Channelling Jonathan Swift, or, Never Throw Anything Away
Some years ago (actually, quite a few years ago) I went back to college to “retool.” One of the courses I took was “Child Growth and Development,” a worthy class in which I learned a lot. But by the time midterm exams came, I’d had enough. One of the short essay questions asked, “In your opinion, what will be different in breast-feeding practices fifty years from now?”
My resistance was low. Possessed by some demon or other, I wrote:
“I believe that in fifty years breast feeding will be much more common than it is today due to two factors. The first is that advances in medical technology will make it possible for men to nurse as well as women. The double-breasted suit from C & R Clothiers will be a much different affair from today’s version. Power lunches will include a shot of brewer’s yeast and other substances believed to increase milk production.
“The other reason that breast feeding will be more important in the future is that this country will have had almost seventy-five years of uninterrupted Republican rule, a leadership which has nearly completed the elimination of the single-breadwinner family and the dismantling of what few family support services created since the New Deal still survive. This and the support of the monopolization of food production now in progress will mean that the American child will be breast fed until he or she is old enough and earning enough to be able to buy his or her own meals at the local MacDisneySears.” (11/13/90, revised slightly)
Midway down the page the instructor scrawled in the margin, “You’re serious?” There was a second question to the exam which I answered more sanely and she gave me an A.
But that’s not why I saved the thing. I save all sorts of writing. I came across it recently when going through papers from that time and laughed out loud when I read it. I saved it because I thought it was funny. And I still think it is funny. And despite my mis-prediction of presidential elections, I think it remains true in spirit.
With my writing I’ve had to be patient. I’m just now placing poems written ten and fifteen years ago. Some of them are real world travellers, having crossed the ocean dozens of times. I may no longer feel much emotion when I look at them. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t exactly what some editor might need for a particular issue. Or that they won’t affect readers seeing them for the first time.
And even the goofy answer to a long-ago exam can find a path to a few more readers.
Comments
I discovered a story of mine that I wrote about 25 years ago, and dusted off. I actually enjoyed re-reading it, and then decided to polish it. Much to my surprise it turned out to be a little better than I thought it was, and I’m saving it for inclusion in a book of short stories.
But I’m not sorry I have lost contact with my adolescent poetry. Most was awful, relieved at times by blinding flashes of mediocrity.
Posted by Hugh Ashton on 10/23 at 05:03 PM
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