Monday, April 14, 2008

and another

Some time ago, a friend told this story like it was true:
My sister's friend is a teacher, and at the beginning of the school year she asked her students what they want to be called. One boy said, "Folks call me Bominitious." So, she made a note and proceeded to call him Bominitious for the rest of the school year. Near the end of the year she was having a conference with the student's parents, and she was talking about Bominitious's progress...saying Bomintious this and Bominitious that. And then the parents said, "We don't know who you are talking about. That is not our son." And she looked in her grade book and said, "You're Mr. and Mrs. Jones, right? Daniel Jones's parents?" And they said "Yes, we are." She said, "Well, Daniel asked to be called Bomintious." And they said, "We call him DJ."

Then I read this in An American Childhood (in a particularly hilarious chapter about jokes):
As we children got older, our parents discussed with us every technical, theoretical, and moral aspect of the art. We tinkered with a joke's narrative structure: "Maybe you should begin with the Indians." We polished the wording. There is a Julie Randall story set in Baltimore which we smoothed together for years. How does the lady word the question? Does she say, "How are you called?" No, that is needlessly awkward. She just says, "What's your name?" And he says, "Folks generally call me Bominitious." No, he can just say, "They call me Bominitious."


hmph.

2 comments:

Courtney said...

noooooooooo

Anonymous said...

Kate, everytime I think about that boy and his teacher I break out laughing. Once it even kept me from falling asleep I was chuckling so hard. Is it because I have a grandson JT? What will his future hold?