Very cute girl and she was nice to me. Really liked her a lot and sort of intended to fall in love with her some day but never got around to it to the point that I got overly nervous. I sat right by her and that helped keep it real. I used to pretty much go through the winter with wet pants and shoes from the walks through the snow, as I have mentioned, so I seemed to have a perpetual cold also. I guess I had been constantly sniffing so one day Erica blurted out, "Scott, Use a Kleenex!" I was surprised and enlightened because I had thought that anything was better than hearing someone blow their nose in public and that is why I had just kept on sniffing. That was Sixth Grade.
Erica got into gymnastics, which eventually would have meant that I would have worshipped her, but after the Seventh Grade, she moved away or whatever. Really great girl, she was. Got up and spoke at a rally in the Junior High auditorium once. Very cute. Very nice. Very real. Very honest. Often wore long pigtails. More or less blonde hair, or light brown.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Fifth
Don't remember her name anymore. Liked some girl with bushy blonde hair in Fifth Grade. I think she was only there for a year.
Nanette Barrutia and Linda Ramos
Fourth Grade was interesting because we had half of our class filled with Third-Graders. Some weeks, I liked Nanette more than Linda and other weeks, Linda more than Nanette. When it came time to give them valentines, I naturally edited theirs specially. Like where it originally said "Be Mine" I wrote "Don't" in front of it, and so forth.
I got in trouble for this. I don't remember whether an adult was involved. Mainly it was one of the girls in the class that spread the news of this mean deed around the classroom. I don't know how many years may have passed before they all realized why I had done it.
In case you still don't get it, I did it because I had a crush on them.
Russell was my buddy at school, all through elementary school. He was in my class this year and had the exact same thing going on with Nanette and Linda (who were best friends, by the way). We had to wrestle after school sometimes to settle who had to settle for the second-best loved girl of the two, whoever that may have been. It changed from time to time; sometimes we liked the same girl best and other times we didn't have to compete. - As if we ever talked to them or anything anyway, but it was important to settle between ourselves nonetheless.
Linda had straight, shiny black hair, bobbed.
Nanette had long brown ringlets, tied back.
I got in trouble for this. I don't remember whether an adult was involved. Mainly it was one of the girls in the class that spread the news of this mean deed around the classroom. I don't know how many years may have passed before they all realized why I had done it.
In case you still don't get it, I did it because I had a crush on them.
Russell was my buddy at school, all through elementary school. He was in my class this year and had the exact same thing going on with Nanette and Linda (who were best friends, by the way). We had to wrestle after school sometimes to settle who had to settle for the second-best loved girl of the two, whoever that may have been. It changed from time to time; sometimes we liked the same girl best and other times we didn't have to compete. - As if we ever talked to them or anything anyway, but it was important to settle between ourselves nonetheless.
Linda had straight, shiny black hair, bobbed.
Nanette had long brown ringlets, tied back.
Leslie Smith
Third Grade, Leslie Smith. I think. It's been a while since I told my sister but I know Leslie is in there somewhere. But I don't remember anything else about it.
However, we used to shoot notes up and down the aisles between our desks, and one time I got one from Linda Perkins that said "I love you." This was exciting. Never said a word to her though, I don't think, nothing personal anyway. Like I would have any idea of any personal thing to say.
It probably fulfilled her as well.
Unless I checked the wrong box and shot it back up the aisle - but I don't remember. No, I don't think this note had boxes to check. So it was probably all good.
But this did little to shake my conviction that no girl would ever want me. But it did boost my confidence from Gollum level to about wall flower level.
However, we used to shoot notes up and down the aisles between our desks, and one time I got one from Linda Perkins that said "I love you." This was exciting. Never said a word to her though, I don't think, nothing personal anyway. Like I would have any idea of any personal thing to say.
It probably fulfilled her as well.
Unless I checked the wrong box and shot it back up the aisle - but I don't remember. No, I don't think this note had boxes to check. So it was probably all good.
But this did little to shake my conviction that no girl would ever want me. But it did boost my confidence from Gollum level to about wall flower level.
When You're a Kid and You Think No One is Listening
Just when you think you're safe and secret, which is a secure feeling I always craved as a kid, you probably are being watched, listened to, or are in someones intuitive radar range.
