February 13, 2013 Article

The Old Coot is afraid to repeat.

By Merlin Lessler

 

It’s funny how a certain word, a seemingly innocuous word, can send you reeling. “Repeat” is such a word for me. An “ugh” word. It started in grade school, as it was called back when I attended Public School #13. I served my sentence for 7 years, from kindergarten thru 6^th grade. I got out on good behavior, because REPEAT was a threat the teachers hung over my head. “Print neatly or you will have to REPEAT your work!” – “Write on the top line of your paper, I will not shoot spit balls in class, and REPEAT it 100 times.” And, “Pay attention or you’ll have to REPEAT 3^rd grade.” They used it to get us to stop saying ain’t. They used it to make us memorize that 9 times 7 was 63. And, they used it to make us behave.

 

Every time I was sent to the dreaded cloak room for acting up, that long narrow closet at the back of the classroom, I was reminded that I might have to REPEAT the grade if I didn’t shape up. I lived in a state of dread! Even the kids whose papers were plastered with gold stars were under the REREAT gun. Good marks didn’t guarantee you’d get promoted.

 

But, I also figured out if you were REAL bad, your behavior could trump your poor grades. It might even guarantee your promotion to the next grade. The teacher would move you along so she didn’t get stuck with you for another miserable year. It’s why the bully that started kindergarten with me, kept moving ahead, in spite of spending more time in the hall, the cloakroom and the principal’s office than at his desk in the front row, within an eraser throw from the teacher.  

 

It wasn’t just in the school where the REPEAT word haunted my generation. It popped up all over the place: when I mowed the neighbor’s lawn (for the grand sum of one dollar) and left a few islands of tall grass between the rows, I was told to REPEAT the whole job. When I mumbled, “Damn,” under my breath and was ordered to REPEAT what I’d just said; it got me sent to my room for the afternoon with the awful taste of Ivory soap in my mouth. REPEAT dominated my childhood. Especially, when I was within reach of a mother (any mother) or a teacher. They claimed to have eyes in the back of their heads and I believed it. I couldn’t get away with anything.

 

Now, I’m the one using the REPEAT word, preceded by the WHAT word. It can’t be my hearing can it? It has to be that people are talking softer these days. Maybe they communicate by text message so much that their vocal chords have dried up. TV sets, too, don’t seem as loud as they once did. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s global warming. All I know is I’m saying REPEAT all the time. REPEAT haunted me as a kid and now it’s back, haunting me as an old coot.