Of Cinema and SentimentalityThe Pincushion My second-grade teacher, who reminded me of Endora on Bewitched, gave us an odd assignment to make pincushions. For some unfathomable reason, she thought sharp scissors, sewing needles, threads, happy-face-adorned fabrics, and cotton were beneficial for young boys and girls. Do I have to tell you how many kids in my classroom cut themselves? Band-Aids and cheerleader-like encouragement kept us laboring with the zeal of sweatshop employees. Had the calendar not told me it was the decade of my fashionably big afro and bellbottom jeans, I would have assumed we resided in the time of thralldom. Shockingly despite a propensity for clumsiness, I didn’t hurt myself on a physical level. My self-respect got shorn, though. The pincushion I made had the appearance of a dog’s chew toy. Other students did not experience such inadequacy because their work had something mine lacked, which was competence. The bell, at last, rang. I grabbed my gear composed of a notebook, a Super Friends lunchbox, and a puke-green corduroy jacket. Beneath my skips, there was something else I wanted. A perfectly formed pincushion waited for me on the floor. It had the look of a product right out of a store. Exhibiting all the deft of a shoplifter, I retrieved the item. Pilfering it from another student did not bother me. The idea of getting caught did. Jesse Owens would have marveled at the speed I exited the room. Understand that I was not in a rush to get home. Seeing cartoons, Dark Shadows, and The Wild Wild West could wait for another day. Escaping with my prize had true importance. More than ever, I wanted my home’s confines. Thankfully the cheese-yellow school bus sliced through all the traffic and took me to its Wonder-Bread-soft comfort. Right at the point, the commute ended, I ran inside the house yelling, “Mommy, look what I made for you.” Mother brushed her Cher-similar hair back and served a toasty kiss on my cheek. She stared at the pincushion, and her expression possessed all the illumination I needed. That radiance was worthy of a Polaroid SX-70 Land Camera photo. “You really made this for me. It’s beautiful,” she said in a voice that sounded better than any song on an LP record or 8-track tape. I enjoyed receiving royal reverence in our Queens, NY home. Everything in me wanted to provide a specific response that would make my mother love my efforts forever. But something happened between my brain and mouth. The fib I wanted to say got arrested in my throat by a Dick-Tracy-moralistic detective or some such hero worthy of my childish admiration. Under an imaginary interrogation lamp, my untruth got a sermon about honesty. So instead of my intended words, a confession with the ease of yolk from an egg spilled out. “I lied. Some other kid made it.” Mom did not need a mood ring for me to know her disposition. Her complexion acquired a lava lamp’s redness with a countenance that had all the hardness of a pet rock. Before and after dinner, I got reprimanded. Rather than Mother's resentment, I wanted praise for my honesty. Adulation should have tasted sweeter than a Watergate Salad or a 7Up. The criticism I received seemed as bitter as the kale on my plate. Many decades have passed since that incident. Nonetheless, the pincushion haunts all of my creative endeavors. Even to this day, it reminds me never to plagiarize. My creations, because of this, may lack a tailor’s precision, but they are always, always mine. Copyright 2021 Bob McNeil, writer, editor, cartoonist, and spoken word artist, is the author of Verses of Realness (Underground Books). Hal Sirowitz, a Queens Poet Laureate, called the book “A fantastic trip through the mind of a poet who doesn’t flinch at the truth.” Among Bob’s recent accomplishments, he found working on Lyrics of Mature Hearts to be a humbling experience because of the anthology’s talented contributors.
12 Comments
Gordon P. Bois
11/20/2021 05:23:53 am
Hey Bob, great works as always. Both are honest, nostalgic pieces that brought about excitement for me to read. Even more, the pieces evoked memories of my own past. They differed mind you, but it got me to thinking of my own past (some bad, and some that showed promise) and how select memories paved the way to my present. Great job! Thanks for sharing!
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11/20/2021 08:33:52 am
Wonderful work that is rich with the details of everyday life experiences. I love all of the references to popular culture and the message is clear - true creativity lies in the inaccuracies of originality.
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"Had the
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11/22/2021 04:57:10 am
I just love both of these. The Pincushion is exquisite though.
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Gianni Shamari
11/22/2021 06:45:27 am
I enjoyed reading these two original pieces by Bob. I love the tone and honesty of his work. As a reader, I can often relate to the topic Bob speaks about. Thanks for sharing, Bob!
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Carl "Papa" Palmer
11/22/2021 01:31:41 pm
Memories, not all of them great, but then neither are we. That's what made us, reminds us, who we are.
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12/6/2021 04:57:35 am
What an interesting article. I could really relate to this in the aspect of fear of rejection. I commend you for your honesty at such a young age and the lesson you learnt that has stuck with you fir life. Very well written.
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Mark States
12/6/2021 03:48:32 pm
You had me at the first sentence and that feeling carried all the way through the piece. Your writing is top-notch and evoked a number of my own childhood memories as I read through the story. That to me is a hallmark of great writing, the ability to transport a reader through the events as though the reader were present as well, but also to transport them through their own memories at the same time.
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eugene christy
12/8/2021 08:15:35 pm
A truly memorable look back at what-was which magically turns into what-will-be as we grow up and mature. Borrowed from the pages of life by a writer whom I esteem above many others. Thank you, Mr McNeil !
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Terri Massacani
12/19/2021 09:30:27 am
Heart warming and right
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Frank G. Poe, Jr.
12/27/2021 08:20:16 am
Thanks Bob for taking me back. You did an excellent job as usual. We all have things in common from those days that they just don't have nowadays. Mine was a pillow monkey not a pin cushion but plenty of mishaps nonetheless requiring bandages. I was so proud of my fro. Before it went out of style, I'd pick that jewel out, and at one point as a sophomore, it went from shoulder to shoulder.
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Shana Severance
1/5/2022 03:49:30 pm
Wonderfully written !
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