Transylvania Elementary is an elementary school like most others, except one child can see his future house from here. Out here in the barren wastes of Utah sits a castle which could serve as, say, a mansion for an insanely rich individual who just convinced the entire nation that Air Guitar was so 1980's, and that they should be playing the very same instrument by means of an overpriced gaming system that completely fails to mimic actual mastery of a musical instrument. Such individual could, theoretically, hold parties involving lots of sparkling alcoholic drinks and many of the female race that need both a good meal and an interest of actually wearing clothing in the presence of others.
That's one possibility at least. Another involves conducting bizarre experiments utilizing electricity and various examples of human tissue in equally varying states of decay. This, of course, is of lesser possibility and, given the curious nature of Fate, is an absolutely feasible possibility.
Young Victor Frankenstein turned away from the tumbledown castle up on the hill and waved to his unnaturally jolly circus clown parents and followed the rest of the young academic sheep on their way to a third grade classroom complete with its very own sweet old lady in glasses who offers instruction daily in the wonders of the world.
Mrs. Simmons, whose birth year was estimated to be in the vicinity of the Cretaceous Era, softly clapped her old wrinkled hands together and smiled as she sat behind her desk in front of the classroom as the children, young Victor included, fought off the morning drudgery of prepubescent life and settled into their respective chairs.
"Good morning, class."
The response to Mrs. Simmons' greeting was less than audible, as expected, but Mrs. Simmons paid no attention to this lack of enthusiasm as she took up a black marker and walked to the white dry erase board that would envision the prospects for today. She began to write: "What I Want To Be When I Grow Up."
"Today, children, we'll be discussing what you want to be when you grow up. I look forward to hearing what all your beautiful young minds are dreaming of becoming some day." Mrs. Simmons' put down the marker and turned to face the small crowd of faces, some of whose were actually starting to glow because, let's face it, if there's one thing children are fond of talking about, it's themselves.
"Now, I want you all to put your books away and think on this for a moment. Think real hard of something you'd like to be, because one day you'll have the opportunity to be such a thing. At ten after we'll hear what you have to say, okay class?"
"Mmkay."
"Good!"
* * * * *
For ten minutes the sun shone through the eastern windows. Victor spent most of that time looking at the castle, but was occasionally interrupted by the boy in the seat adjacent to him as he said "What do you want to be, Vicky? A girl?"
"Leave me alone," Victor proclaimed as he sank into his chair to avoid the other boy's taunting.
"Maybe he could be a clown like his mommy and daddy," one girl chimed in.
"Yeah," said the first boy, "he's used to people laughing at him. Being a freak suits him, he might as well do it for the rest of his life."
"Okay, I see by Mr. Clock it's time to tell me all your fabulous dreams children! Who wants to go first? Beth, how about you?"
Beth, a prim and proper tiny figure walked her overly laced and soft pink dressed body on up to the front of the classroom and, in her tiny, snotty manner stated "When I grow up, I want to be president." Beth then curtseyed and strutted back to her seat in the front row.
"Oh, very nice Beth, very nice!" Mrs. Simmons' was on the verge of tears, taking pride in her best pupil's ambitions. "Okay, let's see now...Joseph? Do you want to go next?"
A little boy off to the far right of the classroom got up out of his desk and stumbled to the front. He asked for a tissue from his teacher, as his nose was a constant source of moisture and, after clearing the rivers of mucus from his face, he smiled his missing tooth smile and stated his dreams.
"When I gwow up I wanna be...I wanna be, uh, a space man! Yeah! I'm gonna meet awiens and we gonna pway video games! Awiens wike video games! That's what I wanna be when I gwow up!"
Mrs. Simmons', her heart all a flutter with joy, smiled and handed a small package of tissue to Joseph as he stumbled back to his chair and continued his ongoing battle against his everlasting allergies.
"Oh, it does my heart good to hear plans like these children! Now, who wants to go next? Anyone?" Mrs. Simmons looked around at the impossibly bright and eager faces and, doing his very best to hide behind the child sitting in front of him, pretending to be an empty chair as best as he possibly could, but the moody gray steam that was Victor's attitude was as obvious to Mrs. Simmons' as a neon sign is to a Vegas pedestrian.
Victor Frankenstein -- her greatest failure. Encouragement was her tool of choice in this young reclusive figure who obviously had a certain ability to stand out in a crowd, never mind the fact he had no desire to. The unspoken charisma was there, even if it was misdirected. Surely this exercise would help release the self imposed grip of solitude young Victor had brought upon himself.
"Victor, would you like to go next?"
Thirty pairs of eyes immediately turned to face the moody little boy which, of course, only resulted in Victor attempting to hide even more so from the unwanted attention he was now receiving.
"No."
"Come on Victor, tell the class what you want to be when you grow up. Everyone's waiting to hear."
"I'm not doing it."
"Yes, now come on Victor."
"They'll laugh at me."
"No one is going to laugh at you, Victor. Now, please, tell us what you want to be."
