n'est pas

Mark's new automatic out-of-office reply on his e-mail:

I�m currently out of the office as I�m going to my high school reunion.

Yes it�s true. I�m having my high school reunion. Which should be nice, because I was home schooled and this will be the first time I will have seen my parents since college. My Mother and Father have told me to look at them as teachers and not as parents on this occasion, being that this is a school function and not a family one. They�ve even insisted that I call them Mr. and Mrs. Billows and that I wear a one of those �hello my name is� stickers so they�ll know who I am. Certainly, most people have never been home schooled and some, if not all of you, are probably interested in how my home schooling was different than your own schooling. So I�m going to quickly describe it for you.

My home schooling was probably typical of any school. I had extracurricular activities just like you did, for instance I was yearbook chairmen, class president, and captain of the chess club. I also had a senior prom, which consisted of my mother, my father, and myself standing around a punch bowl. It was a good time until my father saw me dancing with my mother and hit me with a beer bottle. I think that whole episode is why I went from an A to a C in his history class, but I graduated from Billows High, that�s what my parents called it, and started looking at Colleges. I applied to several Universities out of state, all of which sent back very pleasant letters if it were not for the word rejection repeated several times. I did however get an acceptance letter from Billows A&M, which strangely enough was located in my very own basement. I felt quite fortunate for the acceptance as I hadn�t even applied there, but the letter explained, and I quote, �Your advancement through the prestigious Billows High as well as being under the tutelage of the fine teachers who grace that school is qualification enough for you attend our college.� So I packed up my stuff, said goodbye to my parents, drove around the block three times and then pulled back into my driveway where I was greeted by Professors Mr. and Mrs. Billows.

I was nervous like any other college student upon their first days on campus - you know, about fitting in and stuff like that. I noticed a flyer on the refrigerator for pledging a fraternity. So I figured it was worth a shot. The fraternity consisted solely of my Father at the time and the only pledges were me and Rosco, the family dog. Initiation consisted of doing the chores I normally do, except this time I was to do them drunk. Two weeks later I became a proud member of Alpha Sigma Sigma.

Unfortunately, being an Alpha Sigma Sigma didn�t do much for my social life. We threw parties that basically ended up like my senior prom did, except it happened much more frequently and painfully. Most of my fraternity life was spent in the basement listening to my Dad talk about Vietnam, or Nam, as he liked to refer to it. He�d tell me about all the buddies he lost in places that sounded like food packed with MSG. He�d always start out with something like, �We were in the Migong Delta, and me and this greenhorn private were leading our platoon into the jungle�� Every one of these stories, regardless of how they started always ended with some guy being blown to pieces all over my father. In this particular story it was the greenhorn private. The only thing I could surmise about Vietnam was that if you were within a ten foot radius of my father you were going to explode into a bloody mess and be buried in a shoebox.

Anyway, after telling me how every friend he had died, he would proceed to tell me how I wouldn�t last five minutes in Nam. He would begin by informing me of all the numerous ways I could die in the jungles of Southeast Asia. Imaginary tales of me being shot or blown apart in rice patties, villages, and rainforests made for very stimulating conversations. I of course would counter his scenarios with my own. One�s in which I would stitch up my wounds, or in some cases, regenerate my limbs like a combat hardened starfish, and set out with only a knife and some piano wire and proceed to wipe out an entire brigade of VC regulars. My father hated my scenarios and would scream, �That crap only happens in the movies you jack ass.� But by the time he finished his sentence I had already been shipped back stateside to receive the Congressional Medal of Honor from Lyndon Johnson.

Amazingly, my history classes were virtually the same thing as my fraternity. I spent the better part of my first four semesters listening to my father continually talk about Vietnam. Somehow he believed that all of human history was neatly bundled into a small thied world country halfway around the world. By my sophomore year my mental stamina for this particular conflict in this particular country began to wane. This was apparent to my father who finally accused me of failing to respect the job he did in Vietnam. I replied that I thought killing serves a great many purposes and that there should be more of it. I then went on to say that it was terribly rude of Vietnam to hog most all of the world�s killing from 1966 to 1974. My father took my sarcasm as sarcasm and hit me with a beer bottle.

Besides lectures, many of my history lessons were spent learning how to take apart and then reassemble an M-16 assault rifle until I could do it blindfolded. My father then came to the conclusion that all my final exams should be done blindfolded. Much to his surprise, I proceeded to fail that semester as well as lose two fingers. Fortunately my fingers where reattached. However they put the wrong fingers on the wrong stumps. I wanted my parents to sue for malpractice, but they replied that suing wouldn�t be as humorous as my hand was. And the matter was summarily dropped.

As you can see my college career wasn�t turning into all that good a time. I decided at this point to quit my fraternity and drop my major in history. This began the downward spiral of my college experience. Eventually I became depressed to the point that my grades suffered. Plus I started making a habit of skipping classes, which was no easy task. I basically had to hide in my attic like I was Anne Frank. And just like Anne Frank, I kept a diary in hopes that it to would one day be published and become required reading at middle schools everywhere, but before I could get passed my first entry the Nazis busted in. Okay, maybe they weren�t real Nazis, but that�s what I screamed as my parents dragged me downstairs to class.

By the beginning of my senior year I had the distinct feeling my parents were passing me just to get me out of the school. One of my requirements for graduation was to write a thesis. So I wrote one entitled, �You�re both Fascists and here are sixty-seven pages why.� It received an F. I think the spelling mistakes are what did me in. Anyway, because of that grade I failed to graduate from Billows A&M. However, several months later I was given an honorary degree on the condition that I move out. I agreed, and that was the extent of my home schooling.

I�ll be back after the reunion.