The Farm Boy Puppet That Never Came Home

When I skipped fourth grade, I ended up in the classroom of Miss Carlson, an ex-nun, who was fired after one semester because she failed to teach us any lessons. Instead, she had us spend the entire semester making papier- mâché marionettes. (She also took some of the kids for rides in her airplane—this, in a time when few women even drove—without the school’s or the parent’s permission.) The puppets were for a show we were to give at the end of the semester. I made a farm boy puppet from built-up-layers of sculpted cigarette papers and library paste. The little limbs and hands and feet were carefully jointed. We painted the hands and face and then lacquered them. This all took months to do. Mom made a little pair of overalls and a red shirt for my marionette. After Miss Carlson’s folly was discovered and she didn’t appear at school one day, we all decided they had whisked her off to jail. She never came back. All I know is that the school confiscated all the puppet stuff, and I never got mine back. Those bastards!