Beautifully touching, and also sweetly funny. Now you've left an indelible dildo-shaped (the *word*, people, what were you thinking?) mark on my brain.
Brings tears; my dad was a little scarier but had the same sensibility. I miss him so so much. Dad was a teacher--chemistry and physics--and one of the funniest humans I've ever known, He introduced me to Tom Lehrer, Played the Elements song to his classes. The world is a poorer place without my dad--and my mom, who made him better 🤗🥰🖖
Norman, I occasionally wonder what my life would've been like -- a life without six-plus decades of pain, shame, disappointment, regret and self-hate -- if I'd had a father like Mr. Winant, someone to teach me how to feel worthy. (I know, I know ... cue the weeping violins...)
Anyway, thank you for the poignant reminder that there are indeed good men out there, men who are worthy of being a father.
I wonder the same, probably more often than occasionally. It's been nice to look back, though, and feel confident that I haven't burdened my boy with the same unnecessary baggage. Broken cycles feel pretty good.
My favorite teacher was a high school algebra teacher. Mr. Smith was a nice guy and probably a better football coach than teacher. One day in class we were all correcting our papers for a final time. I was no good at algebra and hated it so my grade was a D. In double-checking it I discovered that I had missed one more question and needed to receive a lower grade, a D minus. Mr. Smith was all up for giving everyone their due and trying to give students their best grade. One of my best friends was a freaky math major and loved algebra. Students who wanted their grade changed stayed after class and Mr. Smith recorded the changed grade. My friend was ahead of me and proudly said she needed an A+ instead of an A. Mr. Smith dutifully recorded her corrected grade and then turned to me. As the last person in the line I looked miserably at him and said "I missed one more question. So my grade should be a D minus instead of a D." He glanced up at me and said, Get out of here. Your grade is fine." I loved the man for helping me eke out a better grade.
This story of the dildo, suddenly brought up a memory of sitting back row with my parents as some important man was apparently making a big, squirming mass of others.
It was 1959, grade 1 at Avonmore Elementary school in Edmonton - and you good Americans may struggle to identify my country by my failing to state it……a personal thing annoying me that any city stated must be followed by the city THEN the country anywhere in the world. How often does anyone state that you are from Chicago U.S. or Houston U.S…….forgive my digression?
Now, the fuss/wriggling experience was completely beyond my comprehension in all ways so……this event was lost in my brain, until this enjoyable bit of memory land.
2019 at 66 I had a stroke in a tennis court. And the delight of reading endlessly, such items as this, trigger long gone memories…..thanks Mr. Author!
Yeah, Americans are geographically challenged narcissists in that way. So delighted to hear that this story helped you to revisit that memory. That's a hell of a compliment, and I'll take it. Thanks for reading!
I raised my two children on my own starting at 5 and 8 years old. My son was 9 or 10 when I went down to his room to say good night and he was crying one night. He was holding his little teddy bear by the ear that he had since he was a baby. "What's wrong?" I said, feeling upset and concerned. "I don't know," he sobbed. "Do you miss your daddy?"...."No, that's not it. I don't know, I just can't tell you," and he sobbed some more. I felt terrible. We were always close and could talk, but not about "this".
There was no man for him to talk to, and I really didn't know what to say about "that". I had a nurse friend tell me he should go to is doctor so he has someone to talk to. It's probably puberty."
I felt so stupid. What the heck is puberty? The nurse told me he was becoming a man. OMG, I knew nothing about that process! So I got him an appointment to see the doctor that next week. "But, I'm okay mom. I don't want to see a doctor." "Yes, you do, honey. You can tell him what's wrong." I saw him shrink, knowing he was terrified of what was happening and didn't want to tell anyone. We walked in and I signed him in at the desk. My son stood to my side a little behind me....and he passed out. Just went to the floor, a white sheet. I tried to stay calm but my heart sank. "What is wrong with him?" I asked the doctor, trying to not show my terror. I told him what the nurse said. "He's just had a fainting spell. He'll be all right. I'll go into the exam room with him now and we'll talk." Oh, thank gosh. "Do you want me to join you?" (Please say no.) "We will be fine." He smiled. They are going to have a man to man talk....and I was so unaware of how to handle that conversation. My son never cried again after that, at least not about that special time in his life. He never said a word to me about their visit....but that was the only time I really felt out of my element while raising my children alone. Be sure to talk to your sons if you are dads so they know what to expect. And if you are a single mom, find someone who can talk to your son before this happens to you...and him.
