AuntShecky
01-10-2008, 05:43 PM
[Note: Lest the reader jump to any conclusions, I must hasten to state that the following is not necessarily autobiographical.]
The Scholar in the Parlor
On the way home from school, she never minded the weight of the books which on this day included two new acquisitions from the library. She hugged them with sweet anticipation, though their delights would have to wait until she finished her homework, the textbooks for which contributed to the load.
While walking, she felt a sensation somewhere between a brush and a bump. “Hey, Minnie!” a singsong voice teased. “How’s Mickey?” Minnie turned around to see that the hem of her skirt had recently borne the mark of the front tire of a bicycle, a mode of transportation which she herself, at the age of twelve, had yet to master. She looked up at the source of the taunt: a male classmate, one known to be a playground bully. The response as usual, was “just ignore him,” a customary practice which she had “down” through a multitude of similar experiences. The unfortunate byproduct of this Standard Operating Procedure manufactured among her classmates her reputation for aloofness, though that particular word had not yet been covered in their vocabulary lessons.
One word they did know was “brain,” an epithet which they used behind her back when her name rarely came up. An avid reader, she was quite the young polymath, with no emphasis on the last syllable. Back in the lower grades, the teacher said , “Minnie, you're so tall for your age!” ( Even in early childhood she'd gotten the message that unusual height was not a particularly desirable quality in a girl.) “You can sit in the back of the classroom” became a permanent position from grade-to-grade, presenting the constant problem of not seeing the blackboard and thus missing crucial fundamental principles, as well as producing a myopic squint and a lifelong dependence on corrective glasses, but ultimately an acute aversion to mathematics. Except for math – and gym-- Minnie’s facility with every other subject in the curriculum compensated for her lack of quantitative skills, but at the same time made her an easy target. This time, the boy continued to chant “Minnie! Minnie!” in a squeaky falsetto as he took his leave.
As the mean kid pedaled away, Minnie tried remembering the oft-quoted lines from Shakespeare about the rose, but she'd often wish that her own name smelled a little sweeter. Apparently, her mother had thought it “cute” to name all four girls with the same initial letter: Mary, Molly, Millie – and, in the middle-Minnie. Couldn't she have been a May or a Maggie or a Marilyn? ( though the last undoubtedly would‘ve inspired even more teasing in the fact that the resemblance to Miss Monroe was in name only.) She found a bit of consolation in the thought that her nickname was a form of the name of ancient goddess of wisdom, but were “Minerva” to go public, she would suffer from a chronic condition – - a new black eye before the previous one healed; moreover, she'd have to endure verbal onslaughts from September through June.
Apart from a cartoon female mouse, whose claim to celluloid fame stood strictly in her romantic relationship to the Disney’s star rodent, the only other famous Minnie was Minnie Pearl, who occasionally appeared on the family Crosley television set. This Minnie sang twangy tunes and occasionally whipped up a bon mot --a Jimmy-wisecrack-corn. It wasn't mere wishful thinking on the younger Minnie’s part to feel that the celebrity-- with her homespun outfits and price-tag festooned hats – belied a sophistication beyond the countrified settings in which Miss Pearl appeared. Minnie Pearl seemed also very smart – - or so her young namesake hoped.
To say the least, young Minnie lacked Miss Pearl’s stage presence. Whenever visitors came over, Minnie would grab her current library book and quietly hide in a space in the behind the big plush chair in the parlor. After the initial greetings, no one ever asked where she was nor gave any indication of wanting a personal conversation with her, so everyone was happy with the arrangement. She would start reading and get lost in the plot, though even at an impressionable age was prudent enough not to identify with the female protagonists– but it was the dance of the sentences, the music of the images, the jewels of the words themselves that bedazzled her. And the niche in the parlor was such an effective a hiding place that her family would often forget that she was there. Hence, several times she would hear one end of a phone conversation she was most likely not supposed to hear:
“Oh, that one!” her mother spoke to a caller unknown. “She doesn't really cause any trouble, but I don't know about that one. Her nose in a book all the time. Yeah, I know. I don't know how she'll ever get a man. She’s got no personality at all.”
