Kenn Nesbitt

Willie had a stubborn wart upon his middle toe. Regardless, though, of what he tried the wart refused to go. So Willie went and visited his family foot physician, who instantly agreed it was a stubborn wart condition. The doctor tried to squeeze the wart. He tried to twist and turn it. He tried to scrape and shave the wart. He tried to boil and burn it. He poked it with a pair of tongs. He pulled it with his tweezers. He held it under heat lamps, and he crammed it into freezers. Regrettably these treatments were of very little use. He looked at it and sputtered, “Ach! I cannot get it loose!” “I’ll have to get some bigger tools to help me to dissect it. I’ll need to pound and pummel it, bombard it and inject it.” He whacked it with a hammer, and he yanked it with a wrench. He seared it with a welding torch despite the nasty stench. He drilled it with a power drill. He wrestled it with pliers. He zapped it with a million volts from large electric wires. He blasted it with gamma rays, besieged it with corrosives, assaulted it with dynamite and nuclear explosives. He hit the wart with everything, but when the smoke had cleared, poor Willie’s stubborn wart remained, and Willie’d disappeared.

Swimming in the swimming pool is where I like to “B,” wearing underwater goggles so that I can “C.” Yesterday, before I swam, I drank a cup of “T.” Now the pool’s a “swimming ool” because I took a “P.”

Today I managed something that I’ve never done before. I turned in this week’s spelling quiz and got a perfect score. Although my score was perfect, it appears I’m not too bright. I got a perfect zero— not a single answer right.

Inside my lunch to my surprise a perfect heart-shaped love note lies. The outside says, “Will you be mine?” and, “Will you be my valentine?” I take it out and wonder who would want to tell me “I love you.” Perhaps a girl who’s much too shy to hand it to me eye to eye. Or maybe it was sweetly penned in private by a secret friend Who found my lunchbox sitting by and slid the note in on the sly. Oh, I’d be thrilled if it were Jo, the cute one in the second row. Or could it be from Jennifer? Has she found out I’m sweet on her? My mind’s abuzz, my shoulders tense. I need no more of this suspense. My stomach lurching in my throat, I open up my little note. Then wham! as if it were a bomb, inside it reads, “I love you—Mom.”

We’re having a Halloween party at school. I’m dressed up like Dracula. Man, I look cool! I dyed my hair black, and I cut off my bangs. I’m wearing a cape and some fake plastic fangs. I put on some makeup to paint my face white, like creatures that only come out in the night. My fingernails, too, are all pointed and red. I look like I’m recently back from the dead. My mom drops me off, and I run into school and suddenly feel like the world’s biggest fool. The other kids stare like I’m some kind of freak— the Halloween party is not till next week.

“Good morning, dear students,” the principal said. “Please put down your pencils and go back to bed. Today we will spend the day playing outside, then take the whole school on a carnival ride. “We’ll learn to eat candy while watching TV, then listen to records and swing from a tree. We’ll also be learning to draw on the walls, to scream in the classrooms and run in the halls. “So bring in your skateboard, your scooter, your bike. It’s time to be different and do what you like. The teachers are going to give you a rest. You don’t have to study. There won’t be a test. “And if you’d prefer, for a bit of a change, feel free to go wild and act really strange. Go put on a clown suit and dye your hair green, and copy your face on the Xerox machine. “Tomorrow it’s back to the regular grind. Today, just go crazy. We really don’t mind. So tear up your homework. We’ll give you an A. Oh wait. I’m just kidding. It’s April Fools’ Day.”

Our substitute is strange because he looks a lot like Santa Claus. In fact, the moment he walked in we thought that he was Santa’s twin. We wouldn’t think it quite so weird, if it were just his snowy beard. But also he has big black boots and wears these fuzzy bright red suits. He’s got a rather rounded gut that’s like a bowl of you-know-what. And when he laughs, it’s deep and low and sounds a lot like “Ho! Ho! Ho!” He asks us all if we’ve been good and sleeping when we know we should. He talks of reindeers, sleighs, and elves and tells us to behave ourselves. And when it’s time for us to go he dashes out into the snow. But yesterday we figured out just what our sub is all about. We know just why he leaves so quick, and why he’s dressed like Old Saint Nick in hat and coat and boots and all: He’s working evenings at the mall.

A BB gun. A model plane. A basketball. A ’lectric train. A bicycle. A cowboy hat. A comic book. A baseball bat. A deck of cards. A science kit. A racing car. A catcher’s mitt. So that’s my list of everything that Santa Claus forgot to bring.