One Thousand, One Hundred Differences

First grade was a turbulent year. We were up off the floor, sitting at desks instead of Indian-style (Do they still call it that?) We had our own pencils and were expected to keep them sharp. Portfolios of graded papers to show the parentals, to ensure them that they are getting their (tax) dollar's worth out of Berkeley Elementary School. Oh, and Doug and Chris decided that they were to be the Scourges of Reason.

I watched these two classmates walk up behind an unsuspecting dupe. They tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned around they shouted in unison: "Whassa thousand plus a hunnert you doan know!" and then burst into maniacal laughter. One of them, Doug, lets say -- actually doubled over, hands on his stomach and staggered backwards as if physically struck by the comedic impact of his actions. I have learned since then that anyone who walks backwards doubled over when they laugh is usually not the brightest inmate on the yard. I had not one but several problems with this "joke":

- It's not funny when someone doesn't know the answer to a math problem

- Sneaking up on someone, asking them a question, and not giving them time to answer is not exactly hilarious, or the best way to gauge their knowledge.

- I had to believe that neither Doug nor Chris knew the answer to the conundrum they were posing, but had conspired together to obtain the names of some unfathomably large mathematical structure and added the word "plus" to make a word problem.

- They kept doing it all day.

At lunch, they surprised Kim Eddington with a bite of sandwich in her mouth. She took a quick gulp of chocolate milk to clear her palate, and blurted "Yes, I do! It's one thousand, one hundred!" They couldn't hear her over their uncontrollable laughter, and I suspected, forced laughter. She repeated herself until they lost interest and moved on to their next quarry.

We frequently perform the mental shorthand of assuming that everyone thinks the same way we do. We know it's not true, but without this assumption we're helpless to answer hypothetical questions like "What would Bill do when he got here and didn't see our car?" It is the thousand-plus-a-hundred moments in our lives that show us that someone is unfathomalby dumber or smarter, more kind or cruel, involved or apathetic, opinionated or open-minded. The proper lesson is not that people who thus reveal themselves should be sainted or reviled as anomalies, but rather that each of us is unique. Someone in your family doesn't know how to spell "family." Another puts salt on his oranges. Still another thinks Sex and the City was a better show than Cheers.

Thank them for the reminder that the human mind is an unplumbable chasm. Then double over and walk away.