As a future Septuagenarian, I am always replaying in my mind all the things that still bother me after seven decades. Seventy years of little disturbances start to weigh on you. Most are insignificant but that is not really a comfort. The small disturbances (what Jules Feiffer called the Little Murders) are usually the ones that affect me most deeply.
In James Monroe High School, why didn't I try out for the basketball team? I was short, but I was a pretty good playmaker and I went "hard to the bucket." In my mind I am allowed to nurture my own fantasies. Oh well, there goes a career with the NY Knickerbockers.
I should have paid more attention in typing class. As a columnist for the last seven years with the Syosset-Jericho Tribune, I could have eased the burden of my wonderful editor, Denise Nash. My handwritten essay attempts are less professional than a typewritten copy. The columns would not be any better, but they would certainly have been more legible. I am convinced that it is too late to learn now.
In college at CCNY a one credit art course was given. The professor stated that anybody who ran the slide machine would get an automatic "A" for the course. I volunteered and I got the position even though I am not very mechanically versatile. I showed the slides all semester. Once I fell asleep and had to be awakened during class. That was embarrassing, but not the most embarrassing item. At the next-to-the-last session of the course the professor realized that I had shown the slides left to right instead of right to left all semester. Those poor students would have to go through their entire lives with a vision of the Mona Lisa smiling out the wrong corner of her mouth. I am still ashamed of that one!
While serving in Korea I was invited to a wedding. One of my dental patients was marrying a young, handsome corporal in the base chapel. My friend Marty and I arrived late at the chapel with a huge gift box under our arms. We entered the rear of the chapel just at the moment everyone was craning their necks backward to view the beautiful bride's entrance. She looked at us! We looked at her! She said "You two guys go first."
Sheepishly we entered the main aisle. Everyone gasped and then laughed. Instead of the radiant bride they saw two jerks carrying a huge box. It is still a blot on my memory.
That's enough self-flagellation!
These tales bring back exasperating memories. Maybe having them printed in the Syosset-Jericho Tribune will be therapeutic!
P.S. Re: last week's article - The Incident
For those intrepid readers of Over 60...
I removed the post-card from the airline (which will be nameless - but not blameless) magazine in the pocket of the seat in front of me. It was a survey of quality of the airline's procedures. Calmly, I related my tale of woe regarding not being informed of the change of gates on a flight.
Not even eight days later, I received an apologetic call from the airline (still nameless). They promised to remedy the situation in the future. I was absolutely surprised and gratified that my letter had an effect on management of a major airline.