When I was in second grade, my dad was transferred from Detroit to rural Wisconsin. It was a big adjustment for us. I was thrilled to be outside checking out the frogs. We knew it would rain because we could really smell the cows that we could see down the road, but were a mile away. The land was all brush and tall grass from our corner to the front of the subdivision. The cow farm was just across the street from the entrance.
The language was different too. At least you think that from the perspective of an eight year old.
The kids kept talking about going to the Bubbler. Or they warned me, “Watch out, you’re the new kid. One of the fifth graders might sit you on the bubbler!”
What was this ‘Bubbler’. I imagined that there was this object somewhere in the school that was this big fountain like at the Detroit Zoo, except bubbles came out of it instead of water. Or I thought it was plastic, and had a bubble wand. The third idea was that it had a beaker and it was really hot and the purple water bubbled out like a science project.
Maybe I did want to go to the bubbler just to see what it was.
Nobody ever sat me on the bubbler. In fact, I was extremely disappointed to find out it was just a boring old drinking fountain. I don’t think I drank out of it from that day forward, at least not the one in that hallway. I didn’t want to drink from something that someone put their butt on. Back in “those days” there was no vending machine where I could get bottled water so I leaned my head under the sink or I just suffered.
I don’t know why that memory fell out of my brain…
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