Show and Tell...

Show and tell is rather like a rite of passage for the elementary years, I don't remember them much after grade school. I think the last conscious memory of it is second grade? My family was rather shall we say below the poverty level during this time. I remember feeling incredibly jealous as the cabbage patch craze was beginning to sweep the nation; care bears, and mon chi chi, were also nominal stars within our classroom. I myself was never a recipient of fore said items, as gifts in our house were determined by holidays and were often necessary items like socks, shoes, and I even remember having to write an ingratiating thank you note to my Grandparents for underwear. It was not unusual to receive a wrapped and re boxed piece of second hand clothing from a cousin or even my one outgrown by my older brother, for a birthday present or Christmas gift.
As second oldest; items I outgrew would in turn be given to my younger siblings, or cousins in a long line of use. I don't remember an affinity to any one item but in retrospect it makes it harder to deduce singular family photographs as the clothing appears more as a stylish imprint than a personal reflection of choice. To clarify: an article of clothing in my family would remind one of the time it was produced or of its intended audience. For example you wouldn't say the orange footie pajamas belonged to Jason, my older brother as there are photographs of each child wearing the orange footies. (I secretly believe that all the photographs are of Jason and as each child grew the effort of tracking and scrap booking new achievements lessened with each passing.)

It was after one such display that I'm not sure if it was the want to be included that I anxiously told the teacher I wanted to be part of the weekly show and tell, or if I was trying to get attention from a classmate, I was a bit of a Casanova during the formative years. The playground was comprised of large construction grade tires in varying patterns. A different type of show and tell was often perpetuated within the reinforced folds of steel cables and rubber. My best friend at the time and cohort was a girl named Megan. Not that I can blame all of my problems on members of the fair sex, but I heartily believe that this may have been the motivating force. Hard to believe I was ever under such influence.

I'm sure there are a few of you who have many memories of show and tell performances, mine was a solo endeavor. So the memory is quite vivid. There were only two pieces of exciting news that were deemed newsworthy. Angelina one of my classmates had successfully played midwife to her pregnant pet and announced that 7 puppies would soon be available for adoption, her mother then opened a large box and several black and white balls of fur were carefully extracted. The puppies were paraded up and down each row of students and their frightened shivering bodies were manhandled by no less that 30 students. I suspect there was an ulterior motive as her mother also distributed a flyer which included a phone number and a black and white photograph of her view of the most attractive and hence therefore desirable puppy. I'm sure this had been her parents attempt to stave of the inevitable foray of dropping the puppies to the pound or an afternoon hawking them beside the K-Mart.

Compared to the miracle of birth, mine was less earth shattering, but I proceeded nonetheless. It was early march and a chill wind was still blowing in the early mornings as I walked to school each morning, but today I had awoken to find a brown paper package with my name as recipient. There were four other packages as well, each one addressed to a different child and posted from Pittsburgh, PA. This was a rare occurrence, there were no birthdays, Christmas and Easter had passed. The Pennsylvania address only added to the mystique as we didn't know anyone who lived there. Upon opening the box there was a note from my uncle who had recently been accepted to play football with the Steelers. Inside was a jacket with yellow sleeves and a black body, a team insignia sewn over the left breast. It was brand new and it was mine. Each of my brothers opened to find similar jackets for the Dallas Cowboys, the Oakland Raiders. Whether my uncle had meant for me to have the jacket of the team he was now a member of or by sheer coincidence mattered not I felt special, unique, and different. Perhaps I just wanted to share that feeling with the world. Perhaps we never change and are still searching for that feeling today.