"Fine."
Victor stepped into the aisle, and avoided most of the legs that suddenly leaped out in his way in an effort to trip him up, and only slightly stumbled when the taunting figure kicked his own foot out from under Victor as he made his way to the front of the class.
Victor stared at the words written upon the marker board. He then thought of those that made fun of him. He thought of the unhappy life he had at home, one filled with seltzers, whoopie cushions, and rubber chicken duels. If there was one thing he wanted, it was this:
"When I grow up, there's only thing in the world that I would like to be. When I grow up," he stated, his voice rising as he spoke, "I will be evil!" There was a brief pause for effect, and a dramatic pose was undertaken as he continued.
"Yes, I will be evil! And rule over all your pathetic little lives! I will be the most feared person alive! Even more so than...than...drag queens! Or Christopher Columbus*! I will be evil like the Salvation Army! And, ultimately, I shall be evil like you, Mrs. Simmons! What do you say to that?"
*There's a special punishment in the fiery underworld for men who refuse to stop and ask for directions, and Chris had assured his place therein the eternal pit of damnation.
If the silence that followed this diatribe was loud, the laughter that followed was simply deafening. Mrs. Simmons', horrified by Victor's proclamation, grabbed him by the hand and dragged him away.
"What did I do wrong?"
"You know what you did! I swear Victor, you're going to be the death of me! I give you all the love and guidance I can, and for all my hard work you say you want such a thing?"
"But you said..."
"I know what I said! I'm going to have to have a talk with your parents!"
* * * * *
Waiting outside the principal's office, Victor reflected on all that had transpired. Yes, his parents were dorks, there was no way around that. And, yes, his friends (not that he had any) were constantly making fun of him, his name, and, of course, his parents. Geez, his parents. They'll be here soon. They'll be here in that stupid clown car with its goofy laughing horn and tires made up to look like lemon meringue pies.
He once thought his parents were cool...
He once, silently, nurtured the idea of...fun. Eternal fun.
To Mr. and Mrs. Frankenstein, life was a great big banana peel you slipped on, not because their lives were difficult or hard, but to take great pleasure in an existence that was filled with interminable joy. There were no troubles a pie to the face couldn't shake loose. There are no pains a spinning bow tie can't relieve. The joys these things brought to noisy crowds daily were only the icing on the cake, as Mr. and Mrs. Frankenstein did them, first and foremost, to laugh at the dark specters Life tried to throw at them but couldn't make stick.
The joy buzzer at Uncle Phil's funeral, they would admit later, was a bit much though. The Reverend Slappy Trousers had advised Victor's dad against it, but seeing as Uncle Phil was a sport all through life he felt Phil wouldn't mind this one last jolt as a fond farewell. Given the fact that the open coffin and ceremony was caught out in a sudden downpour when Victor's dad reached in and gave Uncle Phil the ultimate electric sendoff, it stimulated the arm and caused the torso to sway about in a way that was quite unnatural, especially with the electric current arcing from one wet dead hand to another which caused the upper torso to simulate the wave at his own funeral which sent the congregation running for their flowery compact cars and unicycles.
Sigh.
Hidden underneath his moody behavior, Victor would sometimes allow himself a quick internal smile at the thought of living out a life causing a public stir, for better or worse, just so long as he was the center of attention and having a tremendous amount of fun doing it. Maracas would be involved, and possibly even spotlights. Yeah, spotlights would be great. He might even try to recreate the joy buzzer incident at the next funeral he attended.
* * * * *
Ten minutes into their conversation with Mrs. Simmons and Mr. Richardson, Victor's principal, the Frankenstein's had managed to take the concerns of a worried old teacher and turn them into the giggling hysterics of a asthmatic woman near death. Mr. Frankenstein, bedecked in a baggy jumpsuit covered completely in yellow, green and blue stripes with red buttons the size of apples, had made a spectacular entrance by doing backward summersaults into the main office, landing gracefully upside down upon Richardson's desk, then accomplished a 180 degree spin and pushed himself into the totally stunned arms of Richardson himself, causing Richardson to surrender his steaming mug of coffee to gravity's will, which resulted in quite a minor spectacular mess.
Mrs. Frankenstein, however, had managed to come in a somewhat somber mood, even if she was dressed in a yellow and orange polka dotted dress complete with matching high heeled shoes. She carried a serious look upon her face, up until she looked at the disaster her husband had caused in the form of coffee spillage and the fact Mr. Frankenstein was now giving a great big kiss on the cheek to Richardson.
"Sir, may I ask you identify yourself?"
"Roger Frankenstein, Joker Extraordinaire at your service." He looked to his wife, and calmed a bit at her muted appearance.
"Now, Roger, what have I told you about these theatrics?"
"There's a time and place for them..."
"And is this one of those times?"
"YES!"
