10
Me and Lenny BruceAlthough it was the mid-1950s, my kindergarten teacher's face was a relic, still reflected the Great Depression, long, dry, and furrowed. Her hair was pulled back so tightly that it made the corners of her lips curl, like the unnatural smile of a painted puppet. Her eyes focused like a raptor, and her nose was posed for any wayward smell or odious action. That face became the face of education for me.
On the first day of school, Aunt Esther and Uncle Morty walked with me, each holding a hand, in the familiar lopsided Y formation, trying to emulate a normal family. When we arrived at the front door, I was refused entry. Aunt Esther showed the principal and the relic my birth certificate and the certifications that I had received all the proper inoculations.
“We're s