I used to have all kinds of secret, quiet, sacred places around my yard. I used to dream of having my own secret hole under the grass by the tennis courts on the town square across from where my mother grew up. In this hole, I was basically just buried under the grass but with a golf ball sized hole to breathe. No one could get my back.
Anyway, one night I was sleeping in the garage with my sister but not in the loft. We thought it was just us. We were staying up and talking. It was always very hard for me to quit talking and say goodnight to my sister, especially if she would go to sleep first. I would sometimes have to ask her if she was asleep yet. Come to think of it, I have always been that way ever since. All through my 20's even, I just could never let the night end, whether with my friends or alone after they crashed. I took many a night ride on the old Triumph.
So anyway, we were talking and I told her the name of each girl I loved in each grade I had been in so far. I'm not sure when it was - I guess all the way up through about the 8th grade. After I finished this saga, my brother's voice came from the loft to be quiet so he could sleep. I was mortified. I could tell my sister that stuff, but not my brother - not like that.
I used to have all kinds of secret, quiet, sacred places around my yard. I used to dream of having my own secret hole under the grass by the tennis courts on the town square across from where my mother grew up. In this hole, I was basically just buried under the grass but with a golf ball sized hole to breathe. No one could get my back.
Anyway, one night I was sleeping in the garage with my sister but not in the loft. We thought it was just us. We were staying up and talking. It was always very hard for me to quit talking and say goodnight to my sister, especially if she would go to sleep first. I would sometimes have to ask her if she was asleep yet. Come to think of it, I have always been that way ever since. All through my 20's even, I just could never let the night end, whether with my friends or alone after they crashed. I took many a night ride on the old Triumph.
So anyway, we were talking and I told her the name of each girl I loved in each grade I had been in so far. I'm not sure when it was - I guess all the way up through about the 8th grade. After I finished this saga, my brother's voice came from the loft to be quiet so he could sleep. I was mortified. I could tell my sister that stuff, but not my brother - not like that.
Susan - she was the first
In the first grade, we each had our own desk. One day, we got a new girl in our class - she was pretty girly. I hated her. She sat behind me and to the right. So I kept one eye on her to see what she did and made sure I didn't do the same. Like how she had her feet or whether she sucked on her pencil.
After a couple of days or weeks or maybe it was just a day, I fell in love with a girl for the very first time, i.e., Susan. Musta been watching her too closely.
At some point, she dropped her little plastic, gold-painted toy ring and lost it. Being fully cognizant, I picked it up after school. Gold was rubbed off and it was broken into 2 or 3 pieces. I sucked on it all the way home. In order to get all her germs.
Whoa!
That's all I remember.
After a couple of days or weeks or maybe it was just a day, I fell in love with a girl for the very first time, i.e., Susan. Musta been watching her too closely.
At some point, she dropped her little plastic, gold-painted toy ring and lost it. Being fully cognizant, I picked it up after school. Gold was rubbed off and it was broken into 2 or 3 pieces. I sucked on it all the way home. In order to get all her germs.
Whoa!
That's all I remember.
Gina Webb
Gina was cute so I had to like her too.
I grew up thinking I would never be able to marry because I would never know how or have the guts to make it through a date, plus I knew that no girl would ever want me since I had red hair.
However, during a phase of temporary insanity, in the 8th grade, in Mr. McCleve's art class, wherein we were watching a movie on closed-circuit TV, I sort of forgot my convictions and found myself playing footsie with Gina who was sitting in front of me.
I really liked her a lot, but I guess I didn't love her enough to be too too nervous. I should have. She was very cute and very cool.
Anyway, at some later point, she approached me in the hall and asked me whether I intended to go to the stomp (definition: after school dance where some girls dance with some boys and stomp their feet to simulate dancing while BTO records are played loudly and most of the kids stand holding up the walls). I said no I had not planned on it. Well, go. Why? And then I'm not sure how the conversation ended. Probably that IS how it ended. Anyway, knowing I had red hair and all of that, it did not occur to me at the time that she wanted me to go for any particular reason. And that was that.
Love you Gina. Hope you're well.
I grew up thinking I would never be able to marry because I would never know how or have the guts to make it through a date, plus I knew that no girl would ever want me since I had red hair.
However, during a phase of temporary insanity, in the 8th grade, in Mr. McCleve's art class, wherein we were watching a movie on closed-circuit TV, I sort of forgot my convictions and found myself playing footsie with Gina who was sitting in front of me.
