Of Staplers and Lies

The first lie I remember telling – the first one with knowing, deceptive intent behind it (beyond just the white lie fibbing of telling Mom “no” when you did something wrong and you really did do it) – was sometime around second grade. I remember one of my classmates had a mini stapler in his art box, and I was somehow convinced I needed to have one too.

They sold them at the drugstore at the corner of my street, so I knew where to get one and how much it cost and everything. I told my mom I had to have one for school. I remember her being skeptical about the whole additional-item-that-wasn’t-on-the-original-school-supply-list story, but I tried to be as convincing as possible. My mom was a school teacher in the district, so I have to believe my naiveté emboldened me in my lying, otherwise I probably would never have attempted it.

I have fuzzy memories of my mom or dad talking about sending in a note to the teacher about why this mini stapler was necessary or some such, and me dancing around the issue telling them that a note wasn’t necessary and that I really just needed to get this stapler and couldn’t they just give me the money so I could go up to the drugstore and buy it myself and then everything will be fine. Please?

I did end up getting the mini stapler. What I didn’t realize was that the Swingline people had somehow conspired with my parents and found a way to cram a seemingly unending amount of catholic guilt into the box with it! I don’t remember if I have ever confessed to the con before now. It’s as likely that I cracked at some point shortly after acquiring the mini stapler as it is that this is the first time my parents are hearing about my scam. (Of course, being a parent now and having that instinct of knowing when your kid is trying to pull one over on you, I’d be pretty surprised if my parents didn’t at least suspect I was completely making shit up at the time.)

Regardless, the guilty echoes have always remained. (Why else am I writing about it over 30 years later?!) I wish I could remember why that mini stapler was so damn important to second grade me. Ultimately, I have to figure it probably wasn’t worth it.

Coat of Arms

We are in the process of cleaning and purging the contents of our basement. We’ve held on to a lot of crap alongside a lot of important items from our collective and individual histories. Over the last few days and nights, I’ve been working my way through boxes of exclusively my stuff. Folders, photo albums, cartons of action figures and toys, baseball and football cards, cards from my wife, letters from friends… the same sorts of things you probably have in your basement.

I had a particular photo album that had all my organized sports team photos and all my class photos from grade school, along with all my choir and school programs, and miscellaneous items (like an autographed picture of Lindsay Wagner and a clipped story from the newspaper about Michael Jackson’s record setting eight Grammy awards win). But in the front of that album, on the very first page, was this…

I wish I could remember what year I made this. I am sure it was a school assignment – a “Make Your Own Crest” type of project. And I can still remember the reasons behind each and every item:

• Purple and orange because they were my favorite colors (purple still is one of my favorites).
• The basketball because, despite my size, I always loved to play it (just like my kiddo who faces the same size challenges).
• My name in calligraphy because I was into art and my mom signed me up for a calligraphy class at the local art shop.
• The tent because my family camped while growing up, and it was a huge part of my childhood (although we camped in a hardtop camper, not a tent, I took some artistic license here).
• The Walkman, baby. Music has always been important to me.
• Pitfall! I loved my Atari 2600, and I loved Pitfall.
• A comic book. Note: Even as a kid I was apparently sensitive to copyright infringement issues and, instead of rendering my favorite Marvel comic cover, I opted to go generic. Or, at least, that’s the story we’ll go with to cover the fact that I probably spent my entire artistic bankroll interpreting the Pitfall screen capture.

So, yeah. It was crazy to stumble on this and realize just how accurate a representation of the kid version of me it is (clearly, I took this assignment seriously and put a lot of thought into it), and although I don’t go camping and I don’t play a lot of video games anymore, I do still enjoy shooting hoops with the kiddo, appreciate art, love music, and continue to read comics. I guess four out of six ain’t bad.