As I recall, they pulled me
out of class one day at the state-operated boarding school for cripples, which
I refer to as the Sam Houston Institute of Technology (SHIT).
I was worried that I did
something wrong. But what?
“Miss Joyce wants to see you
in her office,” I was told. But what could I have possibly done wrong that
would make them send me to Miss Joyce’s office?
Miss Joyce was the head of recreation. Her office was right next to the gym.
I was escorted to Miss
Joyce’s office. She greeted me with a big smile. “Its so great to see you!” she
said to me. And then she said, “I sent for you because I’m going to a costume
party. My costume is going to be Poland.” She said she wanted to cover her
costume, which would be a hunk of papier mache shaped like the country of
Poland, with Polack jokes. “I understand that you know a lot of Polack jokes,”
Miss Joyce said. “Can you tell me some?”
And it’s true that I had a
million Polack jokes in my repertoire and I told them every chance I got. This
was my adolescent expertise. I remember some of my Polack jokes but I won’t tell them anyway because they’re all pretty dumb. But
on that day I regaled Miss Joyce with Polack jokes and she took copious notes.
I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t come through for her that day.
Would I have been punished? Maybe I would’ve been restricted to my room until I
came up with some good Polack jokes.
As far as I know, my
encounter with Mis Joyce was not video taped or recorded for posterity in
any way. I’m grateful for that. That was a simpler time when a guy could make
jokes about how incredibly stupid all Polish people are and get a big laugh.
But now I would be ostracized, as if I was helping Miss Joyce put on black
face.
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