If anybody is wondering where the heck Ginnyteacher is, I’m writing great volume of stories for class this semester, so I’ve been trying to focus all thought and energy at that. Here’s the rough start of one that I’m enjoying so far, even though I’m not sure where it’s going. 

There is a house down Portwhite St that if you go in there, you might see a ghost. If you will go down in to the basement, you might especially see one, or, also, you might not see anything. There is a brass ring down in that house, somewhere in there, that if you grab it you might come out of the place a man. This is something that other people say they heard from someone who was told by somebody else.

The house on Portwhite St is a place you can go to become a man. There are other places you can go, but they’re far. In Papua New Guinea, you can become a man in the Matuasa tribe by letting other people stab you, in order to bleed all your “female” blood out. But that sounds not only far, but also painful. In ancient Minoa, a boy leaping over a charging bull would land on the other side a man, but that is far also and ancient is right there in the name. There are people in Brazil called the Satere-Mawe who cover boys in bullet ants and wrap them up; if the boy survives the stings, he will be a man, but that sounds even worse than what you’d get in Papua New Guinea. So a boy starts to wonder then, what’s so great about growing up? Are we in a hurry to do that?

But if it’s as simple as running into the house on Portwhite and grabbing a ring, that can be done without error or doubt, so that is something to do. Of course, we’re all men already. Somebody told us, who was told by somebody else much more important than any of us are, that we are men in the eyes of God; we understand. But we also understand that if it’s that somebody just goes ahead tells you that you have come of age- for something you were doing anyway- that means jackshit, so we need to go get the brass ring. We didn’t make any effort to be Confirmed that we wouldn’t have been whipped for if we hadn’t.

Do you know Kip Grady?

Yeah I know him. He plays football up Charleston.

His brother Mickey went into Portwhite.

Really? Any advice?

He died.

You’re a liar.

You asked.