Dumb Da Dumb Dumb

Fule for Thought

 

As I was chewing gum the other day, I started to think about dumb things. Let me first explain a fun, dumb thing about me. I can’t chew gum. I mean I can chew gum, but when the flavor is at its peak, I swallow it. I’m always amazed and impressed by people who can chew the same piece of gum for hours. I mean, doesn’t it taste like sweaty rubber by then? I know, I know … you’re probably saying that swallowing gum is bad for you, and that it won’t be able to be digested by the stomach. 

However, I figure if you can eat a Big Mac, large fries, and a large Coke, surely one little piece of gum can’t really be a problem, can it? My kids won’t even offer me a piece of gum anymore, because they know I’m going to swallow it! It’s like they’re running their own intervention for me! So while I was thinking of how dumb it is not to be able to chew gum, other things of “dumbness” came to me (is that even a word?).

I had two friends in Canmore High School (I know, I know, you’re probably saying that’s double what you have now). These two friends on separate occasions, did really dumb things at high school dances. The first guy was my pal Dan (fake name). He was the principal’s son, and he and another guy decided they’d go down to the river and drink a mixture of Tang (do they still make that?), river water, and gin. Now that is not the best of combinations for any occasion, but before a high school dance as the principal’s son, and a supper of mom’s good old fashioned spaghetti, it was a recipe for disaster! I can still recall Dan dancing away with some poor girl, while his “heaves” began. He looked happy, sad, perplexed, then panicky … all in seconds. I’m glad I was out of the “splash zone” … she sadly wasn’t. Another pal and I had to drag, shuffle, and push Dan home.  At first the principal thought I had been a part of this, but I was innocent. I knew Dan would be in big trouble, but then I thought about that poor girl who had to wear Dan’s supper … she never knew what hit her.  I wonder if she hates spaghetti as much as Dan does now?

“John” was another victim of the age-old and dumb practice, tried by many high school guys.  

“Let’s drink as much as we can as fast as we can, then get into the dance, and have a real blast!”  

You’d think after many generations, guys would learn … but we don’t. Anyway, I’ll try to be as delicate as I can (and this is where I first began to think teachers sometimes had it very rough). My favourite teacher (the one who inspired me to become one … and the one I also now blame) found John in the bathroom. While sitting on the “throne” for a poo, John had also thrown up, then passed out with his pants and shorts around his ankles. As a young teacher, how do you prepare yourself for this?! Mr. D (the real one) had to get some more pals, help John get his pants on, and get him all the way back home up “Hospital Hill” (that’s the hill we all raced down on bikes with no braking … really should’ve used those more).  John’s mom and dad were very strict European parents … I knew anything the school did would not come close to what he’d face in the morning!

One bitterly cold night in January, my pals and I decided to walk from a party, trek across the school field, and get a pizza. It was one of those clear mountain nights, where you could see ice crystals, and everything was brittle and freezing! As we got to the pizza place downtown, I looked back, and there was no Mack.  

“Hey you guys, Mack’s not here,” I said. They all laughed it off (some were pretty bombed) and said he’d probably gone home. I don’t know why it struck us, but my other friend and I decided to re-trace our path looking for Mack. As we finally got to the darkened field, we saw him. He was still “plastered,” and was asleep on his back. There below us was the evidence of where he’d been. The poor, drunken schmuck (kind of like Rob Ford), had decided to make a “snow angel” and fell asleep! This actually hit Kirk and I pretty hard, because we knew what might have happened if we hadn’t come back. So once again, another pal “bit the dust,” only this one could have been tragic. We got him home after walking and dragging him a few blocks, while he told us “we were the best” and “I love you guys”! Ah the 70s … a time where we were trying our best to test the rules … to have fun … and to boldly “hurl,” where no kid had “hurled” before!

(“Fule for Thought” is a slice of life humourous column that appears in the Strathmore Times, written by long-time resident, town councillor, high school teacher, coach, husband and father of two – Pat Fule. If you would like to get in touch with Pat, you can send him an e-mail at Pat.fule@shaw.ca)