IF IT'S NOT ONE THING, IT'S ANOTHER

March 1, 1994

I DIDN'T MUCH CARE FOR the enforced communality of public transportation, or the absolute necessity of precise timing demanded by catching the bus every morning. It seemed that every day started with racket and spitballs, girls squealing in mock outrage at some time-worn indignity peculiar to idle small boys untrammeled by authority. As soon as the grown-up thrill of riding the bus like my father began to pale and at last become irksome, I struck a bargain with my parents: I would walk every day to and from school, and pocket the fare. I had at this time no large need of money, but even a small child can discover requirements and necessities to which only ready cash can answer. Ten cents a day seemed too princely a sum for a schoolboy, and one that would magnify the dangers of worldly temptation beyond all reason. My allowance was accordingly negotiated down to a nickel. The sum, certain to encompass my every desire, of twenty five cents per week was mine. Well, I had to share it with God, of course. God seemed to want a dime. Quite a bite, I felt, but what can you do. I would have been content with the Biblical tithe, but no soap. Grudgingly given, the Sunday collection plate absorbed forty percent of my income. Now the landlord gets it, but at least he can't send me to Hell if I fall behind in my payments.

2014-12-29

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IF IT'S NOT ONE THING, IT'S ANOTHER

 
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