Roger Frankenstein's left hand went deep into a pocket and pulled out a seltzer bottle, and sprayed it across the coffee stained floor and faculty members. As the contents were emptied, he placed the bottle on the desk, got down on all fours, and began to clean up the coffee and the foaming liquid with his head, the bushy purple wig he wore serving as the mop of choice. Mrs. Simmons approached Mrs. Frankenstein as her husband scooted about cleaning the floor.
"Ma'am, I would like to talk to you about your son, if you have a moment."
"Oh really, what about?"
Mr. Richardson, who was now having his clothing attended to by Mr. Frankenstein's squeegee bow tie, stepped up to Victor's mom. "I'm afraid your son has been declaring his intentions on ruling the world again."
"Is this true, son?"
All turned to face Victor, who had been watching the madness unfold through the main office windows, who silently nodded yes from the other side of the glass. Victor's mom motioned for him to come inside, and as he rounded the corner and came through the door, she asked him to explain himself.
"Well, Mrs. Simmons says we can be anything we want if we put our minds to it. And I want to be evil and rule the world!" Victor, either unaware of his actions or his need for dramatics in crowds, leaped up onto a chair and struck a pose similar to the one he assumed in front of his class, and proclaimed "My world will be an evil one! One of malevolent laughing, worshipping me, and the incessant, electronic horrors of John Cage's "HPSCHD!" What do you think about that? Huh?"
"You tell 'em, son!" Mr. Frankenstein was now taking rubbing Mr. Richardson's balding head with an apple in an effort to shine one, the other, or possible even both. Richardson grabbed Frankenstein's arm and knocked the apple out of his hand.
"That's mine, and I'd thank you to not put it in my hair like that."
"Why, got lice have you? And I see no real evidence of hair either. Here, I've got just the thing for you." Victor's dad reached a hand into another pocket and pulled out an overgrown spider shaped wig and placed it flat on Richardson's head. Mrs. Simmons, already near the edge, was pushed over and fell to the floor when the spider wig began to spin in place and accidentally took advantage of its momentum and went flying towards her face, clocking her in mid spin and down she went. Her hip replacements were never in proper alignment again after that morning.
* * * * *
The Laws of Newtonian physics, when demonstrated in the hands of stable, competent science instructors can be effective learning tools when it comes to illuminating the bored and dirt encrusted minds of kids who'd rather be hacking the Parental Controls on the cable box in an effort to see two Brazilian girls make out on the beach of some unknown island under the Southern Cross while Tiki Torches flared in the background.
Sounds nice, doesn't it?
The point is as follows: the proper age for allowing information into the brain is the same age you reach where the Science Channel is cool and the History Channel is no longer boring -- namely, when you've reached the age of Social Security checks and senior discounts at the local gaming establishment. In more extreme cases, it's also the period in your life when you hit thirty, realize all the new video games are too difficult for your mind to comprehend, and you begin watching Golden Girls reruns and silently bemoan the fact that, just a short ten years ago, you were making fun of people that had turned out like that. It's the groan that follows that seals your fate as you realize you are now one of Them.
In the late years of elementary and high school levels of education, the only thing children want to learn is why their parents hid their "World of Warcraft" game and threw the nearest gaming systems into the Koi pond when they were supposed to be doing something like, you know, involving that paper thingy on that dude who wrote "The Raven," or "The Crow," or whatever the hell it was that is due tomorrow.
But the current lesson facing Victor involved the basic laws of physics, and Victor's dad had hired Dr. Dipsy Fluteblower, the circus' foremost authority on Falling From Great Heights And Not Dying, to teach him the active sciences. Demonstrations involving the rate at which two acrobats of differing size fall at precisely the same speed into large pools of banana pudding were informative, not to mention messy, but they got the point across.
Home schooling, for the average child, is intended to protect them from the evils of real school, which involve interacting with their peers, learning about how Darwin had it right all along, and that sex was everywhere, and these rubbery instruments called "condoms" were created to help prevent the transfer of both genetic material and certain diseases which could easily kill you. Potentially normal children, who were unfortunate enough to not have normal parents, were subjected to home schooling to teach them that the world was flat as paper, God hates people who aren't white, and you should dress like they did in the good old days when Mormons were forced to eat each other**, which of course led to polygamy as a means of having both many wives to provide sexual release, many children to control and purify of their inherent wickedness and, of course, to keep a readily available supply of human veal on stock should winter come again and you can't send for take out.
**Ricky Nelson, before he passed away, had revised his classic tune "Garden Party," to illustrate the Mormon's culinary past. He then re-christened it "Donner Party." Some of the lyrics from this unreleased performance are as follows:
well, it's all right now
I ate my Uncle Mel
you see there's not enough to go around
so you'll just have to eat yourself
Victor Frankenstein was not a normal child, and neither were his parents. And home schooling was their effort to brighten the dark mood and the unreasonably needs to control the world and all who resided upon it, even if it wasn't flat. If one was to pay close enough attention, they would realize said effects of a non standard government based educational system is just as demented as the parents the who inflict it upon their offspring.
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