Does anyone else out there remember these things??? Or the threat they represented??? These things were presented to follow you to the grave. And beyond. My first grade teacher, Sister Mary Josef Mengele smacked me up against the back of my head with this concept one day, along with that rosary/belt/cat-o-nine-tails thing that she wore around her waist. Christ on a crutch, she had incredibly good aim with both of those things!!!
Yes, the PERMANENT RECORD FOLDER!!! Everything I did was in that thing. Nothing good, just the bad shit. And Sister MJM made damned sure of that. I hated that bitch!!! I would later learn that she left the order, turned totally dike and hooked up with a lesbian truck driver from Louisiana named "Gus". I should have known...
As a product of 12 years of private Catholic boys schools I can tell you that the permanent record folder is a device of the most unholy torture that is unimaginable to the thinking world. Trust me, been there, got the scars. I still have vivid nightmares and wake up with the sheets soaking wet. NO, I am not a bed wetter!!! I just wake up with the sheets soaking wet and babbling about large penguins with rosaries. Strange but true...
I am damaged goods, a broken toy if you will. I have stolen cars, I have blown at least one up as I remember, I have done more drugs than Timothy Leary (a feat not easy to accomplish), I have written bad checks and been homeless on a couple of occasions. But yet, my saggy little Jew ass is still here. Happy, fat and still functioning. Full blown bat shit crazy, nowhere near holding down a productive job but still holding a valid passport. Apparently my government doesn't give a rats ass about my PERMANENT RECORD FOLDER!!! Either that or they are just glad to see me leave the country on a regular basis... If they had any sense at all they would just cancel my citizenship the next time I board a plane and just be rid of me for good. I would love to be a citizen without a country on a black sand beach somewhere dodging the falling coconuts in my flip flops. Yes, I do have some goals. They're just not sane... Which is so me that it just hurts.
My permanent record folder starts out with parchment, moves onto carbon paper, has a few layers of Xerox copies and then ends with a police blotter. It's actually more of a rap sheet than anything else. And I'm kind of proud of that actually. How else do you evolve into the loony that I am today without some "life experience" under your belt???
To borrow a line from "Steel Magnolias" , "Those things that do not kill us only make us stronger.". And a hell of a lot more cunning. Don't ever forget that I am a primate after all (a Great Ape to be exact) and I know what to do with these thumbs!!!
I was raised (indoctrinated???) to believe that the Permanent Record Folder was a couple of rungs higher up the ladder than a credit report in terms of importance. And a lot more damaging in the long run. I was convinced that thing was going to shadow me for all eternity like a KGB agent on Black Beauties. Not a comforting thought... But then something strange happened. The Fates got dealt a hand of Ace's & Eights while I was holding a Royal Flush. In the middle of my Senior year of high school we moved from California to Wisconsin and I found myself in public school for the first time in my life. Talk about culture shock. My former school had to mail all of my records to the new school because they were filled with "double secret-secret" information that even my parents weren't allowed access to. Yes, apparently you actually need some sort of security clearance to have access to school records. Who knew??? Guess what? They NEVER arrived. EVER. Somewhere between the nuns and the United States Post Office ALL of my school transcripts had managed to go AWOL. Panic set in. Was I going to have to start all over again? Was I going to be the only student in kindergarten with a drivers license? How was I going to squeeze into those little bitty desks? Let alone use those teeny tiny toilets??? And just how big of a rug was I going to have to buy to make nap time bearable???
Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed and after a couple of phone calls to the penguins back at Divine Savor-Holy Angles Academy for Aspiring Young Homosexuals later an additional copy of my transcripts was finally pieced together. But alas, the Permanent Record Folder that disappeared into the ethers was the only hard copy in existence. HAPPY DANCE!!! I felt vindicated, freed, paroled and pardoned. Expunged as it were. I was suddenly a man without a past. So, THIS is what witness protection must feel like, I said to myself. Fuckin' sweet!!!
In 1995 President Clinton greatly expanded the scope of the Federal Freedom of Information Act and allowed private individuals to access "sensitive" government information that was more than 25 years old. I was all over that like white on rice. I was dying to see what the FBI had on me in their files. Yes, I have an FBI file. Don't forget, I am a child of the 60's and between 1968 and 1970 was arrested 4 times for shit like unlawful assembly, resisting arrest, disorderly conduct and inciting public mayhem (actually, the last one was all about tossing a tear gas canister back at the cops). Hey, what can I say, there was a war going on at the time.
So, I sent in my request and dutifully wait for their reply. A month later a business sized envelope arrives with a total of 4 photocopied pages detailing my transgressions as a teen aged anti-war protester. Not a single word blocked out at all. Apparently nothing on my record was still too sensitive to need hiding. I was impressed with myself. Then the second mailing arrived a week later. It was in an over sized manila envelope and appeared to contain something similar in size to the New York City Yellow Pages. Ah, I thought to myself, NOW the game is afoot. This is where my real dirt comes to light. I gleefully ripped into the envelope. Inside was a document totaling 872 pages with every single word on every page blocked out save for three words at the top of the very first page: "Permanent Record Folder". What in the name of toasted cheese sandwiches had those penguins put in this thing??? Yes, I'm Jewish but that doesn't mean I knew the Rosenberg's personally. I was only kidding when I said that I'd sell secrets to the Soviets for dark chocolate. And that whole thing about me and Daniel Ellsberg was taken way out of context. I mean, really, he was like 40 and I was only 17. I was a minor. I can not be held responsible for what I did to him at the Yogi Bear Campground that weekend. Enough said.
Yes, apparently my Permanent Record Folder is indeed permanent. As permanent as the permanent Magic Marker that is hiding it from me. Permanently. I know it would make a good read, too. I can only imagine what Tennessee Williams could have done with it...
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