Brain Droppings

If somehow you manage not to be canceled out by birth control pills, IUDs or condoms, and you are actually conceived; and then by some additional stroke of luck you are not aborted, miscarried, or given a birth defect by your mother’s use of tobacco, alcohol, speed, heroin, or crack; and you are lucky enough to be born as a relatively normal child, then all you have to worry about is being beaten or sexually abused for your first 16 years. After that, you have a chance, at least a chance, of being chronically unemployed or killed in a war.

I’m sixty years of age. That’s 16 Celsius. And I’ve never told you much about my childhood.

It seems I was unusual even before I was born. During pregnancy, my mother carried me very low. Indeed, for the last six weeks, my feet were sticking out. She was the only woman in the neighborhood who had maternity shoes. But she told me I was a big help when it came to climbing stairs.

I was a healthy baby, except for one ear that’s folded and a little bent. The doctor said it happened because, apparently, at the precise moment I was being conceived, my mother and father fell off the hood of the car. 6

My parents chose what, at that time, was the very latest method of childbirth. You’ve heard of Lamaze? This was La Paz. The mother receives powerful narcotics, the father is sent to Bolivia, and the nurse does all the screaming.

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GEORGE C A R L I N

As soon as I was born, I noticed that babies have it pretty ft easy: Wake up, cry, piss, roll over, drool, suck, eat, gag, belch puke, giggle, crap, crawl, stand, fall, cry, scream, bleed, coo, sleep . . . and dream. I went through the usual stages: imp, rascal, scalawag, - ^ whippersnapper. And, of course, after that it’s just a small step to full-blown sociopath. I’m probably the only child who i went directly from shenanigans to crimes against nature. :i I was always a little different. Most kids had a dog named Spot. You know what I called my dog? Stain. Different. Instead of my thumb, I sucked my ring finger. And I had a strange ambi tion: I just wanted to live longer than Jesus. My mother said it was because I was sensitive, so she washed me in Woolite. fa I was a hip kid. When I saw Bambi it was the midnight show. My cap gun had a silencer. My lemonade stand had dance hostesses. And one night at di

There’s one other thing I should mention: You know how when you’re real little your dad will throw you up in the air

b r a droppings and catch you? Well, one day my dad threw me up in the air, 5 and I went so high I could see the curvature of the earth. I believe I even caught a glimpse of Sri Lanka. At the time, of course, it was still called Ceylon. Dad and I had no idea its name would change someday. Anyway, after he threw me up ^ in the air, he didn’t wait around. He walked away. They said after that I was never really the same. They would whisper, i “The boy is no longer playin’ with a full bag of jacks!”

What happened was I became a loner; I just wanted to be by myself. I had an imaginary friend, but I didn’t bother with him. Fuck ‘im! Let him get his own friends. I got no time for people like that. When you’re a loner, of course, you have to make up fa your own games. Tag was difficult.

I used to play Cop. And instead of Hide and Seek, I would play a pathetic little game called Hide. One time I remained hidden for over a month before I realized that no one was looking for me. It was sad, really. But there are compensations. To this day, I remain unchallenged at Musical Chair. ” My mother would say, “Why are you always playing alone?” And I would say, “I’m not playin’, Ma. I’m fuckin’ serious!” They first noticed I was strange when I insisted on listening to the circus on the radio. I guess I was a bad boy. Besides shitting in my pants, I would also shit in other people’s pants. Eventually, she sent me to a child psychologist. It was all the vogue at the time. So I went, and I honestly believe he was crazier than I was. I should’ve stabbed him many times in the eyes with a railroad spike when I still had the chance. I consider it a lost opportunity.

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GEORGE C A R L I N One problem was that my mother was very strict, and on 5 top of that she was a physically imposing woman. Thinking back, the person she most reminds me of is Charles Kurault I didn’t really like her. I can remember staring at the orphanage and feeling envy. , fo Of course, it wasn’t all bad; there are pleasant memories, ?-?-,.;; too. Every Sunday after church, my mother and I would buy fc the Sunday papers and walk home together. Then she’d get drunk and try to make pancakes. In a way, I take all the blame. I was hard to handle, and it wasn’t easy on her. As I said, I’m sixty now, and she still isn’t over her postpartum depression. And yet, she’s a typical mom; she still tells me I’m going to be tall. And, you know it something? Her wish is coming true. She’s getting smaller. , Soon I will be, too.

I guess the thing I miss most about childhood is riding piggyback, and here’s something I don’t tell too many people: I still like to ride piggyback occasionally. I really do. And I don’t mean across the room. I’m talking about long if trips. I went to Florida last winter. Piggyback. Fortunately, I have very indulgent friends. And I pay top dollar.

As far as school was concerned, I did pretty well, if you don’t count learning. My problem was, during the summer I would forget everything they had taught the year before. So, basically, when September rolled around, I was back to square one. The teachers told me, “You have an excellent mind. It just isn’t readily apparent to an outside observer.”

brain droppings

One of my problems was lying. I always got caught, because I told big lies. One morning, late for school, I told the teacher I’d had to iron my own shirt, because my parents had been strangled by a telephone lineman.

Actually, I was much too logical for school. For instance, after about a month in first grade, the teacher asked me something, and I said, “Why are you asking me these questions? I came here to learn from you.”

They would try to keep me after school, but I knew my rights. Once again, logic: I told them, “When school is out, and the students have all gone home, this building is technically no longer a school. It becomes just another building, and you have no right to keep me in it.” Staying after school wasn’t actually all that bad. At least there wasn’t any learning going on.

But it wasn’t easy to learn in my school even during normal hours. Because we were a poor area, the school had a small budget and was unable to teach the second half of the alphabet. And so, to me, anything past the letter m is still pretty much a mystery. The Renaissance, the Reformation, Reconstruction. When these topics come up, I have no idea what people are talking about.

And so, I volunteered for being silly. I did so as soon as I discovered it was an option. One day, the teacher interrupted something I was doing and said, “Mister Carlin, you can either take responsibility and learn this material, or you can continue to act silly.” Well, that was all I needed to hear.

It turned out I was pretty good in science. But again, because of the small budget, in science class we couldn’t afford to do experi ments in order to prove theories. We just believed everything. Actually, I think that class was called Religion. Religion was always an easy class. All you had to do was suspend the logic and reasoning you were being taught in all the other classes. >