And now for a little (at least this is the intention) comic relief! It is one of the paradoxes of life that even in the midst of horror we humans are able to see humor. Yes, yes, it is a defense, admittedly, that at times keeps us from feeling what we need to feel--as uncomfortable as it may be—so that we can grow (why oh why must growth be painful?) but it is also a survival tool when we feel helpless in the face of things that would otherwise flatten us. Just ask any police or paramedic friends you have—they’ll tell you that this seemingly inappropriate and ill-timed humor is part of how they get through the job. Rather than risking offense, however, with humor in possible bad taste I will instead offer myself up as the target.

SO! Let’s see……..hmmm…I’m checking my funny files to see what could be of use for this post. Ah, yes, here’s something. Have you ever engaged in the fruitless but nonetheless satisfying practice of envisioning situations from your past when you acted less than effectively and recast yourself in a more heroic stance? I’ve actually done it minutes after the situation just happened, wondering why in the world I didn’t say this instead of what I actually did say, or why I did the stupid thing I did instead of the very smooth, very admirable thing I should have done. But here are some scenes from further back in my past along with my rewrite of each —

SCENE FROM THE PAST: Back in 8th grade, I had entered our school’s science fair and won “Honorable Mention” for my little project which involved measuring how sunlight faded the dyes used in fabrics (yawn….I know.) The evening of the announcing of the awards I was there along with a rather new friend—a neighbor who had just moved next door. This girl was adorable and fun, but even back then I sensed that she wasn’t exactly on the track to future success—in fact, I felt I always had to be ready to put the brakes on when hanging out with her. I’m sure she hadn’t even done a project. So anyway, there we were gathered with the rest of the students and their families to hear the winners’ names called. The Master of Ceremonies for the evening was actually my science teacher that year, Mr. Thomas, maybe even Dr. Thomas—a Sidney Poitier type with an imposing military bearing and impressive dignity about him. He referred to the students in his classes very crisply by our surnames—“yes, Miss March…did you have a comment you wished to make? No? Well then I would appreciate it if you would please turn your attention up here then.” (yikes) And he was kind of good-looking, too, so there was no refuge to be had in poking fun.

Anyway, before he began the ceremony, Dr. Thomas explained that while he would announce the names of all winners, including Honorable Mention, only winners of First, Second, and Third Place in each grade would receive an actual trophy (or whatever it was) and therefore were the only ones who should come up to him upon hearing their names called. I heard this. However, when my name was called my friend started excitedly pushing me, telling me to “Go, go! He’s calling your name! You have to go get your prize!” Bewildered, I slowly started up towards the front where my teacher stood. When I got to him, he kind of looked down at me, surprised, and said quietly—“Uh, yes, Miss March? May I help you?” (wince) The thought of the old—actually young—me looking up at him makes me think of Rocko from Rocko’s Modern Life nervously tapping his fingertips together (heh-heh…heh-heh….oh, I see…no actual prize for me…I’m so very sorry). As I slunk back to my place in the crowd, trophy-less, I could see my “friend” doubled over in laughter.

RECAST SCENE: The polished, harder to shame me would have simply ad-libbed, “YES, Dr. Thomas—I just wanted to thank you on behalf of the entire student body (sweeping hand gesture) and let you know what an EXCELLENT job you have done—and continue to do!—of recognizing the worthy winners of this fine fair. I do apologize—I probably should have waited until all of our winners were announced, but was so impressed that I couldn’t help but express my admiration immediately, which I know is shared by all here.” In short, I would have out-dignified him.

SCENE FROM THE PAST: I was in 11th grade and taking French—as I had done since 8th grade. Unlike back then, however, we had reached unfamiliar territory that actually required studying—a skill I had not as yet acquired, having gotten by on my wits thus far. We had had a test, and when the teacher handed out our graded papers, she asked me and a classmate—a girl known for being rather studious and perhaps a bit on the nerdy end of the spectrum but with an added brown-nosing smarminess—to see her after class. It turns out that we had some of the same wrong answers on our test papers, and so the teacher pegged us for having cheated—more specifically, for one of us having copied off of the other. Now I can honestly say that I had my own code of honor, which was that if I didn’t study for a test, I just took the bad grade. So I knew very well that my classmate had looked off of my paper and copied my wrong answers. I probably didn’t know how to defend my case back then, though, and I can’t remember what the other girl said, and so we both ended up with some consequence—can’t remember what it was. I do recall feeling deeply wronged, however, and had the feeling that the teacher thought I was the culprit, probably as I was a cheerleader, which back then garnered respect and admiration from some and scorn from others who thought we were just flibberdegibbits, which in many cases we were. My cheating classmate went on to become a doctor, I believe—although I haven’t run into her at a class reunion.

RECAST SCENE: (to my classmate) ”You know, it really is a shame you feel so pressured to get good grades so you can get into some impressive college so you can then get into medical school that you are willing to CHEAT! Having said that, I’m flattered that you actually thought I had the correct answers and sorry that your copying what in fact were my wrong answers got us both in trouble. And now I would really appreciate it if you could man up to Miss ________ rather than standing there looking all innocent while I share the punishment for what was, after all, your crime. And please know that when you become a doctor I will assume you cheated on the Boards and would never DREAM of recommending you to anyone, let alone consider going to you myself.” And maybe I would have called my attorney and sued somebody for….something.

And finally, SCENE FROM THE PAST: I was maybe in my last year of college and had a part-time job waitressing at a swanky private dining club for members of the faculty and their guests. One evening a bunch of us who worked together decided to go to a watering hole that featured live music. Towards the end of the evening, I came off of the dance floor back to the table where we were sitting and saw one of the guys I worked with—a big, tall, strapping guy, cute but with a weird vibe I couldn’t put my finger on—standing up looking as if he was ready to leave. Then I noticed something else. He had my purse—not tiny by any means—over his shoulder. I don’t remember what exactly I said, but in typical Libran fashion, I believe it was something along the lines of “Hey…oh wow, you know, I think that’s mine (reaching for it)—thanks!”

RECAST SCENE: “While it looks really, really good with your outfit, I believe in fact that handbag is mine, so thank you very much. And now if you don’t mind I will be calling the police. And oh—you might want to do something about that little drug habit.”

I hope my little stories have served their purpose and taken your mind off of—even for just a few moments-- the state of our world, dear readers! And just in case you think all is hopeless, please remember the words of a wise spiritual teacher of mine--breakdown before breakthrough! Until next week, I am

Ripe Peach