Installment one of “Once Upon a Time”: Matthew Prins’ weeklyish series of short morality tales
“Ron and Betsy”
Once upon a time, there were two koalas named Ron and Betsy. (Actually, they didn’t have names, as animals aren’t given names unless they have contact with humans, which these bears didn’t. They lived in an uninhabited part of Australia with many trees, but no animals.) (Though if we’re being honest, can an area with two koalas be considered uninhabited? Animals are logical inhabitants of a locale, as the root word of “inhabit” is “habitat,” and this region was their habitat, or home.) (Did I really need to write “or home”? Is anyone reading this not going to realize that “habitat” can be used as a synonym for “home”?) (On the other hand, if there were someone who didn’t know what “habitat” meant, perhaps I’ve helped him. Perhaps there's a 13-year old boy who never liked his English classes much, and the boy stumbled upon this tale. He sees the word “habitat” -- a word he’s seen hundreds of times in newspapers, in textbooks, in spelling tests -- but he doesn’t have the facility to understand the definition of a word through context, and he’s too ashamed to look up the word in the dictionary at his public library. But look here! Here is that word “habitat,” and it is so austerely paired with “home” that he can’t help but to understand the definition of that strange word. This small linguistic spark lights a cerebral fire for the English language. In just a few years, he will be an associate professor at a small Midwestern community college whose first book of poetry, I, Too, Know the Pain of Mortality, will have an initial run of 1,000 copies and will be favorably reviewed by the local biweekly newspaper.) (But now that this boy has read the most recent parenthetical and knows his future, will he want it? He’s still hoping for a five- or six-year career in the NBA, and he’s sure that his impending growth spurt will give him the 10 inches he needs to be six feet tall. Or maybe he’ll even grow 16 inches, who knows! Michael Jordan did quite well in the NBA at 6’6”, and Michael was cut from his high school team just like him, so maybe thinking about a six-year career is too pessimistic. He’ll aim for nine years.) (Now look what I’ve done: I’ve given this brainless, klutzy boy two false dreams that he’ll never achieve. Why didn’t I say he could be happy if he becomes a telemarketer? Why couldn’t I keep his hopes low so that when they are achieved, he has an influx of self-esteem, no matter how misplaced it might be?)
i sincerely do not know what you are doing here. are you lost? were you
looking for your delicate calico cat, and did you follow her up two flights of stairs
to this room? she is not here. she was here, yes. we gave her a warm bowl of milk, we talked with her about campaign finance reform for a time, and then she bid us good day. i believe she was
going to the post office two blocks down, but i don't quite recall.
for surely you did
not find your way from prinsiana, the least traveled site on
the internet. if you did, though, perhaps you are looking for humor. perhaps you are looking for profundity. perhaps you are looking for answers.
i'm sorry, but you shall go naught-for-three.
