Timmy And His Teachable Moment

It was hard. Timmy's Dad always told him "Don't sweat the small stuff". And he didn't. Because none of it was small stuff to Timmy.

It all started at swimming lessons when he was eight. His trunks slipped off in the pool. He was mortified when everyone laughed at him. But it wasn't just bad enough being a victim of ridicule when the incident occurred. It would chase him down the rest of his life because in that one quick moment he had earned the nickname PeeWee.

About a year later, swimming lessons behind him for good, the baseball coach inquired why everyone called him PeeWee. PeeWee, er, Timmy was mortified as his team mates sniggered and cruelly whispered in a singalong voice "PeeWee, PeeWee, how can you pee with something so wee?".

And so it went as he grew older. Girls he dated would always ask "So, why does everyone call you PeeWee?" Needless to say Timmy's relationships never lasted very long, though longer than, well, you know.

Being such a focus of derision for his teenage life took it's toll on Timmy. He began hating those people who called him that diminutive nickname, especially those who laughed. He began to plot his revenge.

He surreptitiously began to collect his materials and soon quietly went to work. He worked deep into the night. He constructed a large basket, large enough to stand in. And he attached to it a large balloon, the largest balloon you've ever seen.

The day dawned and Timmy set off from a field on the outskirts of town. As he flew over the school he let go his secret weapon - a huge cache of urine he'd collected from a herd of cows. The urine splattered all over the school's roof and grounds, soaking any students in the now wet and foul smelling school yard.

"Call me PeeWee will they?" Timmy laughed maniacally to himself - as he was the only one in the balloon's basket. "After today they'll call me Big Pee" he laughed to himself.

Now Timmy was just a few fries short of a poutine and never foresaw that forever more he'd be ridiculed as "that fucking idiot".

The prompt from the folks at Studio30+ is derision/ridicule this week. At the risk of being the object of ridicule I offer up this post.

The Polka Dot Door

A long time ago, when I was 22, my first child was born. That kid grew up on a little Canadian kid's show called Polka Dot Door, produced by the TV Ontario network. And Dad, more often than not, sat through those shows with his little one. Nine or so years later when a brother, and a year after that when a sister came along number one son was moving on to Knight Rider and The Dukes of Hazzard. But there was a nice overlap where his siblings picked up where he had left off with Polka Dot Door. And Dad was right there to welcome them. So you're looking at a Polka Dot Door veteran. The show began in 1971 and ran to 1993. I didn't watch the full run but I did get in my fair share. The formula was pretty simple. A young male and female host, which seemed to change every week, sang songs, told stories, made crafts and generally did their best stimulate little brains. The show opened as follows... Imagination Day! Oh boy! ...

Hello Goodbye

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