SCUBA

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The other day some guy told me that SCUBA was an acronym

not an actual word.

And all of my life I had believed it was a word

and been living this lie!

It stands for Self Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus.

I didn’t know this.

And I didn’t care.

Great.

Now in the infinite void that is my brain a couple of neurons

have been synaptically tied together to remember

this piece of useless information.

And I was saving those neurons for a pleasant memory

involving either a hotdog or a donut.

But SCUBA had ruined it.

SCUBA has ruined everything.

Of the 1% of my brain that I actually use these were some

of the only neurons I knew how to get to and back from

without leaving a trail of bread crumbs.

Yes, SCUBA had ruined my life.

I would never have that pleasant memory of a hotdog or a donut.

As I watched men and women strut proudly down the street

to work in their SCUBA attire and stovepipe hats…

Stovepipe hats?

Yes. I forgot it was Lincoln’s birthday.

I hated them.

Especially, as they walked by eating hotdogs and donuts.

I imagined them without hotdogs and donuts.

I imagined them dead.

I imagined them in their underwear.

In case I got nervous because I had to give them a speech.

When I am on my deathbed and unable to recall my hotdog

or donut memory I will shake my fist and curse SCUBA.

I’m a teacher.

Always have been.

Always will be.

It gives me hope that in some way what I do

will make a difference in somebody’s life.

Especially, when I have a new class and I address them

at the beginning of the semester:

“OK. Who’s ready to begin their SCUBA certification?”

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