The Truth
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2015 by Old Man with a Pen

The Mostly True: I.

Daddy read the letter sent through the United States Post Office:

“Mr. Austin, your son cannot see the blackboard. I am sending this notice through the post because young Charles has informed me that David has NOT delivered the several notes that he was given to deliver. I will be advancing to the Third Grade in September. I expect to see a sharp improvement in his vision.
Mrs. Patterson
Second Grade
Swegles Elementary.

Disaster! My life is ruined. Two tragedies have destroyed my life between Second Grade and Third Grade.

Tragedy One: Redistricting; The line for the new elementary school passes by my front door, proceeds south to Cass and one half block east to Wight and south to the city limits.

I live on the East side of the line and my very best buddy lives on the West...

His school ... Central Elementary and Junior High ... my OLD school ... is five blocks from my front door.

My new school ... Swegles Elementary is nine million miles from my home ... nine million miles through enemy territory ... up hill ... both ways. Clinton County Public Schools does NOT bus!

Life has dealt me Aces and Eights.

All through the first and second grade, I ... we ... had done our very best to alienate those peasants who lived on the EAST SIDE of our fair city. Our best succeeded.

My route to Swegles was filled with land-mines and ambuscade; the land-mines have cooties and the ambushers have fists.

Tragedy Two: Mrs. Patterson ... may her name reside forever with such traitors as Benedict Arnold, John Wilkes Booth and Vidkun Abraham Lauritz Jonssøn Quisling (Deliverer of Norwegian Jews to Nazi Concentration Camps.) ... my second grade teacher ... has transferred to my new school ... as a teacher of torture; mathematics. And an instrument of humility ... she KNOWS I need ... GLASSES ... and she has informed the Powers that Be ... my parents ... of that fact.

Four Eyes! My taunts return to haunt me.

Because of that perfidious department of government ... the Post Office ... my future as a fighter pilot in the armed forces of the United States is at an end.

Oh ... I tried. I appeared at Central Elementary the morning of the first day ... I sat next to my best buddy ... we share first name; David and I responded to our shared name ... alas ... Cohn is not my last.

“Who are you?” asked the newly appointed teacher.

I remained mute.

The principal of Central Elementary is also the principal of the Junior High ... he knows me well. The knock of death upon the classroom door.

“David ... Your mother is coming to pick you up ... those are awful glasses.”

As I was following mother ... drawn by an ear ... I heard the principal say, “Thank God for small favors. I was afraid we were going to have to keep him.”

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