My Secret Geek Life
And the lessons I learned
I looked at the tidy, labeled rows of coins, rocks, stamps, postcards and miscellaneous ephemera covering every available flat space in my bedroom and gave a happy sigh. I gave a nickel each to my sister and my friend and showed them the handmade fee box to drop them in. Then they took a quick stroll through the collections.
My sister loved it, but she was six years old and loved everything I did. My friend, on the other hand, looked bored. Really, really bored. “Okay, we’re done. Let’s go play outside!” I said quickly. The look of relief on her face was comically obvious, and I learned a deeply painful lesson.
Nine-year-olds should not play “museum” if they want to have friends.
10-year-old girls should not tell their friends that they read Wonder Woman comic books. “Comic books are for boys,” they’ll say. It was 1974, in their defense. Even feminist parents will not approve since comic books don’t pass the intellectual snobbery test. They’ll buy you Animal Farm, Lord of the Flies, and One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, but comic books are out of the question.
11-year-olds who take care of chickens should know better than to hide their comic books in the chicken coop because nowhere in the house is safe. Anywhere a chicken can poop is also not safe.