Sweet story. The need for an extended family via coaches, teachers, friends, and whichever bighearted person you can find has become all too important as my own kids have grown. Grateful for that doctor and for all good men and women who step up.
Master Norman. A Monday morning treat and dildo too ! As for sex education in 6th grade. Can you spell nuns in stiff habits ? Had to get lessons the hard way. Experience. Donca know Catholic girls start too late . Mr Winant. My husband fits the frame.
You have captured an all too rare person with your writing. We should all be so lucky as you to have had him in our lives. Kudos for letting us all know about this person.
Everyone needs a Mr. Winant in their life and I'm glad you had one. He was obviously a rare individual who could see what a kid actually needed, even when they couldn't admit it.
So here are the various stories your reminiscence triggered.
I'm older than you, and when I was in sixth grade we truly were a bunch of innocents. (Well, most of us. Maybe the tough kids knew what was up.) My school had three classes on a grade. Since this was NYC, the classes had around 35 kids, so approximately 100 kids each grade. Back then, the kids were tracked - the smart class, the middle class and the dumb class. Not only was I in the smart class, but I was at the top of the class by a lot. In fact, the teacher began giving me my own work. (so yes, 34 kids and me. Looking back, I can see why I wasn't all that popular). Anyway, at one point I asked her how babies were made. At first, she assumed I was being somewhat obnoxious, once she realized I really had no idea, she told me the awful truth. I remember reporting back to my friends. All of us were equally horrified.
Flash forward a lot of years. My oldest is in his first year of high school and starting to date. My husband gives him that talk which concludes with 'don't do anything stupid, and we won't have to discuss this again.'. Unfortunately, A being A, he countered with 'Or I just won't tell you and we still won't have to discuss this again.' (Argh).
Finally when my youngest was in high school, his Mr Winant was the head of the orchestra program, Mr Schaberg. Universally loved, he was the kind of person who would wander the lunchroom and if he spotted a kid not eating, he would make sure that the kid didn't go hungry. He was also a professional musician in addition to teaching, and for the kids in orchestra, he would bring in people he knew to work with the kids for a week. My kid was already gravitating toward a career in graphic design and he not only designed the orchestra programs while he was at the school, he actually designed them for a few years even after he left because Mr Schaberg was that important to him.
Your son's wit is admirable or terrifying. Admirable from my storytelling point of view, terrifying from my father point of view.
Not surprised that a music teacher is so kind. Also, it infuriates me that music has become a neglected elective. It should be a required course through 12th grade, revered, celebrated, and regarded as important as any language.
Don't get me started on my town's stupidity regarding our music program. We were one of the 100 best music programs in the country! But our school board decided a few years ago that much better to spend a fortune on a state of the art clubhouse for the football team and decimate the music program. My youngest played the viola from 4th right through 12th and made it to second chair. As I mentioned Mr. Schaberg knew a lot of people, and when Z was a junior, he arranged for the upper orchestra kids to play with Southside Johnny & the Ashbury Jukes at a charity gig. It was very cool.
If you want your boys to learn how to get along with females, have them join the orchestra. It's almost all girls, it's a team effort and the girls are usually better.
I will definitely check out your Judy Blume story! (Scarily enough, I have my own Ms Blume story. Well not mine. My evil spawn)
Norm, I’m so proud that you wrote about Mr Winant. He truly was a wonderful man, School Principal, a wonderful father and a special friend to me. He stepped up a lot for me when your dad left. All the students and staff all cared for him very much as well. I’m very thankful he left a mark in your life for kindness, compassion, and good will. You’re such a wonderful father, loving husband and son. Mr. Winant would have been very proud of the person you became and the also the many hats you wear. ❤️👏💪👍mom
Beautifully touching, and also sweetly funny. Now you've left an indelible dildo-shaped (the *word*, people, what were you thinking?) mark on my brain.
Dildo-shaped indelibility? My work here is done.
Brings tears; my dad was a little scarier but had the same sensibility. I miss him so so much. Dad was a teacher--chemistry and physics--and one of the funniest humans I've ever known, He introduced me to Tom Lehrer, Played the Elements song to his classes. The world is a poorer place without my dad--and my mom, who made him better 🤗🥰🖖
Sounds like a solid human. :)
Norman, I occasionally wonder what my life would've been like -- a life without six-plus decades of pain, shame, disappointment, regret and self-hate -- if I'd had a father like Mr. Winant, someone to teach me how to feel worthy. (I know, I know ... cue the weeping violins...)
