From: jeremyl@screech.owlnet.rice.edu (Jeremy Lyn Hart)
Subject: Re: Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Co. (and Bear's Story)
Followup-To: alt.callahans
Keywords: Bear, Scarborough Faire
Organization: Rice University
Date: Fri, 17 Apr 1992 16:55:10 GMT

In article <1992Apr17.063627.1965@cco.caltech.edu>, lydick@SOL1.GPS.CALTECH.EDU (Speaker-to-Minerals) writes:
> In article <1992Apr17.020712.25326@muddcs.claremont.edu>, uribe@jarthur.claremont.edu (Soprano) writes:
> >"Tell her to make me a cambric shirt,
> > Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
> > With neither seam nor needlework,
> > If she would again my true love be.

Walker stands at his table, a broad grin on his face.

"*Phew!*  I didn't expect so many responses!  I'd like to thank all who
E-mailed or posted the lyrics for me - it's much appreciated.  Now all
I have to do is figure out which set go with the version Queensryche
does...it's been pointed out to me that it was a bit silly to not realize
a song that old would have hundreds of versions...  Thanks to all.

"Also, thanks to the folks who've talked to me and offered an ear...my
situation hasn't worsened, but hasn't gotten any better, and I don't
think it will.  It's not something I can really talk about much,
not even here, sadly...  And there's nothing I can do about it.  I really
appreciate the concern, believe me.  The people of Callahan's are among
the finest, most caring folk I've ever met, and I thank you all.

"While I'm on, I'll respond to Bear's post, too (though a bit belatedly,
I guess...I see a big discussion's already underway)...

> 	"See that period in my life 7th grade and 8th grade was a total living
> hell for me.  See I had no friends and I was the perfect target.  
[stuff deleted to save space...]
>	"Do not feel sorry for us.  That is jsut the way we are. And I wouldn't
> have it any other way."

Walker nods sagely from his seat.

"That sounds remarkably like my childhood, Bear (and everyone else who've
posted about this since).  For as long as I can remember, I haven't been
very big, and have always been more into "bookish" things than sports, and
I suffered for it all throughout elementary and middle school.  It didn't
help that my dad was in the Army and we had to move somewhere new every three
or four years, either. *sigh*  I can remember my eight-grade year most vividly -
it was probably the worst year of my life.  I was new, having just come to
Fort Hood from San Antonio, and knew absolutely no one.  All of the other
8th-graders pretty much ignored me, even when I tried to be friendly.  When
I ate lunch, it was all by myself at a table on the opposite side of the room
from the other kids.  The other 8th-graders tormented me, so I made friends
with the only kids who'd accept me, the younger kids.  I played marbles
and other games with them at lunch, and was abused for it pretty harshly.

"But it changed, with time.  I grew to find friends in my own grade, and
met new people and made new friends in high school.  I joined the Cross-Country
and Track team my sophomore year, and those guys are like brothers to me now.
I finally decided that I just didn't care what anybody thought of me but those
people I cared about.  And now I'm doing pretty well...I feel like I've left
those days of being picked on behind me.  I've got friends who are closer
to me than I used to think was possible, and it feels wonderful.  I've also
learned to stand up for myself - nobody picks on me that way anymore.

"So Bear, as I'm sure you can tell now, you're definitely not alone.  And good
things may come of having such a childhood, in the end - it definitely made
me a bit of a stronger person.

"Well, there's my 'slice-of-life'...I've got to head out for lunch, but I'll
be back a few more times...  Oh, and before I leave, I'd like to bid a sad
farewell and 'come-back-soon' to Gail - you will be missed, milady."

With that, Walker stands, bows, and heads for the door...

Walker, aka
-- 
Jeremy L. Hart				jeremyl@owlnet.rice.edu
"As opaque warriors, we ride alone
 Guarding our secrets with souls of stone
 Waiting for someone who holds the key
 Do you hold it...do you hold the key to my heart..."
	- "Apache Teardrops," copyright 1991 by Bill Fillbach and Steve Estes
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