Second Grade Journal #3: My Knowledge of Holiday Characters Revealed

When my parents told me that the Tooth Fairy isn’t real, I cried. I was sad when I found out that the Easter Bunny isn’t real. When I figured out that Santa isn’t real, I was pissed. No wonder, given the amount of time and thought I—and my parents, and my teachers—had put into my believing in their existence.

Example #1: The Easter Bunny

 Transcript/Translation:

April 1, 1997

Dear Journal,

On Easter I heard the Easter Bunny. It was 12:00 at night and I was awake. Then I heard a “shh shh shh,” I knew it was the Easter Bunny so I quickly shut my eyes. Then I heard a “chhhhh,” it sounded like keys in an egg. Then I heard two of those noises like that. And then I opened my eyes and I herd, “thump-thump-thump.” And that’s all I heard.

Your friend, Brian

So the Easter Bunny carries keys. How happy my parents (the big fat liars) must have been when they saw how willing I was to believe that the Easter Bunny probably drove a KIA sedan from house to house.

Example #2: Santa Claus / St. Nicholas

Transcript/Translation 

December 5, 1996

Dear Journal,

Tonight, St. Nicholas is coming. I know how St. Nicholas got his job. There were three poor ladies that needed to get married, and then St. Nick came and dropped three bags of gold down the chimney.

Your friend, Brian

Apparently at this time we were taught that Santa Claus and St. Nicholas were two different people. This inconsistency should have tipped me off. When Christie heard about this, she was all, “You got two Santas?! Not fair!” And I was like, “No, Santa Claus gave us the big stuff; St. Nick only came for three years and put Sixlets tubes and Hershey Kisses in our shoes. He’s the lamer, less sanitary Christmas character. As for the three poor ladies, I have no idea where that came from."

How did I find this out in the first place? Was it my horrible teachers? Or did I get my information from some other source? I can just picture myself sitting next to a drunk Santa Claus and him telling me, “So there were these three broads who were in need of some cash, and I was all, 'I have some gold for you nice ladies'…”

What are the chances that St. Nick is a pimp?

EDIT: Upon further review and internet searches, the story of the “three poor ladies” is actually a legitimate tale from the St. Nicholas lore. 

UNRELATED SIDE NOTE:

Can I just say that

 I wish Americans would

 adopt Krampus into their

Christmas traditions?

 Austria does it.

And it sounds awesome.

Second Grade Journal #2: My Genderless Best Friend

My second grade self is a mystery. I’ve noticed a strange trend in my journal entries, which I think needs some investigation. It starts here, in the third week of second grade, in this confusing entry.

Transcript/Translation

September 17, 1996

Dear Journal,

Today we had P.E. and played Ninja Turtles. 

Today at recess we played Kick (?) …again, it was fun. 

When I get home my best friend is going to my best friend’s house and 

my best friend’s house is across the street from mine.

Your friend, 

Brian

This entry brings up many questions.

1. How do you play Ninja Turtles in Phy. Ed.?
2. What the hell is “Kick”?
3. My drawing skill hasn't changed much in thirteen years. More of a comment than a question, I suppose.
4. What’s the deal with this “best friend” business? I’ve narrowed it down to three possible meanings:
1. I am talking about one person. What I’m saying is that my best friend, who lives across the street from me, is going home.
2. I have two best friends. One of them is going to the other’s house which just so happens to be right across the street from my house. My two best friends hanging out together can only mean great fun for me.
3. I am simply relaying my two best friends’ after school schedules. I’m not involved.

This could have been a lot clearer if I had used some names. How I discuss this friend becomes more ominous later in the year.

 Transcript/Translation

January 9, 1997

Dear Journal,

Tonight I am going to play football with my dad. 

Tomorrow I am going to write a letter to the 49ers. 

Today I am going to play basketball with my friend.

Your friend, Brian.

