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- Apr 11, 2012
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It just struck me how we sometimes remember incidents that are seemingly unimportant. No, probably, are unimportant. Wait, I'm not sure. Maybe they are important in some subconscious, learning kind of a way. But, I'm not sure. You know, mini-events, things people said to you or things you saw happen. Could be strangers, family or friends, teachers, I don't know. Could have hurt your feelings in some way, or made you laugh, then and/or now. Just random bits of memory that for one reason or another have stuck with you for years.
I had just gotten my first baseball glove. God, I can still picture that thing. It was black, for some reason, and I don't think it was of the worst quality, but I'm sure it wasn't of the best either, but I was on cloud eleven! Anyway, I was in my grandmother's kitchen, my mother had some friends over, she often did, and a few of them were sitting around my g'mother's kitchen table. Eating, drinking coffee, I don't remember, but I was oiling my new baseball glove up--you know, to get the leather all nice and pliable. I had been going at it feverishly and for some time, when one of my mother's friends, Eddie, who lived down the block said, "Uh, Maze, I don't think you're using the right kind of oil on that glove."
I'd figured oil was oil was oil, and nobody else had said anything, and anyway, olive oil was just as good as any other kind of oil. If I recall it was Pompeian, of the extra virgin variety.
Hahahah, completely unrelated (I think) maybe ten years later, in my HS History class, taught by my football coach who spread terror throughout the school. A guy who looked like Vince Lombardi and had quotes of the old Packer coach posted everywhere in the locker room--this guy would ultimately get fired for beating the hell out of his OL coach in front of the school and half the student body. Anyway, strange weird thing he used to say whenever you got an answer right in his class, to boys and girls alike: "Yes, and for that you get a gold star on your rectum." What the hell?
I had just gotten my first baseball glove. God, I can still picture that thing. It was black, for some reason, and I don't think it was of the worst quality, but I'm sure it wasn't of the best either, but I was on cloud eleven! Anyway, I was in my grandmother's kitchen, my mother had some friends over, she often did, and a few of them were sitting around my g'mother's kitchen table. Eating, drinking coffee, I don't remember, but I was oiling my new baseball glove up--you know, to get the leather all nice and pliable. I had been going at it feverishly and for some time, when one of my mother's friends, Eddie, who lived down the block said, "Uh, Maze, I don't think you're using the right kind of oil on that glove."
I'd figured oil was oil was oil, and nobody else had said anything, and anyway, olive oil was just as good as any other kind of oil. If I recall it was Pompeian, of the extra virgin variety.
Hahahah, completely unrelated (I think) maybe ten years later, in my HS History class, taught by my football coach who spread terror throughout the school. A guy who looked like Vince Lombardi and had quotes of the old Packer coach posted everywhere in the locker room--this guy would ultimately get fired for beating the hell out of his OL coach in front of the school and half the student body. Anyway, strange weird thing he used to say whenever you got an answer right in his class, to boys and girls alike: "Yes, and for that you get a gold star on your rectum." What the hell?
