The Moose in the Closet: Beginnings: The Speech

Before I get to today’s story, the first story in the last week of Moose stories (for now), I just wanted to ramble a little bit. I’ve been working pretty fucking hard on my super secret project and this weekend I literally did nothing except write, think, and design while visiting a variety of coffee shops and book stores (sometimes to get work done and sometimes to do some research and talk to the owners…ohhh…cryptic hints).

Anyway, Robin went out Friday night and I fell asleep on the couch at about eleven – just passed the fuck out. She comes home and our little rat terrier purse-dog jumps off the couch and starts barking at the person at our door like she always does. So I wake up and starting thinking to myself, “Fuck – did I lock the door – Robin’s sleeping,” and then find the door opening up. I flip out man, total adrenaline rush, jump off the couch and charge the door ready to fuck up whoever comes through hit. Stop just in the nick-of-time when my brain processes it was Robin, I almost took her out.

Not twelve hours later I get a package from my mom with some stuff she was supposed to send. Being a good mom, she included some scratch tickets. The object of one of them is to match my cards to the winning cards. My cards were an 8, 5, 4 and Jack. I’m scratching off the cards I need to match and I’m winning like mad. 5-bucks, 15-bucks. I scratch off a five-hundred dollar spot and lose my mind, I’m so psyched. Than I get to the last one, it’s a jack and the prize is 500,000 dollars. Total adrenaline rush, again – I’m flipping the fuck out, obviously. Turns out I needed to match suite and card – I didn’t even realize that – and I won nothing.

Moral of the story – I almost had two heart-attacks this weekend and I desperately need some fucking sleep. Bitch slapping comics is going to be the death of me.

Announcement tomorrow regarding the next project I’m editing (and it has nothing to do with the super secret project). For now, story-time…
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I might as well get this out of the way so you all can laugh about it and then get on with the rest of the story: I was the valedictorian at my elementary school. That’s right; my elementary school had a valedictorian. Get all the laughs out now and then we’ll get back down to business.

Towards the end of the sixth grade there was this intense race for the valedictorian between me and this kid Alex. Alex was a character – I knew him from kindergarten straight through high school – he’d always try to impress the ladies with his piano skills which were really good in elementary school but never improved significantly beyond that.

But that was his thing back in 58s, man – he’d play that fucking piano for every assembly, get down with it too – head swaying like he’s Stevie Wonder and shit. When he wasn’t playing the piano he was making these comic books which featured our friends as super heroes. Everyone had these cool powers – G could shoot ice and Ross was a ninja – everyone except me who had the ability to stretch. I was basically Mr. Fantastic except I wasn’t super intelligent – I just kind of reached shit that was in high places, that was my job. I was always getting killed or injured five pages into the story, dying the hero’s death after I got the key that was dangling thirty-feet in the air and was needed to open the door to the secret temple.

There was a bit of a rivalry, you know? He’d always try to push me out of hand ball games in the school yard by using the “it’s my ball routine”. We even went to swords over a girl in the fifth grade, this chick Laurie, hairy like a fucking gorilla at a ridiculously young age. Alex and I went head-to-head for her until G pointed out to me that she has arms like my father’s – that’s enough to get me to back off and let Alex have her.

But it was all shit like that – the girls and the comics and the handball and the piano – that defined the relationship between Alex and I – childhood rivals that played humanly together – and it all came to a head towards the end of the sixth grade.

There could be only one valedictorian.

Mr. Ringston pulled me out of class to tell me I got it – I wasn’t even happy for myself or proud or anything like that, all that was on my mind was that I was going to be able to rub it into Alex’s face. That it was going to be me giving the closing speech at our graduation, the last kid standing on the stage. When I walked back into the classroom I looked over at Alex and smiled, he immediately knew what just happened.

I fucking won.

I wrote my speech with the help of my parents. It was pretty straightforward, talk about friendships and teachers – the usual sixth grade valedictorian shit. I had this one line I was proud of , I was to say, “…as we walk through THAT door for the last time,” while pausing reflectively to point at the door at the back of the auditorium, reminiscing over my childhood while mentally preparing for junior high – that, right there, was my fucking money shot.

When graduation day came I was prepared, king of the fucking world, index cards in hand and ready for my five minutes of fame. They went into the awards – I shit you not when I say I won twenty-four awards. Everything from attendance to these special city-wide awards signed by the Brooklyn Borough President himself, whom I believe was Howard Golden back then.

I was called up for every one of them. Language Arts. Math. History. Three awards from Field Day. I was like the Lord of the Rings crew at the Oscars except five times dorkier.

Then came time for my speech. I took the podium and rocked it, all eyes on me, moved by my spirited words and especially touched by my “walk through those doors for the last time” line.

We all stood up, marched out, our parents cheered us on.

The next day they added my name to the PS58 plaque of valedictorians. Right there, etched in gold-painted metal, it said “JASON RODRIGUES”.

With the “S” – continuing a long tradition of getting my name wrong and proving that sixth grade valedictorian means shit.

And on that note, I was off to Junior High.

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Beginnings: The Speech

Monday, January 30, 2006

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