I really liked her a lot, but I guess I didn't love her enough to be too too nervous. I should have. She was very cute and very cool.
Anyway, at some later point, she approached me in the hall and asked me whether I intended to go to the stomp (definition: after school dance where some girls dance with some boys and stomp their feet to simulate dancing while BTO records are played loudly and most of the kids stand holding up the walls). I said no I had not planned on it. Well, go. Why? And then I'm not sure how the conversation ended. Probably that IS how it ended. Anyway, knowing I had red hair and all of that, it did not occur to me at the time that she wanted me to go for any particular reason. And that was that.
Love you Gina. Hope you're well.
Sandra Lovato
When I was 12, I had a crush on Sandra Lovato. In the backs of the comic books and the Boy's Life's, the prize I coveted most for selling seeds was the bugle. I thought it would be cool to blow reveille out the back door in her honor before going to school each day. I never said nuthin' to her. No, I don't mean about the bugle - I mean nuthin.' Then we broke up.
Here's my ritual: when I officially fell in love with her (after thinking about it after the first day of 7th grade, in the garage loft where I and my brother and sister always slept, and thinking that yeah, I could love this girl), I wrote her name on a small scrap of paper - or maybe it was mushier, like Scott & Sandra or something. I then tore it into small pieces and wrapped the pieces up in another small piece of paper and enclosed it in masking tape while attaching it to a cotton string which I wore around my neck (waking, sleeping or taking a bath) for most of the 7th grade. Then one day in Spring, with a bunch of guys playing softball during gym, feeling comradery with them, and macho, I decided I'd had enough of this relationship and I told them so. So that was it - no more crush and after school, up in the ditch behind the garage, I performed the closing ceremony: unwrap the shredded note, glue it all back together and burn the whole thing. Boy - and my sister-in-law said I wasn't romantic. Huh.
There is a place on Mt. Timpanogos near the saddle (ridge) just below the summit where you can kind of make your way off the trail and over to a spring and some small cliffs. One day, while I was still in this relationship, I pulled one of the square rocks (formed by freezing and thawing?) out from the cliff and wrote on the part that would be inside when I put it back, some other mushy note about Sandra, like maybe her name and maybe mine. And stuck it back in.
Here's my ritual: when I officially fell in love with her (after thinking about it after the first day of 7th grade, in the garage loft where I and my brother and sister always slept, and thinking that yeah, I could love this girl), I wrote her name on a small scrap of paper - or maybe it was mushier, like Scott & Sandra or something. I then tore it into small pieces and wrapped the pieces up in another small piece of paper and enclosed it in masking tape while attaching it to a cotton string which I wore around my neck (waking, sleeping or taking a bath) for most of the 7th grade. Then one day in Spring, with a bunch of guys playing softball during gym, feeling comradery with them, and macho, I decided I'd had enough of this relationship and I told them so. So that was it - no more crush and after school, up in the ditch behind the garage, I performed the closing ceremony: unwrap the shredded note, glue it all back together and burn the whole thing. Boy - and my sister-in-law said I wasn't romantic. Huh.
There is a place on Mt. Timpanogos near the saddle (ridge) just below the summit where you can kind of make your way off the trail and over to a spring and some small cliffs. One day, while I was still in this relationship, I pulled one of the square rocks (formed by freezing and thawing?) out from the cliff and wrote on the part that would be inside when I put it back, some other mushy note about Sandra, like maybe her name and maybe mine. And stuck it back in.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Introduction
The following is a collection of my childhood memories. I do not guarantee absolute accuracy, but I do guarantee I'm not making it up; it's all from my actual visual memory, though some details may have changed order, size, shape or color while in storage.
I was starting kinnygarden today. I would learn how to spell and pronounce it years later. I hopped a 180 and landed on my hands and knees over my newly ironed, brown and tan plaid shirt I was to put on, that mother had laid on the clean rug near the front room (which served as my bedroom and whoever else lived at the house that wasn't a girl or a parent).
I lined up with the other kids for our first day outside in front of the stairs. I seem to remember leaves on the ground. A sculpted masonry marquee over the entrance (which was about a half a dozen steps above ground - imagine that: Of all the other entrances into the school, the kindergarten had the highest above ground. The 4th grade had one above ground, but not as high; the rest had ground level entrances from outside, but once inside on the tile, there were indoor stairs to climb) that read, "KINDERGARTEN ~ 1910." But I could not read.
