By Caroline Clemmons
For me, today is when Fall
begins. No doubt about it, this is a holdover from my school days. I loved
school, especially English and history. Over my thirteen years (counting
kindergarten), I had many amazing teachers and a few incidents I remember with
pleasure.
One of my most
embarrassing moments came when I was a junior in high school. My best friend,
Iris, did everything she tried well. In spite of the fact she didn't cook or sew, she worked in the home economics office
for one credit. Iris assured me this was a great way to get an easy A because
there was little to do and I could get some of my homework done.
This was a highly sought-after
spot. With Iris’ recommendation to Mrs. Carter, lead teacher, I was approved.
But Mrs. Carter eyed me with concern. She had taught me the year before in her
cooking class, in which I did well. Probably, she wondered why a brainy girl
like Iris would be friends with a dork like me.
I signed up for the next
semester, and was given the period just before lunch. You cannot imagine my
horror when I learned that the slot I’d landed was feeding time for the lab
rat. Remember the scene in the book 1984
when Big Brother’s agents threatened the man with hungry rats on his face?
That’s the image seared in my brain. And I was afraid of the small rodents even
before I read the book.
Okay, so it was only one
rat, and he was in a cage. But to me he looked as if he were sizing me up for
dinner’s main course. I managed to feed the beast through the first week
without disaster. I had never had pets and had no rapport with animals—not because
I disliked them, but because I didn’t identify with them as I do now.
Feeling a bit more confident,
I breezed into the tiny home ec office the second week. The rat was primed and
waiting. The moment I unlatched his cage to add food, he leaped out and ran
into an empty classroom. I was lucky he hadn’t chosen the opposite direction
leading into the high school hallway, but
I didn't realize it at the time. All I knew was I was in big trouble. I chased him
around the room and finally cornered the poor rat so I could grab him.
Ohh, good gracious, I was holding a rat!
I’m not sure which of us was most frightened. I managed to get him back to the cage only to find Mrs.
Carter waiting for me in the office, having witnessed the last part of my
debacle. Actually, she was nice about the whole thing in a slightly severe way.
We agree that I would feed the rat when she was in the office in the future until
I “became more comfortable with that duty.”
I feared my blunder would reflect badly on my friend Iris, but it didn't seem to do so. I suppose Mrs. Carter’s opinion of me as a dork or a scatterbrain or whatever explained everything. Needless to say, I did not seek to work in the home ec office the following semester. Iris and I have remained good friends all these years.