Anyway, thank you for the poignant reminder that there are indeed good men out there, men who are worthy of being a father.
I wonder the same, probably more often than occasionally. It's been nice to look back, though, and feel confident that I haven't burdened my boy with the same unnecessary baggage. Broken cycles feel pretty good.
My favorite teacher was a high school algebra teacher. Mr. Smith was a nice guy and probably a better football coach than teacher. One day in class we were all correcting our papers for a final time. I was no good at algebra and hated it so my grade was a D. In double-checking it I discovered that I had missed one more question and needed to receive a lower grade, a D minus. Mr. Smith was all up for giving everyone their due and trying to give students their best grade. One of my best friends was a freaky math major and loved algebra. Students who wanted their grade changed stayed after class and Mr. Smith recorded the changed grade. My friend was ahead of me and proudly said she needed an A+ instead of an A. Mr. Smith dutifully recorded her corrected grade and then turned to me. As the last person in the line I looked miserably at him and said "I missed one more question. So my grade should be a D minus instead of a D." He glanced up at me and said, Get out of here. Your grade is fine." I loved the man for helping me eke out a better grade.
Small kindnesses and honest humility--there aren't enough of Mr. Smiths or Karen Nielsens. :)
This story of the dildo, suddenly brought up a memory of sitting back row with my parents as some important man was apparently making a big, squirming mass of others.
It was 1959, grade 1 at Avonmore Elementary school in Edmonton - and you good Americans may struggle to identify my country by my failing to state it……a personal thing annoying me that any city stated must be followed by the city THEN the country anywhere in the world. How often does anyone state that you are from Chicago U.S. or Houston U.S…….forgive my digression?
Now, the fuss/wriggling experience was completely beyond my comprehension in all ways so……this event was lost in my brain, until this enjoyable bit of memory land.
2019 at 66 I had a stroke in a tennis court. And the delight of reading endlessly, such items as this, trigger long gone memories…..thanks Mr. Author!
Yeah, Americans are geographically challenged narcissists in that way. So delighted to hear that this story helped you to revisit that memory. That's a hell of a compliment, and I'll take it. Thanks for reading!
I raised my two children on my own starting at 5 and 8 years old. My son was 9 or 10 when I went down to his room to say good night and he was crying one night. He was holding his little teddy bear by the ear that he had since he was a baby. "What's wrong?" I said, feeling upset and concerned. "I don't know," he sobbed. "Do you miss your daddy?"...."No, that's not it. I don't know, I just can't tell you," and he sobbed some more. I felt terrible. We were always close and could talk, but not about "this".
There was no man for him to talk to, and I really didn't know what to say about "that". I had a nurse friend tell me he should go to is doctor so he has someone to talk to. It's probably puberty."
I felt so stupid. What the heck is puberty? The nurse told me he was becoming a man. OMG, I knew nothing about that process! So I got him an appointment to see the doctor that next week. "But, I'm okay mom. I don't want to see a doctor." "Yes, you do, honey. You can tell him what's wrong." I saw him shrink, knowing he was terrified of what was happening and didn't want to tell anyone. We walked in and I signed him in at the desk. My son stood to my side a little behind me....and he passed out. Just went to the floor, a white sheet. I tried to stay calm but my heart sank. "What is wrong with him?" I asked the doctor, trying to not show my terror. I told him what the nurse said. "He's just had a fainting spell. He'll be all right. I'll go into the exam room with him now and we'll talk." Oh, thank gosh. "Do you want me to join you?" (Please say no.) "We will be fine." He smiled. They are going to have a man to man talk....and I was so unaware of how to handle that conversation. My son never cried again after that, at least not about that special time in his life. He never said a word to me about their visit....but that was the only time I really felt out of my element while raising my children alone. Be sure to talk to your sons if you are dads so they know what to expect. And if you are a single mom, find someone who can talk to your son before this happens to you...and him.
Sweet story. The need for an extended family via coaches, teachers, friends, and whichever bighearted person you can find has become all too important as my own kids have grown. Grateful for that doctor and for all good men and women who step up.