I was second-to-last in line. LJ was behind me. He had a tie.
I remember the door. I remember approaching and passing through it when I was late one day and terrified, even though my brother John was with me.
The school was had a smooth stucco veneer, painted white with turquois or aqua trim. It stayed that way through my career.
A well-maintained, black-painted iron fence lined the entire front of the school. It had a concrete base about a foot high. We used to walk along the sloped top of the base, holding onto the iron. One day after school as we were so engaged (but I was not present), the twins' little sister was crushed into the iron by a car that had gone off the road. It made a concave spot in the iron. She lived.
We had fallout shelter signs on the poles along the street, but we never really realized what they were. I don't remember doing the drills. I started kindergarten in 1965.
Sometimes kids fell on their head from the jungle gyms and stuff. Bill broke his arm swinging on the high pullup bar when he dropped to the ground. We didn't have anything special under the various bars, just sand or hard asphalt. The girls twirled on the girl twirl bars in front of the 1st grade. They usually used their coats under their crooked knee as they clasped their hands under the bar and in front of their shin. Their hair would sweep the sand below, raising a dust sometimes, and digging the hole deeper.
We all steered clear of girls. Twirling was one thing they could do better. We kind of ignored that. Wrote it off as a sissy thing.
My kindergarten teacher was Mrs. Bigelow. But then it was Mrs. Nelson, I think. Something to do with a rearrangement because of someone having a baby.
We always had to wear our boots (galoshes) out of the house if there was snow. This would have kept our pants and feet dry if we ever wore them all the way to school. We would ditch them in the irrigation ditch if we felt lucky. Until I was in high school, I always had wet Converse on my feet and wet Levi's on my legs in winter. If I had had a cold and was coughing up sputem, my Levi's would be all the wetter because I didn't know what else to do with it; I would spit into my hand and wipe it on my thigh. It soaked it up well enough and dried before school was out.
I still have my purple bath towel with some adhesive medical tape sewn in one corner for to write my name, which has since all washed off. But the tape is still intact. This is a magic towel; I still have all these memories because I kept the towel. I just made that up. Anyway, this towel was for laying on to take a nap every day. A girl used to get to be the fairy and wake us up one by one by touching us with a wand with a star on the end. And there was a crown for her to wear. I don't know that I ever went to sleep though.
We learned to tell time in the second grade. We had workbooks for it. I didn't get it. I learned how later on. In second grade, it was our last year before they had school lunches. I remember having dry, salted thanksgiving turkey and butter between two slices of homemade, whole wheat bread, which was even drier, wrapped in wax paper (enabling it to dry the more), for my lunch to eat at my desk. After school, we cleaned off our desks, put our chairs upside down on top of the desk, and stood at attention until dismissed. I had a private tradition of choosing and humming a top-40 tune in my head at this point, in preparation for having a top-40 tune stuck in my head as I went about the rest of my day at home. I remember one day in particular: I chose "All the Lonely People." By the Beatles, of course. I remember Colleen Strong from that year. I remember her exclaiming to me as we lined up to go into the building (over at the NorthEast corner of the building, by the jungle gym and the teacher's parking lot, which had a single row, enough for oh, about 20 cars at the most, maybe less) that we were in the same stake! That's a church thing.
Some people who might read such isolated and particular memories I have, in which they are a player, may get a little nervous about what else I remember. Well, let me tell you, I remember it all. Especially if it was embarrassing. But nobody cares now. Still, I may not record everything; I have some that were quite devastating to some kids, bless their hearts.
Paul Kingston was my buddy at recess in the second grade. He had a kind of a leadership quality and a purple bike. He was down-to-earth enough to play with me, but despite this, he became our high school student body president. We had one thing in common though: we were both pretty decent distance runners. He did more with it though.
In third grade, we began rotating classes to different teachers somewhat. We had Mrs. Malstrom for home room but spent some time also in Miss Sinegaard's class. She took my huge spider away, which I had scored trick-or-treating. I had obviously brought it to scare Sydnie Cazier in Mrs. Malstrom's class, but was foolish enough to let it out of my pocket while in Miss Sinegaard's. Miss Sinegaard tried to die her hair once, and it turned green. We called her a witch, but looking back, I remember her as a good-natured soul in challenging circumstances.