In high school the teasing finally stopped; classmates and acquaintances were polite and cordially said hello, but few crossed the threshold of forging a friendship with her. A social life was still terra incognita to her, though her mother would try to launch her into the alien world of boys and dating. “All work and no play makes Jack-er, Jill-- a dull girl,” her mother would say.
“Aw, Mom, who are you, Mrs. Bennet, now?”
The allusion was lost on her mother, who had never read Pride and Prejudice. ”I'm sorry, Mom, I don't have any time for that stuff. It just doesn't interest me right now.” As far as the future might go, her mother was looking into a conventional crystal ball while Minnie herself had an alternative vision. So when she'd mustered up enough courage to mention the “c” word, the proverbial poop hit the fan.
“Are you out of your mind?” Minnie’s mother. “College is a waste of time for a girl!You're only gonna graduate to diapers and dirty dishes.”
Minnie nevertheless pursued that academic goal on the sly. She even scraped together enough cash to pay the fees associated with a college entrance exam. On a wintry Saturday morning she arrived at the university campus to navigate the test itself. Her nerves tried to assert themselves, but the verbal section of the test was smooth-sailing for Minnie. She finished it as quickly as a seasoned mariner on a regular shipping route, while a glance around the classroom to see that her fellow test-takers seemed to struggle at sea. Why was she back at the dock so way ahead of everyone else? Maybe she hadn't done the test right.
When she started the math section, she quickly found herself among the shoals. These were indeed uncharted waters. Who was she kidding? Why did she ever think herself capable? She put down the pencil, ripped up her answer sheet, and tip-toed to the desk in front of the classroom. “I'm sorry,” she said to the proctor, “I just can't do this.”
The young woman at the desk, presumably a grad student looking to earn a couple of bucks, was nonetheless earnest. “Are you sure? Why don't you just try it? It’s multiple choice – I mean, you could, like, guess at the answers -- “
Minnie just shook her head. “No. I can't do this.” She went home, threw herself into a book, and never mentioned college again.
When she graduated from high school, her diploma had the words “magna cum laude,” despite her shortcomings in math. In no time, Minnie managed to get a job -- at a book store, no less. Once in a while, she'd spring at a chance to help a customer make a literary selection, and her characteristic shyness would inhibit itself long enough for her to explain the finer points of a particular author’s work. This did not set well with the store manager. Right in front of the customer, he'd tap Minnie on the shoulder and say, “Look, if I wanted the editor of the New York Times Book Review section to work here, I'd hire him. You –- go work the register.” Despite such isolated instances, Minnie held down the job down for the interval it took for her to be addressed as “Miss” through “Ma'am” until the store, unable to meet the competition from chain bookstores and– - later, online venues -- finally packed it in.
Yet midway through her retail book-selling career, Minnie witnessed a change in society, which, regrettably, did not trickle down to her own life. For a number of years, the top non-fiction sellers in the store had followed popular trends in the country’s Zeitgeist, from World War II epics, say, through cold war jeremiads. In the late
1960s, Minnie noticed a change among the buying habits of suburban housewives. There was a bit of a downswoop in the interest in sensational bodice-rippers or slightly salacious novels, and a corresponding upturn in their purchases of treatises about contemporary females and their lot in life, the polemic toward something called “liberation,” in which females could claim the same educational and occupational opportunities as men. Those books did, as in the time-worn phrase, “fly off the shelves,” and unlike so many other idealistic proposals, in a relatively small number of years, this so-called women’s movement actually did get off the ground. The change in society, alas, came too late to benefit Minnie; for the first time in her life, she felt that she had been born too soon.
In their embryonic state her dreams had withered, but in their place a minor miracle came to life. Contrary to her mother’s nihilistic prediction, Minnie one day found herself with a man who not only “wanted” her, but also was one who tolerated seeing her nose constantly stuck in a book, though he was a tv man himself. Throughout their courtship, which was perhaps unnecessarily prolonged due to Minnie’s reluctance to make a commitment, the couple’s nightly activity consisted of a simple meal, followed by the viewing of a quiz show on a television in his parlor. To her credit, Minnie never blurted out a response to any of the questions – although she knew the answer to every single one.
