In Plain Engel-ish

I wanted to get a 100% on my fourth-grade science test. Yes, 90% would secure an “A,” but 100% would secure bragging rights at the dinner table, and I could mention it nonchalantly over Mom’s Salisbury steak. I wasn’t good at nonchalance yet (my speciality was gleefully waving the test paper in front of my parents), but I was slowly learning that appearing modest had its uses. On this particular science test I knew every answer but one — the name of the comet that passed by earth every seventy-five years. My mind drew a blank (unheard of then, but...

There are many things that we all agree are troublesome about being old. But if am going to complain about aging, I prefer to be unique in my regrets. So I shall now go on record as saying I hadn’t realized until recently that I no longer have a prayer of counting from one to a billion.  That ambitious endeavor would take over 31 years, so I would need to live to be 109 to complete the chore. Even though I remain an incurable optimist, I am guessing my obituary will not read “1948-2057” under my name. I console myself...

Sleep has been confusing to me since I was a kid. I remember the pleasure I derived from learning how to wink, which gave me the superpower of sending a silent visual code to someone when we had a joke or secret that we shared. But shortly after that, my dad announced (after a big Sunday lunch) that he was going to “take forty winks” and headed for the bedroom. Did he have forty friends there, eager to share jokes?  Even all these years later, now that I understand that the expression almost exclusively refers to naps, I remain confused...

I miss Joe, the yard man who came once a week to do our lawn work when I was growing up. He was not all that reliable, nor did he much like interacting with our famiy, so it was not a smiling face that I missed. It was his whistling. I had been enamored by whistling ever since my ninth birthday party, when we all went to see the Walt Disney cartoon classic Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs. Yes, I loved the dwarfs singing “Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work we go!” as they marched to their...

I was ten when I experienced the childhood trauma of losing my oldest friend. Oh, I never lost my Best Pal, Harvey. We were buddies within weeks of meeting in Mrs. Spenser’s first grade class at Delaware Trails Elementary (the builders found a Delaware Indian arrowhead when they were excavating to build our school). In fact, Harvey and I are still so close these seventy years later that I know he is reading this essay — aren’t you, Pal? But even though we met when I was only seven, Harvey is my second oldest friend. My oldest friend met me...