The fear of Nunn

I went out onto the patio this morning to contemplate life and any of the reasons as to why someone would have sat down and invented cottage cheese. The latter led me to remember a certain individual by the name of Rodney Nunn.

Rodney was my own personal bully when I was a freshman in high school. Since the Bellville Independent School district cared so much about your humble narrator’s future and overall physical well being, they placed me in a pre-algebra class with Rodney Nunn. I later had to double up in my mathematics curriculum in order to become a fully functional member of society and be able to calculate things like “If I’ve already microwaved this bag of popcorn for three minutes and there are still less than two seconds between kernel pops, will I be able to set the microwave to heat for an additional minute and have time to open the refrigerator and stare blankly only to later realize that I already had a drink waiting for me on the coffee table?” The Pythagorean theorem comes in handy in this situation.

Coach Wunderlich was our pre-algebra teacher. He was also one of the junior varsity football coaches as well as the girls’ softball coach. If I had to guess what his ancestors did based on surname, I would say they were responsible for the sunglasses that blind people wear.

I was a freshman. Rodney was a senior. We were both in Coach Wunderlich’s 5th period pre-algebra class. Rodney never made it out of the pre-stage of variable-based mathematics. Even though he was mean to me, I truly hope that he can determine a parabola’s direction by knowing that y=a(x-h)2+k. This lends itself useful in determining buying power when shopping for area rugs, clumping kitty litter and nasal spray. Some restrictions apply. Void where prohibited.

I hated going to pre-algebra because I knew that I would be receiving my daily dose of abuse from Rodney. I have recently learned that I’m capable of subjecting myself to selective amnesia. My relationship with Rodney is one of those rare cases. I guess saying that this is a rare case is not easily hypothesized nor capable of being proven because how would I know what I haven’t remembered or temporarily forgotten? A ha! – see, algebra! I don’t remember everything that Rodney did to me, but I know that he was a mean cuss. I remember that he used to flick my ears until they turned red and called me names. Never did I do anything to Rodney to warrant such maiming.

Rodney Nunn played a significant role in my life. He reminded me of that “do unto others” creed. He helped me become a person who enjoys being nice to other people and tries to make others laugh. I wonder what Rodney Nunn is doing now. I wonder if he’s one of those people who is immune to karma. If I were demented, I would come up with the notion of a gaggle of pixies wearing Wunderlich sunglasses and t-shirts that read “Algebraists do it by Symbolic Manipulation”, flicking the ears of Rodney Nunn for an eternity. I’m not demented so I wouldn’t think of something like that.

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