I Had A Life - 1. Chapter 1

But yes, lives are common, lives are interesting. I had one.
Consequently, I thought you might like to hear about mine. Please
feel free to break down and protest if you feel yourself becoming
overwhelmed with excitement - about anything, anything at all. First,
I had a mother. She had me. I was born. The first time I remember
anything, my mother was waving a hairless rabbit's foot over my head.
I immediately began crying to go potty. I was successful.

Moving right along, let me say that I developed and visited
elementary school. I say "visited," because I didn't stay there for
the rest of my life. I progressed. My elementary teachers felt
gratified that I had a brain. This fact even seemed to serve as a
password: "He has a brain," which they secretly passed among
themselves. Sometimes I'd see teachers looking at me from their desks
and I knew they'd be thinking: "He has a brain." I respected their
perceptions and always felt they were right.

If I remember correctly, other people attended school, too. I read
well in elementary school, sometimes things that weren't there. I
also had early revelations about well-paid, tenth-floor executive
yahoos with people waiting on them hand and knee (early on I felt the
knee is mysteriously but definitely superior to the foot). I also had
a strong revelatory intuition that executive yahoos should always
wear bathrobes on the tenth floor. I never shared this conviction
with anyone. I kept this a-l-l to myself.

My third-and-a-half grade teacher was a special broad. She had a
face which made her look as though she should moo like a cow whenever
she opened a mouth. Faithfully and daily she took me to the bathroom.
She'd ask me if I might like to wash my hands and scrub behind the
ears. She'd tell me to think about it for a moment before she rapped
the back of my hand with a ruler. Sometimes she confessed that she
didn't know why she did this. At other times she said she did it for
my own good. She felt there were bound to be holes in my upbringing
somewhere: it was better to take the rap now than later. I am
grateful to her.

Now, to keep you from becoming over-stimulated, I agree that I was
adolescent at a point along the way, though I never had pimples. I
had the Avon-smooth cheeks of a cherub. But I often did have nimble
bouts of the *green apple quickstep. I was beyond the third-and-a-
half grade by then. Otherwise I'm sure my moo-voiced-appearing broad
of a teacher from that era often would have had to yank me from
bathroom stalls to give me the rap. During my non-pimply adolescence,
I never felt one hormonal-ounce hornier than I needed. I went in and
out - mostly out - with two girls. One was gorgeous. The other was...
well... They were always there for me precisely thirty-point-four
percent of the time when I didn't feel hornier than I needed to feel.
They were nice girls, nice, not at all like any of those other girls
I never knew, nor even heard of, for that matter. They were nice,
with morals all neatly puckered up as though someone had sprinkled
alum on their precious souls. I still read a lot and both girls were
always there for me one-hundred percent of the time to read along
with me, sometimes things that weren't even there. And I still had
revelations about well-paid, tenth-floor executive yahoos. My girl
who was... well... a girl, agreed that executive yahoos should always
wear bathrobes on the tenth floor. She felt that they should smoke
enormous long-stemmed meerschaums filled with weed (ragweed) as well.
She felt that would give the executive panorama a definite panache. I
agreed. We never shared this conviction with anyone. We kept this
a-l-l to ourselves. I am grateful to her.

Now moving along, don't let me forget to insinuate that I had a
college career. I did. My cherub-faced era did not prevent my having
one. It didn't, not at all. The years passed. I majored in
ontological engineering. I also played varsity cricket, not the
English variety, but with live crickets. I gravitated - to a degree -
and proudly strutted forth from the stairwells of academia with
honors.

Having matriculated, I saw, I contemplated conquering, I married. My
wife - neither the gorgeous girl of my adolescence nor the girl who
was, well, a girl - proved to be another special broad. She cooked.
She read "The Reader's Digest," and cooked, and read "The Reader's
Digest" and cooked some more. Periodically she also threw me out of
the house. When I'd been out on the toss for an appropriate length of
time, she'd let me back in and I'd return to my matrimonial duties.
I'd sing "Jesus, Lover of My Soul" for my supper; my wife would be
comforted and all would move along well. But I'd see her carefully
calculating when it was time to throw me out again. She was a very
faithful spouse, faithfully tossing me out of the house with enviable
regularity. She'd hold up a wet finger to see which way the wind was
blowing, and throw me out right on schedule anyway. She told me she
did this, first, because it would induce patience within me, second,
because she loved me. She said she'd always fantasized about a
patient husband as a very young girl. I became so patient that I
often sang "Jesus, Lover Of My Soul " in my sleep.

We made appropriately ecstatic whoopee when I didn't feel hornier
than I needed to. We never had children, though we did have many
puppies. My wife always gave them away as soon as they appeared to
have healthy, moist noses - this, she told me, because she felt a
driving need to watch over and care only for sick, weak, helpless
things.

I found an ontological engineering firm and bored my way in at the
entrance level. I quickly floated to the top and became its tenth-
floor executive yahoo. I can't remember anything about bathrobes - or
meerschaums - I did wear my shorts.

I had many years. I finally retired, and by retire, I mean I went to
bed and stayed there. Not surprisingly, at this point, my wife had to
employ a crane to toss me in and out of the house - still on
schedule. But, like a good wife, she never complained.

At last I aimed and kicked the bucket fair and square. In conclusion,
I would like to say that the family dog of my childhood has been the
greatest influence upon my life. I loved him dearly. He taught me to
be tolerant, not to get too excited, to always scrub behind the ears
before scratching, and to expect nothing - absolutely nothing - less
from life than what should be expected.

Did I have a dog's life, I hear you ask? Oh, no... no... not at all!
Please forgive me if I wax a bit philosophical and emotional, but,
more importantly, I had a life!

* "Green apple quick-step": Neo-abiblical lingo for diarrhea.