by Ron Padgett
I remember “jewels” neatly placed down the left pantleg or the right.
I remember pretty faces that don’t move.
I remember loud sexy music. Too much beer. Quick glances. And not liking myself for playing the game too.
I remember enjoying playing the game too, though.
I remember pretending to be interested in pool.
I remember a boy I tried to pick up once. As an opener I told him he had a nice nose and he said he was thinking about having it “fixed” and I said no he shouldn’t. He said he was busy that night but he took my phone number. (Never did call, though.) Maybe I put him off by saying that I thought psychology was a bit silly. (He was a psychology major.) “Too self indulgent,” I remember saying. (I was drunk.) Actually his nose was a bit too big.
I remember coming home from queer bars and bawling myself out for not having more confidence in myself.
I remember thinking I could sing (had a good voice) until somehow in school I discovered I didn’t.
I remember that Picasso was born in 1881. (Having no memory for facts, I once made myself memorize that fact and I’ve never forgotten it.)
I remember “A white sports coat and a pink carnation.”
I remember the “dum-da-dum-dum-dum” from Dragnet.
I remember what a hard time I had memorizing Shakespeare and how nervous I got when it was my turn to recite.
I remember trying to memorize Shakespeare so that words that began with sounds I stuttered on (s, b, etc.) would not begin with a new breath. (Do you know what I mean?)
I remember chartreuse.
I remember a pair of baby blue gabardine pants I especially liked.
I remember running for vice-president and giving a campaign speech wearing my baby blue gabardine pants. I lost. That was junior high school.
I remember in junior high school asking a girl who was much too popular and pretty for me to a dance and she said, “Yes.” But the moment we arrived she disappeared into a group of her friends and I didn’t see her again all evening. I think her name was Nancy. Yes, it was.
I remember that Nancy was the girl I lost the vice-presidency to.
I remember Judy.
I remember having a big crush on Judy and discovering that she was embarrassed to be seen with me so I stopped asking her out.
I remember Bill Haley and “Rock around the Clock.”
I remember thin gold ankle bracelets.
I remember “white trash.”
I remember nylon “runs.”
I remember looking at myself in a mirror and becoming a total stranger.
I remember having a crush on a boy in my Spanish class who had a pair of olive green suede shoes with brass buckles just like a pair I had. (“Flagg Brothers.”) I never said one word to him the entire year.
I remember sweaters thrown over shoulders and sunglasses propped up on heads.
I remember boat neck sweaters.
I remember “Queer as a three dollar bill.”
I remember wooden nickels.
I remember stamp hinges.
I remember orange icing on cupcakes at school Halloween parties.
I remember autumn.
I remember walking home from school through the leaves alongside the curb.
I remember jumping into piles of leaves and the dust, or whatever it is, that rises.
I remember raking leaves but I don’t remember burning leaves. I don’t remember what we “did” with them.
I remember “Indian Summer.” And for years not knowing what it meant, except that I figured it had something to do with Indians.
I remember exactly how I visualized the Pilgrims and the Indians having the first Thanksgiving dinner together. (Very jolly!)
I remember Jack Frost. Pumpkin pie. Gourds. And very blue skies.
I remember Halloween.
I remember usually getting dressed up as a hobo or a ghost. One year I was a skeleton.
I remember one house that always gave you a dime and several houses that gave you five-cent candy bars.
I remember after Halloween my brother and me spreading all our loot out and doing some trading.
I remember always at the bottom of the bag lots of dirty pieces of candy corn.
I remember the smell (not very good) of burning pumpkin meat inside jack-o’-lanterns.
I remember orange and black jellybeans at Halloween. And pastel-colored ones for Easter.
I remember “hard” Christmas candy. Especially the ones with flower designs. I remember not liking the ones with jelly in the middle very much.
I remember some beautiful German Christmas tree ornaments in the shape of birds and houses and people.
I remember the dangers of angel hair.
I remember having my Christmas shopping list all made out before December.
I remember the fear of not getting a present for someone who might give me one.
I remember after Christmas shopping coming home and gloating over everything I bought.
I remember Rosemary Clooney and Bing Crosby and “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.”
I remember how sad and happy at the same time Christmas carols always made me feel: all warm inside.
I remember seeing every year that movie about “Macy’s” and “Gimbel’s” and the old man who thought he was Santa Claus.
I remember, after Christmas caroling, hot chocolate.
I remember buying a small bottle of Chanel No. 5 for my mother for Christmas one year but when I told my father how much it cost I had to take it back.
I remember not being able to fall asleep Christmas Eve.
I remember more than once leaving the price tag on a present.
I remember very clearly (visually) a bride doll sitting in a red wagon under the Christmas tree when I was very young. (For me.)
I remember opening my first packages very fast and my last few very slowly.
I remember after opening packages what an empty day Christmas day is.
I remember feeling sorry for kids at church, or school, who had ugly mothers.
