‘Our Friend, Aluminum’

It’s early September, and yet when I head out in the early a.m., the air is cool and crisp, my breath shooting out in front of me like from a freight train. I shout, "choo, choo, choo, choo!" because it just seems right.

My best memories come from my old elementary school. It’s Labor Day, and the school is asleep, soon to awaken as dozens of children line up in front of their new classrooms. I peek into a classroom window and see the little alcove where, in the wintertime, I’d squeeze out of my winter wear, my mom having dressed me for the worst Arctic onslaught.

I remember the frustration of pulling off my rubber snow boots (the ones with the metal buckles), my tennis shoe firmly lodged inside, the cuff of my sock tugged down around my insole. The icy snow stuck to my pants would hit my ankles with a nasty chill, and I’d quickly pull my socks back up to warm my legs. Ahhhhh.

It would take a team of hydraulic engineers several hours to dislodge my shoe from the snow boot, or so it seemed, until with a thwaaaak!, the suction would heave ho and I’d free my shoe. A significant victory for a seven-year-old.

I remember in later years, wearing a Wonder Bread bag around my shoes, a rubber band holding it to my leg. They were the perfect disposable snow shoes. Plus, when you got to school you could blow it up with air and pop it in the ear of that one girl you liked so much that you were forced to constantly annoy. This behavior does not change over time, by the way.

My dog and I walk by the gym and I see the boy’s bathroom where I decided one day that the acoustics were just perfect for belting out a good tune. "Tra la la boom de yay!" I sang, and as I stepped out I found Mr. McCartey, the gym teacher, and a crowd of kids giving me a round of applause. It wasn’t my most embarrassing moment, but right up there.

I look out at the playground and I see the familiar obstacle course, its obstacles having been replaced who-knows-how-long-ago, by newer, probably far less dangerous obstacles. I don’t know why they’re so easy on kids these days. Back then, we had to walk a tight rope 75 feet high, leap through a flaming hoop, and fight several wild animals. Second grade was even worse.

On the obstacle course I can see the very spot where I gave fourth grade cutie, Angela Manee, a little ring with the word LOVE spelled out in plastic diamonds. We only had one date, when I sat next to her during the filmstrip, "Our Friend, Aluminum," in which a bodiless voice showed us all the ways aluminum benefitted human-kind circa 1972, of which there were only two: foil and Datson hubcaps.

It was a short film, but long enough for us to realize we were getting in too deep. Sitting next to each other during a film strip! What was next? Sharing time on the monkey bars? It had to end.

My dog and I ventured on and I noticed the slide, at the bottom of which I once found a quarter. Remember, back then you could get for a quarter what you can get today for about ... let’s see ... carry the one ... $137.14. Being a good boy, I turned it in to Lost and Found. A few weeks later, the clouds parted and an angel of the Lord said unto me (actually it was a school secretary, but it was quite a momentous event just the same), "Here. Nobody claimed your quarter."

I peek in my old kindergarten room and recall skipping in a circle as the other kids sang to me the "new shoes" song. It was a genuinely empowering experience. Once I polished up my church shoes just so I could be sung the new shoes song again. Later that day I was arrested for wearing church shoes to a public school.

I enjoyed walking by the front of the school, where we always lined up for the bus to take us on a field trip. Man, field trips were the best. There was the Denver Museum of Natural History, where I longed to step into those scenic tundras where the animals were frozen in mid-snarl. There was the planetarium, where my desire to one day captain a Federation starship was first nurtured. There was the turkey farm and the house made of mud. Some field trips were better than others.

To be honest, my tour down memory lane isn’t entirely enjoyable; I become so sentimental at times — so desirous to step back into those old tennis shoes and into that ol’ classroom — that it can be painful. But what a wonderful thing it is to feel this kind of pain!

God has given me so many great gifts over the years, and the gift of a happy childhood is one of the very best. As the children of the diocese start their new school year, my prayer is that one day they will say the same.