Jokes on Me

The Joke's on Me by Wayne Dixon It was a five hour drive from Fresno to Banning California that winter’s day. We were headed to their Grandmother’s house for Christmas in our Volkswagen Bug, and I was not too happy with the large package our daughters insisted on bringing along. “It’s your Christmas present,” they said, a sure-fire way to obligate me to bring it along. “OK,” I consented, but it has to ride in the back seat with you two. I could barely see around it as I complained all the way to Grandma’s house. I was hooked, however by my curiosity as to what could be in this large oblong box. Could it be a telescope, I wondered. What else could it be? I mused. I could hardly wait for Christmas morn to find out. My turn finally came as we went round robin opening our gifts one at a time. I tore off the paper and finally opened the box with anticipation only to find another box inside, and then another, and another. As the boxes got smaller and smaller I shifted my guesswork to a wristwatch as the final outcome. Boy, was I disappointed to open that last package to find what? Can you guess? A rock. A plain old rock, not even a special gem of a rock. I can’t remember my real present that year, but I do remember my daughters’ peals of laughter as the joke was on me! Other times followed, as my junior high students played a tricks on me. One time they all dropped their books on the floor at a prearranged signal and waited for my reaction. I joined in and dropped my book as well. “I saw that TV show last night, “ I said, “Wasn’t that fun?” Now the joke was on them, ha, ha. One morning at school I heard a student say outside the door to her friend, “Mr. Dixon will faint when he finds out I finished my science project.” So I obliged as she brought in her project. I fell to the floor pretending to faint. Turn-about is fair play I told her, reassuring her I was alright. I’m mellower now, so when our gym instructor said I was doing a good job, I took it as a compliment. She had offered me a mini-candy bar from her Easter basket, and said, “Take an extra one for your wife.” “She won’t eat it,” I said as I helped myself to a second, adding, “I have to eat for two these days.” She looked me over in my wet bathing suit and said, “You’re doing a good job!” Another ha ha on me, I thought. That’s not as bad as at the hardware store when the clerk at checkout challenged my credit card. I had bought some plants for our front yard where Jean had cleared some room, and when I handed over my card I was asked, “Is this your card?” Indignantly, I pointed to my picture on the face of the card. “That’s me, right there,” I insisted. “Are you sure, “ she said, adding “I thought it was your son!” Ha ha? At the gym again, a former student from long ago recognized me. “What is your name,” I asked. “Sylvia,” she replied. I thought back to the student who hit me on the head with a pink eraser. She didn’t remember that, she said, and now she was working at my old school as a teacher’s aide. She complained about the behavior of her students, and I said, “It’s payback time, Sylvia.” I gave her an invitation to our presentation at Woodward Park Library. She enthusiastically offered to invite everyone who remembered me to come. That should be interesting, don’t you think?