Alan Sugino sat behind me in her class. He always got his work done early. One time, upon finishing (I think it was math), he brought out a little green piece of paper to draw on. I copied him. I tried to finish early too, and draw. As time went on, I bothered less and less to finish, and just cut to the drawing part early, or even first-thing and whole thing. Alan kept up on his work he was supposed to do, and became an honor student and a Phd. He was Paul's buddy too, and probably still is. The last time I saw either one of them (in 1982), they were together.
In the 9th grade, Alan and I somehow made it to the final championship match as opponents in our weight class, in the intramural school tournament. Usually, in gym, my legs would be purple. One day, my arms were the solid color of grape juice. I remember at one of the after-school wrestling matches, laying behind the scoring table to hide my legs from the girls and spectators. But I digress. I didn't expect Alan to beat me or give me much of a fight, because although I was very quiet, he was quieter. The bigger your mouth, the tougher you are, right? I barely - BARELY beat him. In fact, I suspect he let me have it in the end, just because he was more shy. Let me tell you, he was strong. We didn't know how to wrestle then, so being strong was key. Through it all, I learned who was strong and who had a big mouth, or a bigger intimidation than they could back up.
Speaking of the teacher's parking lot, I remember being over there one day, watching some electric line workers do their job, and learning from the dialogue between they and my big-mouth friends that electricity could get you through a wet stick. There was a wet stick in the puddle there.
Speaking of big-mouth friends (every kid was a big mouth compared to me), I used to stand there while they would bug professionals doing their job, and I would always learn something. One day, we were watching a sign painter paint a sign right in situ down on State Street. He painted straight perfect lines while my friend peppered him with questions. I tried to tell him to shut up and quit bugging the man, but the man just mocked me because I guess he wasn't bothered.
The following is a collection of my childhood memories. I do not guarantee absolute accuracy, but I do guarantee I'm not making it up; it's all from my actual visual memory, though some details may have changed order, size, shape or color while in storage.
I was starting kinnygarden today. I would learn how to spell and pronounce it years later. I hopped a 180 and landed on my hands and knees over my newly ironed, brown and tan plaid shirt I was to put on, that mother had laid on the clean rug near the front room (which served as my bedroom and whoever else lived at the house that wasn't a girl or a parent).
I lined up with the other kids for our first day outside in front of the stairs. I seem to remember leaves on the ground. A sculpted masonry marquee over the entrance (which was about a half a dozen steps above ground - imagine that: Of all the other entrances into the school, the kindergarten had the highest above ground. The 4th grade had one above ground, but not as high; the rest had ground level entrances from outside, but once inside on the tile, there were indoor stairs to climb) that read, "KINDERGARTEN ~ 1910." But I could not read.
I was second-to-last in line. LJ was behind me. He had a tie.
I remember the door. I remember approaching and passing through it when I was late one day and terrified, even though my brother John was with me.
The school was had a smooth stucco veneer, painted white with turquois or aqua trim. It stayed that way through my career.
A well-maintained, black-painted iron fence lined the entire front of the school. It had a concrete base about a foot high. We used to walk along the sloped top of the base, holding onto the iron. One day after school as we were so engaged (but I was not present), the twins' little sister was crushed into the iron by a car that had gone off the road. It made a concave spot in the iron. She lived.
We had fallout shelter signs on the poles along the street, but we never really realized what they were. I don't remember doing the drills. I started kindergarten in 1965.
Sometimes kids fell on their head from the jungle gyms and stuff. Bill broke his arm swinging on the high pullup bar when he dropped to the ground. We didn't have anything special under the various bars, just sand or hard asphalt. The girls twirled on the girl twirl bars in front of the 1st grade. They usually used their coats under their crooked knee as they clasped their hands under the bar and in front of their shin. Their hair would sweep the sand below, raising a dust sometimes, and digging the hole deeper.
We all steered clear of girls. Twirling was one thing they could do better. We kind of ignored that. Wrote it off as a sissy thing.
My kindergarten teacher was Mrs. Bigelow. But then it was Mrs. Nelson, I think. Something to do with a rearrangement because of someone having a baby.
We always had to wear our boots (galoshes) out of the house if there was snow. This would have kept our pants and feet dry if we ever wore them all the way to school. We would ditch them in the irrigation ditch if we felt lucky. Until I was in high school, I always had wet Converse on my feet and wet Levi's on my legs in winter. If I had had a cold and was coughing up sputem, my Levi's would be all the wetter because I didn't know what else to do with it; I would spit into my hand and wipe it on my thigh. It soaked it up well enough and dried before school was out.
