The idea of a giant cow had occupied a corner of Jerry Braun's imagination for the better part of two years. Many times, he'd admired the king-size fiberglass bull that pops up occasionally in supermarket parking lots and decided he'd like something like that himself.
Is a thumb a finger? Or is it just a thumb?
I hadn’t really considered the question prior to one morning this week when Garrison, a boy in my son Ollie’s fourth-grade class, held up both hands and asked, “Mrs. Bentley, how many fingers do you see?”
My father tormented me with word games as a child. We once spent a week over family dinner musing over a hypothetical plane crashing on the U.S.-Canada border and where survivors ought to be buried. So as a seasoned fielder of this sort of query, I coolly responded by saying, “It depends. Do you consider thumbs fingers?”
Garrison was disappointed that I hadn’t fallen for his “trick” question. But it spurred a conversation. The class erupted with questions, opinions and general observations about thumbs. In an attempt to resolve the question, I pulled out my phone and Googled, “Is a thumb a finger?” The entire class hushed and waited for the answer.
The OxfordDictionaries.com take on what constitutes a finger is this: “Each of the four slender jointed parts attached to either hand (or five, if the thumb is included).” So even the Oxford Dictionary was conflicted on the thumb/finger question.
I drew two columns on a white board – “Thumbs Yes” and “Thumbs No” -- and asked the kids to vote by raising their hands. We got 21 votes cast and only 17 students in the room.
James suggested we draw a Venn diagram incorporating the idea of digits into the area where the circles intersected. I’ve never shied away from a Venn diagram. But I had no sooner drawn the circles on the whiteboard when Mrs. Guidugli entered to reclaim the chaos her classroom had degenerated into.
I explained we hadn’t completed the morning work assignment because we were distracted in a scholarly pursuit of the Great St. Mary School Thumb Debate of 2019, which I offered as an assurance to Mrs. Guidugli that our time had not been wasted.
I further promised Mrs. Guidugli that I’d find a resolution. Which is why I set up a few Internet polls and asked everyone’s opinion I encountered the rest of the day.
The Facebook and Twitter poll results the next day were inconclusive. Everybody I talked to went off on tangents about phalanges and digits, but no one was willing to commit.
I’d really like my son to pass 4th grade and so I need to turn my report into Mrs. Guidugli by tomorrow morning. Do you know? Is a thumb a finger? Or is it just a thumb?
A recent blog entry mentioning Horatio Alger drew such an overwhelming response, more than we’ve ever had, with so many of you clamoring for additional details, that I’m obliged to explore Horatio’s story in greater depth. It’s also a chance to shed light on an oft-ignored storytelling principle, that being:
Stories usually leave behind a trail of loose strings, like dangling participles. When you tug any one of those strings, you’re liable to find stories more intriguing or, in this case, more unsettling than the original. In the case of Horatio Alger, one such loose string leads us to conclude he was the Michael Jackson of his day.
Warning: You ought to avoid sharing the rest of this bit to children or the faint of heart.
Kids gone? OK, here’s the poop on Horatio, according to Wikipedia. You probably already know he became famous writing about hard-luck kids, mostly boys making good through hard work and perseverance. His first novel, “Marie Bertrand: The Felon's Daughter,” was serialized in New York Weekly in 1864, and his first boys' book, “Frank's Campaign,” was published the same year.
Also that year, Horatio became a pastor with the First Unitarian Church and Society of Brewster, Massachusetts.There, he organized various games and amusements for the parish boys. He also preached against the evils of smoking and drinking while serving as president of the local chapter of the Cadets for Temperance. He submitted stories to Student and Schoolmate, a boys' monthly magazine of moral writings. In 1865, he published a second book, “Paul Prescott’s Charge,” which received favorable reviews.
Here’s the shocker. Early in 1866, a church committee of men was formed to investigate reports that Horatio, like Jacko, had been molesting boys. He was charged, according to church officials, with "the abominable and revolting crime of gross familiarity with boys.”
Unlike Jacko, Horatio denied nothing. He admitted he’d been imprudent, considered his association with the church dissolved and left town, but not before sending Unitarian officials in Boston a letter of remorse. His former Unitarian pals were satisfied and decided not to tar and feather Horatio or take any further action.
Horatio relocated to NYC and, by the 1880s, was enjoying critical praise for his writing from the lies of Harriet Beecher Stowe and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He died in 1899. Not quite half a century later, someone formed the Horatio Alger Association of Distinguished Americans, which hands out a bunch of Horatio Alger Awards each year. Recipients include Bob Hope, Tom Brokaw, Johnny Cash, Kenny Rogers, Leonard DiCaprio, Harlan Sanders, Art Linkletter, Quincy Jones and Waylon Jennings.
Bet you didn’t know any of that.