cut makes a perfect circle with my thick hair like some light brown salad bowl on the top of my head. My sister and I grab our book bags, mine a shade of blue just a bit darker than my trousers and my sisters a shade of red darker than her checkered skirt. We place both loops over our shoulders and head out the door. We stand on the front porch next to the door as my mother quickly runs down to take our picture.
It is a day to remember.
My sister and I walk to the new school. It is just two blocks from our house on Winona. An old lady who lives with her mother a few doors down, told us that the street was named after the daughter of Carl Wimar, the artist who painted the dome in the Old Courthouse. She told us that and a lot of other facts when welcoming us to the neighborhood. It was hard to remember everything she told us and my sister and I could not git over the fact that her and her mother were both old ladies. I mean shouldn’t a mother be noticeably older than her daughter. But it turns out old is old once you reach it your kinda all the same.
We talk a bit along the way.
“hey ange did you have any bad dreams last night,”
“I thought about the ghost for a while, but nothing scary”
“yeah me too. I thought about the ghost but I stayed up late thinking about the computer”
“Mom, will get it for you I’m sure”
“you really think so”
“yes she wants us to be smart and that’s something pretty smart right”
“yes yes I guess your right, … hey Ange are you scared about your fist day”
“yes”
“me too”
“maybe I’ll see you at lunch”
We arrive at school on time and quickly separate. I am in fifth grade and head up to the second floor. The School is St. Mary Magdalene. We have been to church there one or two Sundays over the summer holiday. It was our fist time at a new church and we had to double check it was the right kid. The school butts right up against the church. The church has an imposing stone facade that looks like it could take a direct hit from cannon fire. The school seems friendlier there are four floors in a red brick building with windows across the classrooms. We know there will be no air conditioning or fans so I am trying my hardest not to more to fast to completely sweat out my clothes. Luckily the streets of our neighbor hood, South Hampton, are lined with trees and provide ample shade. Walking down the halls I stop at the first water fountain, and drink a hearty mouth full of unrefrigerated water. Bending over I catch a whiff of the Old Spice.
I see my classroom ahead my classroom teacher is standing by the door way. She sees me and I avert my eyes. We met a more than a month ago at that time she gave me the homework that is still unfinished in my backpack.
“Greg get over here!.. We have you desk all ready”
Pointing at a pretty young girl by her side, this is “Mary she will show you to your desk”
“Hi Greg”
“Hi Mary. Thanks”
I take off my back pack and wafting a the manly smell of old spice her way. My confidence is at it’s apex.
“Is that your full name Greg”
“Some people call me Gregory”
“That cool I am sure we will here all about it when you introduce yourself before class, we have a few new students this year. Of course not me I’ve been here my whole life that’s why I help out the teacher. I even get to go to the principles office for important messages.”
My confidence now reaches its opposing nadir and I can feel the stress sweat forming.