I still have my purple bath towel with some adhesive medical tape sewn in one corner for to write my name, which has since all washed off. But the tape is still intact. This is a magic towel; I still have all these memories because I kept the towel. I just made that up. Anyway, this towel was for laying on to take a nap every day. A girl used to get to be the fairy and wake us up one by one by touching us with a wand with a star on the end. And there was a crown for her to wear. I don't know that I ever went to sleep though.
We learned to tell time in the second grade. We had workbooks for it. I didn't get it. I learned how later on. In second grade, it was our last year before they had school lunches. I remember having dry, salted thanksgiving turkey and butter between two slices of homemade, whole wheat bread, which was even drier, wrapped in wax paper (enabling it to dry the more), for my lunch to eat at my desk. After school, we cleaned off our desks, put our chairs upside down on top of the desk, and stood at attention until dismissed. I had a private tradition of choosing and humming a top-40 tune in my head at this point, in preparation for having a top-40 tune stuck in my head as I went about the rest of my day at home. I remember one day in particular: I chose "All the Lonely People." By the Beatles, of course. I remember Colleen Strong from that year. I remember her exclaiming to me as we lined up to go into the building (over at the NorthEast corner of the building, by the jungle gym and the teacher's parking lot, which had a single row, enough for oh, about 20 cars at the most, maybe less) that we were in the same stake! That's a church thing.
Some people who might read such isolated and particular memories I have, in which they are a player, may get a little nervous about what else I remember. Well, let me tell you, I remember it all. Especially if it was embarrassing. But nobody cares now. Still, I may not record everything; I have some that were quite devastating to some kids, bless their hearts.
Paul Kingston was my buddy at recess in the second grade. He had a kind of a leadership quality and a purple bike. He was down-to-earth enough to play with me, but despite this, he became our high school student body president. We had one thing in common though: we were both pretty decent distance runners. He did more with it though.
In third grade, we began rotating classes to different teachers somewhat. We had Mrs. Malstrom for home room but spent some time also in Miss Sinegaard's class. She took my huge spider away, which I had scored trick-or-treating. I had obviously brought it to scare Sydnie Cazier in Mrs. Malstrom's class, but was foolish enough to let it out of my pocket while in Miss Sinegaard's. Miss Sinegaard tried to die her hair once, and it turned green. We called her a witch, but looking back, I remember her as a good-natured soul in challenging circumstances.
Alan Sugino sat behind me in her class. He always got his work done early. One time, upon finishing (I think it was math), he brought out a little green piece of paper to draw on. I copied him. I tried to finish early too, and draw. As time went on, I bothered less and less to finish, and just cut to the drawing part early, or even first-thing and whole thing. Alan kept up on his work he was supposed to do, and became an honor student and a Phd. He was Paul's buddy too, and probably still is. The last time I saw either one of them (in 1982), they were together.
In the 9th grade, Alan and I somehow made it to the final championship match as opponents in our weight class, in the intramural school tournament. Usually, in gym, my legs would be purple. One day, my arms were the solid color of grape juice. I remember at one of the after-school wrestling matches, laying behind the scoring table to hide my legs from the girls and spectators. But I digress. I didn't expect Alan to beat me or give me much of a fight, because although I was very quiet, he was quieter. The bigger your mouth, the tougher you are, right? I barely - BARELY beat him. In fact, I suspect he let me have it in the end, just because he was more shy. Let me tell you, he was strong. We didn't know how to wrestle then, so being strong was key. Through it all, I learned who was strong and who had a big mouth, or a bigger intimidation than they could back up.
Speaking of the teacher's parking lot, I remember being over there one day, watching some electric line workers do their job, and learning from the dialogue between they and my big-mouth friends that electricity could get you through a wet stick. There was a wet stick in the puddle there.
Speaking of big-mouth friends (every kid was a big mouth compared to me), I used to stand there while they would bug professionals doing their job, and I would always learn something. One day, we were watching a sign painter paint a sign right in situ down on State Street. He painted straight perfect lines while my friend peppered him with questions. I tried to tell him to shut up and quit bugging the man, but the man just mocked me because I guess he wasn't bothered.
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