All Rights Reserved.
The Scholar in the Parlor
On the way home from school, she never minded the weight of the books which on this day included two new acquisitions from the library. She hugged them with sweet anticipation, though their delights would have to wait until she finished her homework, the textbooks for which contributed to the load.
While walking, she felt a sensation somewhere between a brush and a bump. “Hey, Minnie!” a singsong voice teased. “How’s Mickey?” Minnie turned around to see that the hem of her skirt had recently borne the mark of the front tire of a bicycle, a mode of transportation which she herself, at the age of twelve, had yet to master. She looked up at the source of the taunt: a male classmate, one known to be a playground bully. The response as usual, was “just ignore him,” a customary practice which she had “down” through a multitude of similar experiences. The unfortunate byproduct of this Standard Operating Procedure manufactured among her classmates her reputation for aloofness, though that particular word had not yet been covered in their vocabulary lessons.
One word they did know was “brain,” an epithet which they used behind her back when her name rarely came up. An avid reader, she was quite the young polymath, with no emphasis on the last syllable. Back in the lower grades, the teacher said , “Minnie, you're so tall for your age!” ( Even in early childhood she'd gotten the message that unusual height was not a particularly desirable quality in a girl.) “You can sit in the back of the classroom” became a permanent position from grade-to-grade, presenting the constant problem of not seeing the blackboard and thus missing crucial fundamental principles, as well as producing a myopic squint and a lifelong dependence on corrective glasses, but ultimately an acute aversion to mathematics. Except for math – and gym-- Minnie’s facility with every other subject in the curriculum compensated for her lack of quantitative skills, but at the same time made her an easy target. This time, the boy continued to chant “Minnie! Minnie!” in a squeaky falsetto as he took his leave.
As the mean kid pedaled away, Minnie tried remembering the oft-quoted lines from Shakespeare about the rose, but she'd often wish that her own name smelled a little sweeter. Apparently, her mother had thought it “cute” to name all four girls with the same initial letter: Mary, Molly, Millie – and, in the middle-Minnie. Couldn't she have been a May or a Maggie or a Marilyn? ( though the last undoubtedly would‘ve inspired even more teasing in the fact that the resemblance to Miss Monroe was in name only.) She found a bit of consolation in the thought that her nickname was a form of the name of ancient goddess of wisdom, but were “Minerva” to go public, she would suffer from a chronic condition – - a new black eye before the previous one healed; moreover, she'd have to endure verbal onslaughts from September through June.
Apart from a cartoon female mouse, whose claim to celluloid fame stood strictly in her romantic relationship to the Disney’s star rodent, the only other famous Minnie was Minnie Pearl, who occasionally appeared on the family Crosley television set. This Minnie sang twangy tunes and occasionally whipped up a bon mot --a Jimmy-wisecrack-corn. It wasn't mere wishful thinking on the younger Minnie’s part to feel that the celebrity-- with her homespun outfits and price-tag festooned hats – belied a sophistication beyond the countrified settings in which Miss Pearl appeared. Minnie Pearl seemed also very smart – - or so her young namesake hoped.
To say the least, young Minnie lacked Miss Pearl’s stage presence. Whenever visitors came over, Minnie would grab her current library book and quietly hide in a space in the behind the big plush chair in the parlor. After the initial greetings, no one ever asked where she was nor gave any indication of wanting a personal conversation with her, so everyone was happy with the arrangement. She would start reading and get lost in the plot, though even at an impressionable age was prudent enough not to identify with the female protagonists– but it was the dance of the sentences, the music of the images, the jewels of the words themselves that bedazzled her. And the niche in the parlor was such an effective a hiding place that her family would often forget that she was there. Hence, several times she would hear one end of a phone conversation she was most likely not supposed to hear:
“Oh, that one!” her mother spoke to a caller unknown. “She doesn't really cause any trouble, but I don't know about that one. Her nose in a book all the time. Yeah, I know. I don't know how she'll ever get a man. She’s got no personality at all.”
