Paul Sassone

I confess to feeling sentimental at this time of the year.
When I see kids trundling back to school as autumn begins to colorfully unfold, I can’t help but think about my school days.

Strangely, though, I don’t first think of myself.
I think of Bradley.

Bradley — I don’t remember his last name — was a small, blond boy.

And what I remember most about him was that he used to huddle under the drinking fountain and cry.

Bradley and I began our school careers together in kindergarten. Me in a little chair; Bradley under the drinking fountain.

What was Bradley afraid of?

I didn’t know then and I don’t know now. Kindergarten was fine, as I remember. We learned to tell time and to tie our shoes. We each had our own cubby hole for putting stuff in. We played. Teacher read to us.

And kindergarten gave me my first audience for the smart-alecky, paste-eating, stand-up comic I would play for the next nine years.

While I was getting laughs, Bradley huddled and wept. What was he afraid of? Didn’t he know no one was going to hurt him?

Eventually, Bradley emerged from under the drinking fountain. I don’t remember how or when or why.

I assume he must have finished grade school. And he most likely graduated high school. College perhaps?

I further assume he had a career or a job.

But, I can’t help but wonder: Is Bradley hiding under a water cooler in some office crying and waiting for the next downsizing or rightsizing to obliterate him?

Probably not. They wouldn’t let him hide under the water cooler. And any crying would have to be done on the inside.

But, no, I will not allow myself to believe that is what happened to Bradley. He didn’t end up like that.

If you want to know what I believe, I believe Bradley — obviously a sensitive person — became a forest ranger.

Today he lives in a dark, lush forest. It is very quiet there, except for the music of the birds.
What he does is rescue lost tourists. He alerts people to forest fires. And he takes care of the animals, tending their injuries and feeding them when food is scarce.

That’s what Bradley does.

He doesn’t have to cry any more.

And, you know, bears eat right out of his hand.

–As school begins my thoughts turn to Bradley–