Speaking of hobos …

Note: Remember in school when they said to pay attention because there might be a quiz someday? This was that quiz. If you didn’t read last week’s column you have no idea what I am talking about. Anyway …

Speaking of hobos …

I was completely shocked when I went to the Main Street Museum last Sunday and saw the photo Dale Holtzmann had taken of Harry Carpenter, the hobo who lived in Toronto many decades ago. The writing above his photo even referred to him as just that.

Now, I would never intentionally refer to someone as being a hobo if I felt it would hurt their feelings. But during that period in time, that is what these unhoused people were called.

For those who don’t know what it means, it’s basically someone who jumped trains or walked the railroad tracks looking for side jobs from town to town.

I never thought after mentioning that word in my column I would see it again so soon. It’s not an everyday term. And to see it on a photo, none-the-less. As a matter of fact, I believe the portrait at the museum was actually of the man I spoke about in that article.

• Enter theme from the Twilight Zone here.

And if you don’t know what that is either, I envy your youth.

Now, I really wanted to find that column more than ever. It was my mom’s favorite after all.

But I was unproductive in my search, yet again.

I did, however, come across a few columns I had written years ago for the Toronto Scene. Back when life seemed simpler. Moments I had completely forgotten about.

Because back then, there was always something to talk about. My days were unpredictable. I never knew what life would bring from moment to moment.

For example, when my youngest son, who has now been in the Air Force for eight years, was 9 years old, he came home from school on his second day of third- or fourth-grade. I asked the routine questions: How was your day? Do you have any homework?

To the latter, he responded “no.”

I’ve never known a day when my children had homework. (Unless it was 11 p.m. and I had the pleasure of doing it for them at the last minute.) I reiterated the grade question.

Being the second day, I doubted he would have received anything yet.

His response was, “No. I just got a paper that had an eight out of 10 on it.”

I’m not even going to say it.

I asked what the subject was that he received this “non-grade” in and he responded, “none.”

So, I asked once more. It obviously had to be a subject. Again, he replied “none.”

I decided to rephrase. I would figure out the subject myself. I said, what was the paper about? He casually answered, “We had to write about ourselves.”

At this point, imagine my doing a doubletake. How do you get that wrong?

As I said, there was a time when I had plenty I could write about. This was my life. Every day.

Here, I had a child who was asked to write about himself and missed two of them.

I love my boys more than life itself. But there were days I wondered if I’d even make it through.

To answer the question you’re probably asking yourself, he said he didn’t write his name on his paper and didn’t write enough about himself. Hence, the two points off.

As his mom and biggest fan, I tried sticking up for him. Being on his side. I told him he shouldn’t have to write his name on the paper if it is already about him. And that it doesn’t matter how much he writes because perhaps he doesn’t have a lot going on in his life to talk about.

And that would have ended it. I was on his side. So what if he got an eight out of 10. On questions about himself. I had his back.

At that point, my mother chose that moment to show me a video of a South Carolina teenager who was taking part in a beauty contest. The question asked of her (hmmm … more questions being asked of someone to talk about themselves, so I am thinking will she get an eight out of 10, too?) was: Why do you think one-fifth of Americans can’t locate the United States on a map?

Her exact response, word for word, was this: “I personally believe that U.S. Americans are unable to do so because uh, some people out there in our nation don’t have maps and I believe that our education like such as South Africa and uh, the Iraq everywhere like such as and I believe that they should our education over here in the U.S. should help South Africa and should help the Iraq and the Asian countries so we will be able to build up our future for our children.”

I’m thinking she sure must have been pretty. Anyway, upon viewing that wonderful display of intellect, it didn’t even deserve a score of eight. So, I am laughing. My mom is laughing. My son, Caleb is laughing.

Then as serious as anything I have ever heard, my Noah looks up at us and says, “What was wrong with that?”

Yeah, I miss those days.

(Stenger is the community editor of the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times.)