On a shelf I found a National Geographic from November, 1967. That’s the month I turned nine. I remember three things specifically from the year I was nine.
I was in fourth grade and my teacher, Miss Schnupp, I do believe was six feet tall and she seemed to enjoy embarrassing her students. She did this to me and I still remember the embarrassment I felt at being teased about liking a boy just because I talked to him a lot in class. I mean, he sat behind me, so I talked to him. His name was Perry and he had red hair and lots of freckles.
It was also the year I first found out about sex. Seems like everyone knew what that word on the bathroom wall meant except me.
Lastly, it was the year of long division. For me, it was VERY long division. Sloppy writing had me lining up my numbers wrong and then I’d have to start all over.
This National Geographic issue had an article on Buenos Aires, Argentina. Now, I know when I was nine I’d never heard of Argentina, much less dreamed that I’d grow up and have a daughter who lived there for awhile. She loved it!
I just skimmed the article, but I came across a funny conversation with a man who was describing the parking situation.
“You find a place that’s maybe too short for your car, ” Señor Medus explained, “so you just push the line of cars in front with your bumper, and the line of cars behind, until you can jokey your way in. Nobody sets brakes; to do that and walk away leaving your automobile locked is , well, unsportsmanlike. Of course, you want to avoid parking a car at the spot nearest the corner. You might come back from your errand to find to find that your car has been pushed out into the intersection and hauled away by the police.”
All of this reminded me of an episode from Seinfield.