Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Special Treat – David Wainland

March 11, 2007

YO HO-HO AND A BOTTLE OF RUM

By David Wainland

School, the teachers and anything associated with that grey building soon became my nemesis. P.S 28 looms large in my memory as a study in nightmares. The building itself, a compilation of peaks, arches, whirligigs and grey stone reminded me of castles dark with monsters and evils unknown.

My first glimpse of this tattered fortress of education convinced me that no good would ever come out of it and when my mother dropped me at the door for kindergarten, all my fears came true.

            School was to me, a world of rules and regulations. The hours regimented and individuality denied. A day divided into play times, nap times, quiet times and periods of intense learning. My teachers quickly introduced me to corners for bad children and dark closets for rebellious ones.

            Since I did not conform to the rules of neatness as the teachers taught it, most of them attacked me for my bad habits. Through the years instead of getting better, it grew worse. One teacher in particular, in the third grade, pinned the name, Pig Brother on me. From that moment on anybody in the class who had a momentary lapse in the neatness department she dubbed, David’s Pig Brother or Sister.

The name, shortened to, Piggy, followed me throughout my years in that school. The name even carried over to the playground where I found myself physically defending my honor more than a few times. This ultimately resulted in my harboring a deep distrust of anybody with the title, Teacher, all accept for one.

            Each week, on a Thursday, all of the students attended what the school referred to as, “Assembly.” This year, my sixth and final, they picked our grade to perform a play in front of that group. It was to be a scaled down version of Kidnapped, by Robert Louis Stevenson, every boy’s dream of a great pirate adventure. I so wanted the part of the pirate captain, though I did not get it or any other part.

            Each week I attend the mandatory rehearsals and listened in envy as Steven, the star of the show, rendered his version of Yo ho-ho and a bottle of rum. I clung to the hope that I might eventually get the part and so I diligently memorized every word.

            Then, one day, the impossible came true. Steven stayed home sick and the teacher, Mrs. Something or other, asked if anybody else could act as a stand in for the rehearsal. Before I knew it, my hand shot up and when I looked around, it was the only one waving. She called me to the stage and as I approached, a cacophony of “Oinks and Pig Brother” preceded me. The teacher, whose name is buried somewhere in the attic of my mind, slapped her ever present yardstick hard against the dais she stood behind.

            “I do not know what this is all about or who started it, but it stops now.” She yelled into the audience of kids.

“David,” She said, “If you know the part then you may begin on my cue.”

            When the time arrived, I stood defiantly before the entire assembly, my hands balled and my heart pounding,

            “Yo ho-ho,” I roared from deep within a hidden place, “And a bottle of rum…”

My voice echoed thorough the auditorium and ended to applause.

            “That was wonderful David and when Steven comes back I want you to teach him how it is done.” My heart sank.

            “I want you all to know this,” She continued pointing her ruler at the children, “It was very brave of David to come up here, particularly after your horrible antics. How he did as well as he did I do not know, but this I will say, if I catch anybody using that terrible name again, they will not graduate.”

            No, I never got the part. The next fall I moved on to Junior High School, but the name did not follow. Pig Brother died during that rehearsal on a Thursday afternoon in P.S. 28.

 David Wainland

david@davidwainland.com