In high school the teasing finally stopped; classmates and acquaintances were polite and cordially said hello, but few crossed the threshold of forging a friendship with her. A social life was still terra incognita to her, though her mother would try to launch her into the alien world of boys and dating. “All work and no play makes Jack-er, Jill-- a dull girl,” her mother would say.
“Aw, Mom, who are you, Mrs. Bennet, now?”
The allusion was lost on her mother, who had never read Pride and Prejudice. ”I'm sorry, Mom, I don't have any time for that stuff. It just doesn't interest me right now.” As far as the future might go, her mother was looking into a conventional crystal ball while Minnie herself had an alternative vision. So when she'd mustered up enough courage to mention the “c” word, the proverbial poop hit the fan.
“Are you out of your mind?” Minnie’s mother. “College is a waste of time for a girl!You're only gonna graduate to diapers and dirty dishes.”
Minnie nevertheless pursued that academic goal on the sly. She even scraped together enough cash to pay the fees associated with a college entrance exam. On a wintry Saturday morning she arrived at the university campus to navigate the test itself. Her nerves tried to assert themselves, but the verbal section of the test was smooth-sailing for Minnie. She finished it as quickly as a seasoned mariner on a regular shipping route, while a glance around the classroom to see that her fellow test-takers seemed to struggle at sea. Why was she back at the dock so way ahead of everyone else? Maybe she hadn't done the test right.
When she started the math section, she quickly found herself among the shoals. These were indeed uncharted waters. Who was she kidding? Why did she ever think herself capable? She put down the pencil, ripped up her answer sheet, and tip-toed to the desk in front of the classroom. “I'm sorry,” she said to the proctor, “I just can't do this.”
The young woman at the desk, presumably a grad student looking to earn a couple of bucks, was nonetheless earnest. “Are you sure? Why don't you just try it? It’s multiple choice – I mean, you could, like, guess at the answers -- “
Minnie just shook her head. “No. I can't do this.” She went home, threw herself into a book, and never mentioned college again.
When she graduated from high school, her diploma had the words “magna cum laude,” despite her shortcomings in math. In no time, Minnie managed to get a job -- at a book store, no less. Once in a while, she'd spring at a chance to help a customer make a literary selection, and her characteristic shyness would inhibit itself long enough for her to explain the finer points of a particular author’s work. This did not set well with the store manager. Right in front of the customer, he'd tap Minnie on the shoulder and say, “Look, if I wanted the editor of the New York Times Book Review section to work here, I'd hire him. You –- go work the register.” Despite such isolated instances, Minnie held down the job down for the interval it took for her to be addressed as “Miss” through “Ma'am” until the store, unable to meet the competition from chain bookstores and– - later, online venues -- finally packed it in.
Yet midway through her retail book-selling career, Minnie witnessed a change in society, which, regrettably, did not trickle down to her own life. For a number of years, the top non-fiction sellers in the store had followed popular trends in the country’s Zeitgeist, from World War II epics, say, through cold war jeremiads. In the late
1960s, Minnie noticed a change among the buying habits of suburban housewives. There was a bit of a downswoop in the interest in sensational bodice-rippers or slightly salacious novels, and a corresponding upturn in their purchases of treatises about contemporary females and their lot in life, the polemic toward something called “liberation,” in which females could claim the same educational and occupational opportunities as men. Those books did, as in the time-worn phrase, “fly off the shelves,” and unlike so many other idealistic proposals, in a relatively small number of years, this so-called women’s movement actually did get off the ground. The change in society, alas, came too late to benefit Minnie; for the first time in her life, she felt that she had been born too soon.
In their embryonic state her dreams had withered, but in their place a minor miracle came to life. Contrary to her mother’s nihilistic prediction, Minnie one day found herself with a man who not only “wanted” her, but also was one who tolerated seeing her nose constantly stuck in a book, though he was a tv man himself. Throughout their courtship, which was perhaps unnecessarily prolonged due to Minnie’s reluctance to make a commitment, the couple’s nightly activity consisted of a simple meal, followed by the viewing of a quiz show on a television in his parlor. To her credit, Minnie never blurted out a response to any of the questions – although she knew the answer to every single one.
All Rights Reserved.