Westword, Volume XV

WESTWOOD – Picture this: Dedham Country Day School, April, 1988. George Langdon’s seventh-grade English class. (Barely) teenaged boys. The restlessness of spring surfacing. Whether timing or setting, I’ll never know – but what is certain is that Mr. Langdon’s class marked the pinnacle of my misbehaving phase.
 
Folks, I admit that in those days I was a bit of a problem. Not for everyone, of course – just my teachers, parents, and sister. Oh, and also uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents, cashiers, lifeguards, ski lift attendants, friends, enemies, strangers…as well as any insects wishing to avoid a smoldering death caused by the sun’s rays redirected through a magnifying glass.
 
Happily, the worst of that would soon start to fade. In just months – maybe three or four hundred – I would begin maturing into a fine, outstanding adult.
 
Anyway, the assignment was to write a fictional story, and read it aloud to the class. There were about 15 of us, and Mr. Langdon had set aside three days for the readings. This was important – effectively, there was a one-in-three chance that I would not be picked to read until the third day. I thought those odds were plenty reasonable, given the possible penalties versus Mr. Langdon’s reputation for leniency.
 
The fact that I guessed right, and had two extra days to not do the assignment, is quite secondary. For now, let’s focus on Jonathan – let’s call him Jon, for reasons that will soon become obvious.
 
So, Jon’s story was about nothing. Specifically, it was about having nothing to write about. What seemed like a tragic start soon became hilarious. Folks, it was about NOTHING, and Jerry Seinfeld was still two years from becoming a household name.
 
Jon wrote of a kid named “Noj” from an English class taught by “Egroeg Nodgnal.” He began with the setting, and then jumped in to the meat of the story, which was that Noj was completely devoid of ideas. He was afraid of upsetting Mr. Nodgnal, so he kept trying to think of a topic, but just couldn’t. And then he thought of something, but it wasn’t good, so he decided not to write about that. Then he had a piece of toast; then he went back to his pen and paper; then he called Mr. Nodgnal for advice, but Mr. Nodgnal told him it had to be his own story, and so on and so forth.
 
After a while, the lines were blurred so perfectly that one couldn’t know if Jon was actually reciting a story he had written, or if he was explaining to the class, via his timeline of events, that he was going to fail this assignment. It was hysterical. It was genius.
 
Unfortunately, the laughter during parts of Jon’s story was uncontrollable at times…for some of us. Mr. Langdon finally snapped. He shouted at the top of his lungs, surely alerting the rest of the school, and perhaps the rest of Dedham, of his extreme displeasure with the Resha kid. He used words that cannot be repeated here. I am sure he didn’t mean them. I am sure he didn’t really want for me to be condemned into eternal fire upon my passing.
 
Well, maybe he did. But I deserved it (the yelling, if not the eternal fire stuff!)
 
It was decades ago, but what still stands out is how that kid got an “A” for a writing assignment when he had nothing to write about. But he turned that into something to write about, and no one needs to know whether that was always the plan or not!
 
Today, the July sun beats down and I contemplate my upcoming afternoon at the beach. On days like this, it occurs to me that Jonathan and Mr. Nodgnal – I mean Langdon – sure taught me well, didn’t they?
 
Westwood Living? No…thank YOU for living in Westwood. See you next month, and I look forward to hearing from you any time at jayresha@comcast.net.