- Thursday, June 28, 2007
- Show and Tell
- Posted by Zach in News Stories
-
The first show-and-tell I remember was in first grade. The star of it was a freckle-faced boy with blond hair and cowboy boots named Stevie. He always interjected the word “see.”
“We’re getting crackers, see. Yeah, she’s handin’ out crackers see, as a snack, see, and then we’ll go out and play.”
One day Stevie went up to the front of the class for show and tell. In his hands was a crinkled brown paper lunch bag. We leaned forward in our seats. He reached his hand into the bag. We opened our eyes wide so as not to miss anything important. He pulled out a blue matchbox car. We frowned, relaxed our eyelids, and leaned back in our seats. Interest rushed from us like air from a newly released sputtering balloon. A frown flickered across Stevie’s face, but he pushed ahead.
“This car, see, is a Matchbox car.”
He waited to be overwhelmed by our collective appreciation. We sat in absolute stillness. After a brief moment, he cleared his throat and continued.
“See, but that’s not the special thing about it.” Our eyebrows shot back up. “No, that’s not the special thing. See, the special thing…” Stevie’s brain searched desperately. “The special thing is that…it’s a Transformer!” We were skeptical. “Yeah, it’s a Transformer, see.”
He tipped the car and showed us the undercarriage.
“This here,” he pointed to a screw, “is sort of like a face.”
We squinted and turned our head, trying to make the screw look like a face. Stevie watched in desperation as indifference began to take hold of the class.
“AND…the other thing, see…” he continued.
“Stevie,” the teacher said gently.
“My brother made it!” He blurted.
The entire class was suddenly curious.
“Stevie,” the teacher said with a touch of warning in her voice, “your brother did not make it.”
Seduced by the interest of the class, Stevie stuck by his guns. “Yes he did! He made it.”
“No he didn’t,” said the teacher. “Go out to the hall, Stevie.”
Those were the days when going out in the hall, was like being sentenced to the French Foreign Legion. We put our hands over our mouths.
Stevie’s eyes were full of disbelief. His mouth was still open.
“No, see—see,” he scrambled in a panic.
“Into the hall Stevie.”
Our teacher was out of her chair and heading to the door. Stevie groped for a creative balance between feasibility and interest. He took a step backwards. “See, I thought he made it.”
But it was too late. Our teacher was already at the door. She held it open and waited. Utterly defeated, Stevie put his blue Matchbox car back in the paper bag. We watched as he shuffled out of the room, a conglomeration of freckles, cowboy boots, and broken pride.
I thought about this recently. Out of all the show-and-tells I experienced, I remember this one most distinctly, and it’s not because Stevie convinced us that his brother fashioned a Transformer out of a Matchbox car. I guess the lesson, for me, is that truth (even anticlimactic awkward truth) is more interesting than unbelievable fiction. It seems that unless the imagination is tethered to emotional specificity, it will float away entirely.
Stevie reached into his bag and pulled out a moment of emotional resonance. So hats off to him, for the best show-and-tell ever!
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One Response to “Show and Tell”
That’s an amazing story, Zach. And really well written. The whole thing makes me want to cry - but maybe that’s just because I need to take a nap. But thanks for this.