Master Norman. A Monday morning treat and dildo too ! As for sex education in 6th grade. Can you spell nuns in stiff habits ? Had to get lessons the hard way. Experience. Donca know Catholic girls start too late . Mr Winant. My husband fits the frame.
Ha! I always joked that if I ever got hired to write a script for an adult film, it would be about nuns and I would called it Bad Habits.
You have captured an all too rare person with your writing. We should all be so lucky as you to have had him in our lives. Kudos for letting us all know about this person.
Thank you, Sir! Sir with a capital S. I'd put you in that same category, my man. ;)
Beautiful speech. Even more lovely that at such a young age you recognized the goodness of this man.
Whatever happened to Carl? Did he show up to any reunion’s?
Not sure what happened to Carl. I'd love a follow-up conversation with him on this topic.
Have you checked the prisons?
Not yet, but I've been thinking it might be interesting to start a prison pen pal habit. Could be a good place to start.
Everyone needs a Mr. Winant in their life and I'm glad you had one. He was obviously a rare individual who could see what a kid actually needed, even when they couldn't admit it.
So here are the various stories your reminiscence triggered.
I'm older than you, and when I was in sixth grade we truly were a bunch of innocents. (Well, most of us. Maybe the tough kids knew what was up.) My school had three classes on a grade. Since this was NYC, the classes had around 35 kids, so approximately 100 kids each grade. Back then, the kids were tracked - the smart class, the middle class and the dumb class. Not only was I in the smart class, but I was at the top of the class by a lot. In fact, the teacher began giving me my own work. (so yes, 34 kids and me. Looking back, I can see why I wasn't all that popular). Anyway, at one point I asked her how babies were made. At first, she assumed I was being somewhat obnoxious, once she realized I really had no idea, she told me the awful truth. I remember reporting back to my friends. All of us were equally horrified.
Flash forward a lot of years. My oldest is in his first year of high school and starting to date. My husband gives him that talk which concludes with 'don't do anything stupid, and we won't have to discuss this again.'. Unfortunately, A being A, he countered with 'Or I just won't tell you and we still won't have to discuss this again.' (Argh).
Finally when my youngest was in high school, his Mr Winant was the head of the orchestra program, Mr Schaberg. Universally loved, he was the kind of person who would wander the lunchroom and if he spotted a kid not eating, he would make sure that the kid didn't go hungry. He was also a professional musician in addition to teaching, and for the kids in orchestra, he would bring in people he knew to work with the kids for a week. My kid was already gravitating toward a career in graphic design and he not only designed the orchestra programs while he was at the school, he actually designed them for a few years even after he left because Mr Schaberg was that important to him.
The birds and the bees talk is an awful rite of passage. Not sure if you read the one I wrote about, but just in case: https://allkindsoffunny.substack.com/p/are-you-there-judy-blume-its-me-norm
Your son's wit is admirable or terrifying. Admirable from my storytelling point of view, terrifying from my father point of view.
Not surprised that a music teacher is so kind. Also, it infuriates me that music has become a neglected elective. It should be a required course through 12th grade, revered, celebrated, and regarded as important as any language.
Don't get me started on my town's stupidity regarding our music program. We were one of the 100 best music programs in the country! But our school board decided a few years ago that much better to spend a fortune on a state of the art clubhouse for the football team and decimate the music program. My youngest played the viola from 4th right through 12th and made it to second chair. As I mentioned Mr. Schaberg knew a lot of people, and when Z was a junior, he arranged for the upper orchestra kids to play with Southside Johnny & the Ashbury Jukes at a charity gig. It was very cool.
If you want your boys to learn how to get along with females, have them join the orchestra. It's almost all girls, it's a team effort and the girls are usually better.
I will definitely check out your Judy Blume story! (Scarily enough, I have my own Ms Blume story. Well not mine. My evil spawn)
That school board should be tried for crimes against humanity.
I can't disagree with you.
Norm, I’m so proud that you wrote about Mr Winant. He truly was a wonderful man, School Principal, a wonderful father and a special friend to me. He stepped up a lot for me when your dad left. All the students and staff all cared for him very much as well. I’m very thankful he left a mark in your life for kindness, compassion, and good will. You’re such a wonderful father, loving husband and son. Mr. Winant would have been very proud of the person you became and the also the many hats you wear. ❤️👏💪👍mom