2+2=

Don Taylor’s eighth grade English class caught me in a wave of adolescent angst. I wanted to impress the girls in my class but lacked the self-confidence to do it maturely. So I made off comments with hopes that someone would recognize how funny I was. Taylor’s leading questions were prime opportunities. While teaching us how to write a bibliography he asked, “What are the two words students usually say once they finish writing an essay?” “I forgot to spell check.” I rang out. No one laughed and I felt goose bumps. “I’m done” was the correct answer. On another occasion, he was illustrating a point and said, “…it’s like when you hear the equation 2+2= ___?” “Five,” I muttered. Once the word left my mouth I cringed. No one laughed. Taylor heard me and said, “I know you’re still having trouble with that one Mike.” Crushing embarrassment ensued. My attempt at a joke backfired and I was singled out. After class I consulted with Billy Freedman seeking advice to improve my humor. Billy was the funniest kid in our entire grade. “Three would have been funnier.” He said. “But why?” I questioned. “It just is.” He replied.