I remember that nobody ever knew what to give Aunt Ruby on special occasions so everyone always gave her stationery or scarves or handkerchiefs or boxes of fancy soap.
I remember thinking I had really hit on something when I got the idea of putting orange juice instead of milk on cereal but then I tried it and it was awful.
I remember loving raw biscuit dough.
I remember rolling balls of mercury around in the palm of my hand, and shining dimes with it.
I remember the controversy over whether to install a Coke machine in the church basement or not.
I remember church camp and “the quiet hour” and weaving plastic braid around strips of metal to make bracelets. And weaving plastic braid into things to hang around your neck to hang whistles from. And always the possibility of running into a copperhead.
I remember being a Boy Scout and getting badges in art and fingerprinting and several other easy-to-get badges. First-aid too.
I remember hoola-hoops.
I remember seeing my brother bend way over to pull out the bath tub plug naked and realizing for the first time that shit came out of a hole instead of a long slit.
I remember a pinkish-red rubber douche that appeared in the bathroom every now and then, and not knowing what it was, but somehow knowing enough not to ask.
I remember when I was very young getting what I now assume to have been an enema. I just remember having to turn over and my mother sticking this glass thing with a rubber ball on top (also pinkish-red) up my butt and being scared to death.
I remember getting a thermometer stuck up my butt several times and the fear that it might fall in and get lost, or break off inside me.
I remember a little boy who said it was more fun to pee together than alone, and so we did, and so it was.
I remember once my mother parading a bunch of women through the bathroom as I was taking a shit. Never have I been so embarrassed!
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I remember a boy who could pull the undersides of his eyelids down over his eyeballs.
I remember looking cross-eyed and being told not to do that because they might get stuck and I’d be cross-eyed for life.
I remember a story about somebody finding a baby alligator in their toilet bowl.
I remember peeing all over J. J. Mitchell in a dream once.
I remember very long pigtails. And plaid ribbon bows.
I remember finding some strange-looking stamps in a box and being told that you got food with them during the war.
I remember a big red satin wide-brimmed hat with red silk poppies all over it Mrs. Hawks wore to church one Easter Sunday. She was married to Mr. Hawks who owned the local ice cream company. She was an ex-Dior model and everyone thought she was very ugly except me. (“Skinny and weird looking.”) In my head it is still the most beautiful hat I have ever seen.
I remember wax fingernails. Wax moustaches. Wax lips. And wax teeth.
I remember that George Washington’s teeth were made of wood.
I remember little wax bottles with very sweet liquid inside.
I remember orange candy shaped like big peanuts with lots of air in it.
I remember pink cotton candy and feeling all “sticky” afterwards.
I remember looking very close at cotton candy and seeing that it was made up of little red “beads.”
I remember a coconut kind of candy that looked like thin slices of watermelon.
I remember “nigger babies.” Candy corn. And red hots.
I remember finger painting and usually ending up with a sort of purple-brown mess.
I remember jungle gyms and girls who didn’t care if you saw their panties or not.
I remember one girl who sometimes didn’t wear panties.
I remember “dress up time.” (Running around pulling up girls’ dresses yelling “dress up time.”)
I remember that a lot of kissing went on in the drinking fountain area.
I remember fire drills. And air-raid drills.
I remember a chubby boy whose parents were deaf and dumb. He taught me how to say “Joe” with my hands.
I remember daydreams of having a twin.
I remember “See you later alligator!”
I remember suspenders and bow ties and red leather mittens.
I remember, when someone says something that rhymes, “You’re a poet, and didn’t know it, but your feet show it. They’re Longfellows!”
I remember yellow rubber raincoats with matching hoods.
I remember big black galoshes with lots of metal foldover clamps.
I remember a very deluxe Crayola set that had gold and silver and copper.
I remember that the red Crayola was always the first to go.
I remember always drawing girls with their hands behind their backs. Or in pockets.
I remember that area of white flesh between the pant cuffs and the socks when old men cross their legs.
I remember a fat man who sold insurance. One hot summer day we went to visit him and he was wearing shorts and when he sat down one of his balls hung out. I remember that it was hard to look at it and hard not to look at it too.
I remember a very early memory of an older girl in a candy store. The man asked her what she wanted and she picked out several things and then he asked her for her money and she said, “Oh, I don’t have any money. You just asked me what I wanted, and I told you.” This impressed me no end.
I remember daydreams of living in a treehouse.
I remember daydreams of saving someone from drowning and being a hero.
I remember daydreams of going blind and how sorry everyone would feel for me.
I remember daydreams of being a girl and of the beautiful formals I would have.
I remember daydreams of leaving home and getting a job and an apartment of my own.
I remember daydreams of being discovered by a Hollywood agent who would send me to a special place in California where they “re-do” people. (Very expensive.) They’d cap my teeth and make my hair look great and make me gain weight and give me muscles and I’d come out looking great. On my way to being a star. (But first I’d go home and shock everybody.)
