About the Past

The last week of the year is a time for looking back. Memories are useful, but you can't trust them because they are biased. We best remember events that were surprising, stressful, emotional, painful: that time I put sugar in the salt shaker at a restaurant to impress (?) my date who didn't appreciate the joke at all (!), the first kiss and those that followed!!!  (don't know what she saw in me), recording our new baby's babble sounds to play back for the secretaries at school, the 180 we did in the slush on highway 27 one Christmas, years later being wheeled into the operating room to have some bits removed. I have vivid memories of those events, but I am not often so mischievous, adventurous, passionate, or afraid. Mostly, life happens, I deal with it and forget about it. That memorable guy in the rearview mirror was always into things, in trouble, in love, in extremis, in character as Super Jerk, not much like the guy in the mirror this morning who has made a career of avoiding trouble and suppressing emotion. Take a deep breath. Count to ten. Be reasonable. Safe. Forgettable. Boring. 

People don't want boring. People want to hear stories about Super Jerk. 

Therefore, when I retired from teaching, June 1997, I gave a Super Jerk speech to the whole school in an assembly.

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Fellow students (?!), the last time I spoke in an assembly was 1958 in Niagara Falls. Mr. Rutledge, our grade 12 English teacher, said I should enter the public speaking contest sponsored by the Lions Club. I had no interest in doing that, but Mr. Rutledge was very persuasive so I signed up for the ordeal against my better judgment. 

I don't remember my prepared speech at all. It must have been OK, but quite forgettable. The extemporaneous speech was another matter. Topics were assigned by lottery. I got "Public Speaking, My Impressions." We were ushered to a classroom and given some time to gather our thoughts. For most of that time, I had one thought: "Run, you fool. You don't belong here. Just run." Then I remembered what my Dad told me: "If you don't know what to say, tell the truth. Don't worry if it makes you look bad. Nobody will believe you anyway."

When it came my turn, I began, "Fellow students, the topic I was assigned is Public Speaking, My Impressions." Then I began to describe in detail the state of my physiology, racing pulse, vasoconstriction of the extremities, complaining bladder, distressed alimentary canal starting with dry mouth, sick stomach, pyloric spasm, and heading on down to the nether regions. The audience didn't believe me. They thought I was joking and were having a good laugh. Mr. Rutledge had been paying attention with growing alarm, and he believed me. He realized I had said enough and the story was going to end with another orifice having the last word. So he rang the bell and said, "Time's up, Dennis. Out that door and down the hall there is a washroom. I suggest you run."

When I got back, I found out I had won the contest. The prize was that I got to do it all again at the Lions Club meeting the following week.

That was just the beginning. The rest of my life was the same story over and over. I became a teacher and stood in front of people most days telling the truth and running to the washroom between classes. Until now. 

I imagine if Mr. Rutledge were here, he would be saying, "Time's up, Dennis. Out that door and down the hall there is...you know. You better run."

I would say, "It's OK, Sir. Over the years I have learned to come prepared."  (At that point, I pull spare underwear out of my pocket and hold it up for all to see. Much laughter from the audience surprised to learn how Super Jerk saves the day. Then I continue.)

Mr. Rutledge might say, "Ahh, Calvin Klein. Good choice. It seems you have been quite successful."

And I would say, "I guess I have. But, if it's OK with you, I'm going to retire now."

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Believe it or not, that story is mostly true, and also misleading because my past is mostly boring. That's how memory works. Don't trust it. What we remember is not exactly who we are. We are defined largely by the things we did not do: emotions controlled, trouble avoided, being reasonable, forgettable, boring.

Remember this: no students died in my chemistry lab. That's why most of the chemistry I taught has been successfully forgotten. I guess I was successfully boring.