A few things to note about this one:

1. It’s entirely about sports. And if you think back to what I wrote on this subject yesterday, you can see how entwined I become by sports’ sticky web. (There’s no future for you in sports, Brian! You can spend your time in more productive ways!)
2. I’m writing a fan letter to the 49ers. This was obviously to make myself feel better for being forced to write one to the Packers. (Suck on that, Mrs. Johnson!)
3. I’m going to play basketball with a “friend.” Nameless. This is strange because, mostly, when I wrote about my friends, I named them. Example:

Transcript/Translation

October 10, 1996

Dear Journal,

Today we had Art. We made a landscape. I got to paint most of it. 

At morning recess Andrew, Dustin and I played

 with a hoop thing that looked like this…

Three little boys playing together at recess. Names fully disclosed. But no, when I talk about this other “friend” of mine, I leave no name whatsoever. Who is this secret friend? Perhaps this entry from a few months later explains a little…

Transcript/Translation

April 2, 1997

The last day of our spring vacation, my sister received something in the mail. We got Beanie Babies. My sister got a bunny and I got a lizard. She was called Lizzy and it was a girl, but I changed it to a boy and I changed its name to LIZZER!

Eeeeeenteresting.

I remember now. This friend, my childhood best friend, the only one I lived close enough to play with every day, was a girl named Brooke. We hung out all the time, played all kinds of sports, and because I was apparently such a bigoted chauvinist, I withheld her name from my second grade journal in order to maintain my dignity as a man.

What a pig. 

Second Grade Journal: I tend to lie about my interests.

I’ve always hated sports. When I look back to all my days of being in sports—football, basketball, baseball—I always hated it. I went through probably two years of confusion, though, in second grade when my family moved to La Crosse. Everyone cared about football, especially the Packers, who my family told me I should probably hate because we’re from Minnesota and we have our loyalties already.

(A note on the Packer loyalty/a-little-more-than-loyalty/obsession: You have not seen team obsession until you’ve come to Wisconsin. Packer mailboxes? Yes. Packer license plates? Yes. Kids’ rooms with green and yellow walls, packer bedspreads, and memorabilia on the walls, including a cup of dirt from Lambeau field, which they treat like something more than a cup of dirt? Yes. THIS IS WISCONSIN.)

So when I came to school, I had to face daily the question: Do Vikings rule and Packers drool, or is it the other way around? For many of my classmates, that was their only argument; when asked to give a logical explanation, they would only be able to repeatedly quote that rhyming worldview and look satisfied, as if they had actually said something. My feelings towards football and team loyalties were much more about this argument than even about the sport. However, my dad told me to stand firm—as if I really cared—so stand firm I did.

Proof from my second grade class journal that I made it look like I cared about football.

Transcript/Translation: 

November 18th, 1996: 

Dear Journal, 

Tonight the big game is on. Packers vs Cowboys. I hope that the Cowboys win. 

Last night I went to Kyle's birthday party. We saw SPACE JAM. 

I didn't watch that game. However, I did receive the update from my dad in the morning. And I wrote...

Transcript/Translation:

November 19th, 1996:

Dear Journal, 

COWBOYS WON! You're probably wondering why I'm making 

football helmets on all the O's. It's because COWBOYS WON.

Notice my teacher left no comment on these two entries. This will be important knowledge later in this post. 

The Packers made it to the Super Bowl that year. To celebrate, my teacher cut out a bunch of green and yellow construction paper footballs, and told us all to write to our favorite Packer player. After sitting at my desk for a while and deliberating over what I should be doing about this, I walked up to my teacher and the student teacher.

Me: Uh, Teacher? [I didn’t know her name.]

Teacher: Yes, dear? [Smiling.]

Me: I don’t like the Packers.

Teacher: [Silence. Her smile leaves. Looks at the student teacher. They look back at me.] Um, well, just write to one anyway. Write one to Antonio Butler. He’s my favorite.

Me: [defeated] Okay.

If you think this story isn’t true, I have more proof.

Transcript/Translation:

January 7th, 1997:

Dear Journal,  

This morning it was 0 degrees outside! We had to write to the "Green Bay Packers." 

I hate the Packers! I had to lie, because we had to say "Your Fan," so I feel kind of stupid. 

Your friend, Brian.

Notice my teacher put a star on this one, right after I said that I felt stupid. 

Bitch. 

It’s actually a little horrible. Not “call-the-superintendent” horrible, but still kind of horrible.