I remember daydreams of a doctor who (on the sly) was experimenting with a drug that would turn you into a real stud. All very “hush-hush.” (As it was illegal.) There was a slight chance that something might go wrong and that I’d end up with a really giant cock, but I was willing to take that chance.
I remember wondering if I looked queer.
I remember making sure that I held my cigarette in not a queer way.
I remember one masculine-looking way to hold a cigarette I figured out was to hold it way down between my fingers. Below the knuckles.
I remember not crossing my legs. (Knee over knee.) I thought that looked queer.
I remember making sure my little finger didn’t stick out.
I remember hating myself after group gatherings for being such a bore.
I remember daydreams of being very charming and witty.
I remember my first pep pill. Ted Berrigan gave it to me. I stayed up all night doing hundreds of drawings. I especially remember one drawing of a cup of coffee.
I remember “Spam.”
I remember when I was very young thinking that shaving looked pretty dangerous.
I remember rubber thongs and how they started out being 99¢ a pair and how they ended up being incredibly cheap (like 19¢ a pair) and the sound they made flopping against bare soles.
I remember chicken fried steak.
I remember “Kraft’s” sandwich spread.
I remember not trusting pressure cookers.
I remember a blue glass mirror storefront in Tulsa with one piece missing.
I remember “Sloppy Joes.”
I remember shoulder pads. Cinnamon toothpicks. And “John Doe.”
I remember little electric fans that could “cut your fingers right off” if you got too close.
I remember little boxes of cereal that opened up in back so you could eat it right out of the box. I remember that sometimes they leaked.
I remember cedar chests. (And the smell of.)
I remember “blond oak.”
I remember when the bigger the cuffs on blue jeans were the better.
I remember “5-Day Deodorant Pads.”
I remember “The Arthur Murray Party.”
I remember pony tail clips.
I remember “Chef Boy-ar-dee Spaghetti.”
I remember baby shoes hanging from car rear-view mirrors.
I remember bronzed baby shoes. Shriner hats. And the Campbell Soup kids.
I remember cold cream on my mother’s face.
I remember two-piece bathing suits. Alphabet soup. Ozzie and Harriet. And pictures of kidney-shaped swimming pools.
I remember a photograph in Life magazine of a woman jumping off a building.
I remember not understanding how the photographer could have just stood there and taken that picture.
I remember not understanding how very ugly or deformed people could stand it.
I remember a girl in junior high school who had a very thin black moustache.
I remember not understanding why women in dresses didn’t freeze their legs off in the winter time.
I remember a girl who had dead corsages all around her circular dressing table mirror.
I remember a brief period in high school when it was popular to spray a silver streak in your hair.
I remember that I was a year ahead of everyone in high school by wearing sneakers but I missed the point a bit because I always kept mine spotlessly clean.
I remember seeing a 3-D movie once and wearing red and green cellophane glasses. And 3-D comic books too.
I remember a series of Cadillac ads with beautiful diamond and ruby and emerald necklaces, according to the color of the car in the ad.
I remember the little monkey so small he would fit in the pa
lm of your hand that you had to sell so much of something for in order to get free. (Seeds or magazines or something like that.)
I remember in many comic books a full-page ad packed solid with rings. I remember especially one skull ring I always wanted.
I remember a red liquid medicine for cuts in a little brown bottle that “won’t sting” but it always did.
I remember stories about babies being born in taxi cabs.
I remember when Arthur Godfrey caused a big scandal by driving his airplane drunk and having a crash and killing someone, or something like that.
I remember the little appliqued diver on all Jantzen swimsuits.
I remember filling the ice trays too full and trying to get them back to the refrigerator without spilling any.
I remember not finding “The Little King” very funny.
I remember a piece of old wood with termites running around all over it the termite men found under our front porch.
I remember when one year in Tulsa by some freak of nature we were invaded by millions of grasshoppers for about three or four days. I remember, downtown, whole sidewalk areas of solid grasshoppers.
I remember a shoe store with a big brown x-ray machine that showed up the bones in your feet bright green.
I remember the “Goodyear” tire foot with wings. And the flying red horse.
I remember that watermelon is 99% water.
I remember posture pictures being taken at school and being told that I had really bad posture. And that was that.
I remember fire insurance ads of homeless families all wrapped up in blankets.
I remember little black and white Scottie dogs (plastic) each with a magnet on the bottom. I can’t remember exactly what they “did,” though.
I remember prophylactic machines in gas station bathrooms.
I remember that a used prophylactic was found one morning by the principal lying in the outstretched hand of “The Great Spirit”: a big bronze sculpture of an Indian on a horse looking up at the sky. That was in high school. Or maybe it was a used Kotex.
I remember talk about one drugstore that was easy to get them at.
I remember a short dumpy girl with long hair and pierced ears and giant tits that was supposed to be an easy lay.
I remember every other Saturday having to get a haircut. And how the barber was always clicking his scissors even when he wasn’t cutting anything.