In the middle years of the 1930s, when everyone was unhappy and the history books have pictures to prove it, my father rode the rails from coast to coast and town to town learning to hate the many and varied relations on whose charity he lived. He started out a boy of eight, holding onto a small sister with one hand and a smaller dog with the other, and ended a boy of twelve.
Okay, folks, clearly I’m doing something a little different with this, my final column in this amazing space we all love so much. How could I let it be Businesslady as Usual during such a strange and transitional period?
I love lifting with a strength and dedication I didn’t know I was capable of. I love how much of what I learn in training is applicable to real life. This is growth. This is progress. This is not failure.
When I found out at the age of 22 that I was not somehow failing at being liked by others, but that a series of horribly well-meant mistakes by my parents, teachers and pediatricians had kept me from the autism diagnosis I should have had when I was eight, the only thing that cheered me up for months was hunting for serial killers in Copenhagen and Malmö.
If Barack Obama were your dad, you would know you shouldn't ask him for help with your government homework, but you’d do it anyway, and he would go on and on and on for so long it would be like the damn State of the Union. You wouldn't be able to escape, so you'd start keeping track of how many times he said "Let me be clear" (15).
Today in Ms. Frizzle's class we were learning about the body. "What body?" Carlos kept asking anyone who would listen. "Somebody." Ms. Frizzle laughed uproariously every time he said it. "Somebody! That's good, Carlos!" Ms. Frizzle was in a good mood today.
Thank you for being the kindest, cleverest, most wonderful people. The Bartender will miss pictures of all your animals, your advice, your brilliant hilarity, and the goodness and care you show one another.
Hardly any of these things are on sale today because when I commit to a theme, rules be damned! This is the last Bargain Bin here at The Toast. Don't ask me what we're gonna do now because I do not even know. Just jerk off all day, I guess?