Amuse bouche is a French term that means “mouth amuser.”    It’s a tiny bite-sized morsel that is served before the first course of a meal to give a diner an idea of the chef’s cooking style.  I’ve always thought of it as a preview of the things to come.

Below is an excerpt from my book, Tarnished Halos and Crooked Fences.  Think of it as a sort of literary amuse bouche, a brief look at what lies within the pages for the reader.  Bon appetit! 

When I was in the third grade, we took a trip to Geisinger and, as usual, I was so excited that I almost decided to drive myself and leave Mom at home.  The fact that I was only eight or nine at the time didn’t enter my head.  This particular trip came about as the result of a conversation between my mother and my third grade teacher.  My teacher had alerted my mother to a device that could conceivably help me in the classroom. 

Back then I knew this device by the name of the Phonic Ear.  They also referred to it as an auditory trainer.  It’s more commonly called an FM Transmitter today.  It consisted of a pack that was strapped to my chest and it had two long wires that went into my ears.  The teacher wore a microphone around their neck.

That thing was heavy.  The main unit kept rubbing against my chest and would frequently leave it sore.  Just putting it on took about ten minutes.  The microphone?  That bad boy was long and it was solid enough to double as a baseball bat.

The clarity, though.  I’m getting goose bumps just remembering how everything went from being just loud to loud and clear.  The noise now had purpose.  It was understandable.  One thought popped up in my head: 

I GOTTA GET ME ONE OF THESE.

Well, I did get me one of them.  It was uncomfortable and the straps holding it to my chest kept coming loose.  I would frequently get tangled up in the wires that went from the main unit to my ears.  At the end of the day, I would have to dismantle the whole thing and put it in the battery charger.  The amount of power that was required to charge that thing was enough for most third-world nations. 

There were even times when I would be in class working quietly and all of a sudden, I would pick up conversations between police officers when they talked to each other through their radios.

I didn’t care.  I could finally understand what the teacher was saying!  A funny thing happened.  Once I realized that there was an actual connection between what the teacher was saying and what was in my book, a little light clicked on in my brain and my grades took off.  Instead of looking blankly at the words on a page and trying to follow the incoherent mumblings of the teacher, I now understood.  It was like, “Oh, so that’s what they were talking about!  Wow.”

 The influx of information was overwhelming.  Facts and numbers became connected in my mind in new and wondrous ways.  The world around me was not a random collection of things . . . there was a purpose to its design!  It was as though I had been sitting in a dark room for years not knowing which way to turn and then suddenly, a beam of light shone down on a path in front of me and a voice was saying, “Come this way!”

The Powers That Be never acknowledged that they had royally screwed up in diagnosing me.  All those fancy degrees and they still couldn’t beat a mother’s instinct.  I feel bad that Mom didn’t have the chance to tell them to go do extremely painful and illegal things to themselves.

I need to close out this chapter with another thing that I discovered using the Phonic Ear/FM Transmitter.  As you know, I went to a Catholic elementary school and was taught by nuns.  They were a source of great mystery to me and there was one burning question that I always wanted to ask them, but didn’t because I had no idea how they’d react.

One day, Sister I-Forget-Her-Name said, “Excuse me, class” and left the room for a minute.  She forgot to turn the microphone off and finally, thanks to her, I had the answer to my question.  I will now share this with you:

Yes, nuns DO use the bathroom.

You’re welcome.