The Chocolate Colored Desk

Mrs. Omar was a round woman with poofed up hair and a high, squeaky voice.



David watched as she sang to the class, and waddled down the aisle created by student desks.



It was June of 1962. John Glenn had just orbited the earth -- a spectacular event squeezed into a 13 inch black and white screen. The class had assembled in the cafeteria to watch.



"Mr. Glenn" Mrs. Omar began, "had to go to school and work very hard to become an astronaut." She had printed this new word on the black-board in large, exemplary letters. As she spoke, she distributed what David dreaded four times a year:



Report cards!



"Many of you have so much potential!" she spit out that last word right above David's head. He looked up as she licked her thumb and separated his card from the top of the stack. It landed face down on his desk.He figured he'd wait a while for it to dry.



He could see that something was written on the back. But teachers seemed to have a coded way of writing that students couldn't read. -- Cursive! He knew it was bad news. It always was.



His ride home on the bus was quiet. The rocking and bumping of the bus almost made him sick. The cacophony of the grinding gears  were sounds of night mares. He watched as his stop approached. The bus rolled up to the corner and opened the doors. The driver reached with his mechanical arm as he hollered "good night" to all as they bounced, jumped, ran, skipped or hopped over across the schism between the bus and the curb. David just stepped off the bus and sauntered home. He was preoccupied with all those marks on his report card. Wondering what his parents reaction would be. Such a small thing that would change his world!



At dinner that night, all were present. David's head was a little lower than usual and he sank into his chair. He could have just opened his mouth and inhaled the food from the plate, because he was pretty much level with it. His sister Jo sat across the table. She, too had a report card, but her face was shining with her blue eyes and bright teeth. Two full years behind David, he thought one day she'll get a lesson in humility. Mom and Dad were swapping cards like they had pictures of baseball players on them. There was muttering and side glances and glares. There were smiles, too -- though none were cast in David's direction. He sunk lower.



"Sit up and eat correctly!" Dad's stern but shrill voice bolted him straight up in the chair. The shock made his hand -- or maybe it was is head -- hit the plate. It came up and though full of spaghetti and Italian salad, flipped like a gymnast. It came back down, but the food slid off first and splashed red sauce in the air.



Now, he had their attention.



"I guess I'm ready for dessert." David quipped. He quipped a lot. It was part of his charm. He used his humor to get out of trouble. Though sometimes -- like tonight -- it  brought more than he intended.



Mom and Dad stopped talking and started ordering. Well, Dad ordered, "Clean this up and go to your room." David took it to mean him. Jo said "I didn't do it. It's all his fault". She pointed at David like she had been at home watching Perry Mason with Mom. Dad snatched the report cards and went to the living room. He was reading Mrs. Omar's note:

  "David shows little interest in reading. It would be helpful if you would encourage him over the summer to go to the library and get some books he may be interested in."



"David!" Dad yelled.  "We're going downtown tomorrow. Got some homework to do."



It was Friday. And the end of the school year. David thought Dad had lost his mind. That, or it was a trick.



The next day, Dad and David walked into the Sharonville Public Library. A thin woman with a carrot shaped face sat behind the table near the front. She watched the two of them - clearly father and son. She waited until they were nearly on top of the desk.



"How can I assist you today?" she whispered. David thought maybe she was sick. She should have stayed at home.



Father and son looked around like they were at ground level inside a stadium. This was a feast! Books everywhere. In the center of the building was a staircase that went to a second floor. There were tables - not like kids' tables, giant tables with separate chairs all wooden. No paddles hanging anywhere! David breathed in. He could smell these wonderful books. Nobody told him it was mold. He wouldn't have cared. But what should he read? Dad helped some. He knew David liked stories. But he wanted his son to grow up with healthy stories. He led him to the biography section.



David saw the picture of Abe Lincoln in high-water pants swinging an ax over his head. Below, there was a stack of logs. In the background was the home. A log cabin.



"Know where he grew up?" Dad asked. David's eyes were glued to the book. "Kentucky. My home.  Eventually, he became the sixteenth president."



David could hardly wait to read it. He had a pile of books. He brought them home like they were his new friends. He let them lie around the house. Family would find books under seat cushions. The refrigerator, between the covers of his bed. He would sprawl out on the couch so nobody else could sit down. Or he would be laying on the floor and everybody had to step over--or on-- him.



After a while, the family had had enough of David's new hobby.



One day toward the end of the summer, David came home from a hard day of playing across the street.

He looked to the right, where a book about Thomas Jefferson had been. Then, not seeing that, he looked to his left, where he had laid a book about George Washington.Nothing.  He even looked under the sofa where he had stashed a couple of Hardy Boys books. None of his books were there!



"Mom!" he screamed like he had been stabbed." Someone stole my books!"



"Don't worry, son." Mom's soothing voice offered. "I put them all in your room."



David was wondering why she would do such a thing as he frowned and walked toward his room. He opened the door and saw his library books. They were all there. They had been all stacked neatly on a brand new desk.



It was a chocolate colored fake wood and Formica desk. With two deep drawers on the bottom (a right and a left) and two upper smaller ones on each side. It also had a middle drawer.  The handles looked like long horn cattle.



David could do everything here. His homework, his reading. Books could be piled on top. And now, he would not disrupt the family business of wandering around the house.



But the most important feature was the lower drawer on the right side. Here was where he would stash his candy. If he was being tortured by family or friends, he would go back to his room and open the drawer.

If he was doing his homework, and he was perplexed, he would open the drawer. Even if there was no candy, he could smell it. This chocolate colored desk was to be his salvation. (to be continued)