Bread Crumbs

By Slats Slaton

NEIL TALSON BEGAN WRITING TO HIS DAUGHTER THE VERY WEEK SHE WAS BORN. LITTLE DID HE KNOW HIS WORDS WOULD ONE DAY BE READ BY MILLIONS. Mattie Talson's birth brought her parents much joy. For her father, however, this jubilation was accompanied by an awareness of what loomed ahead: adolescence. So he began compiling a comprehensive volume of fatherly wisdom just for her. For the next fifteen years, he secretly wrote and rewrote a project he titled "Bread Crumbs: Morsels of Guidance for My Teenage Daughter in This 21st Century." And now it was finished. Before handing it over to Mattie, however, Neil mailed it to a trusted friend to proof and review. Yet, before the package arrives, something unexpected happens and his work is soon rerouted. From there, it takes on a life of its own. Bread Crumbs is the story of an unlikely bestseller. It's about a father's forthright presentation of truth and common sense – and about how this private correspondence eventually found its way to his daughter and into the hands of future generations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9780989178921

Book preview

Gretel

ONE

December 2012, Evansville, Alabama

They say if you don’t raise your child, the culture will do it for you. The competition between parents and the world is best described as a power struggle. The problem lies in the fact that we are forever in the company of the culture, and so its influence is constant — unlike that of our parents, who have us only for a short while. However, nature grants them an initial authority, and that is key. For it is within those formative years that foundations are laid, truth is explained, and the snares of the world are revealed.

Revealing those snares is what Neil Talson had set out to do. Fifteen years earlier, he embarked on a project the very week Mattie was born. Like every infant, she arrived lacking vital information, and so he initiated a regimen of writing it all down for her. He continued this for some time and for whatever reason, he did it in secret. Later, he transcribed his words of wisdom to his laptop and more was added. Then months would come where he wrote nothing at all, only to be followed by periods of typing away all hours of the night. Now at home in his study, the last page came off the printer, and the instructional keepsake for his daughter was complete.

Fatherhood suited Neil, though he didn’t quite look the part. At forty-eight, his dusty gray hair was longer than that of his contemporaries. A growing midsection couldn’t quite undo his basically lean physique, helped in great part by clothing generally one size too large. When a friend once asked if his entire wardrobe was oversized, Neil told him, Absolutely! I buy my pajamas so I can turn over in ‘em.

Most often, he wore a wrinkled white dress shirt, faded Levis and scuffed leather shoe-sandals with no socks. Around the house, this impoverished look was accessorized with a favorite charcoal cardigan, which had seen better days and hung on him like a wilted sack. Thankfully, for meetings and appointments, an old district check sport coat replaced the sweater, but that was it. Yes, Neil was slovenly in his dress. However, the rest of his life was neatly buttoned-down and extremely well ordered.

Taking the pages from the printer, he squared the white bundle with both hands, tapped it flush on the tabletop and then fixed his eyes on the title page. Just holding the finished manuscript brought a sense of real accomplishment. Blinking through his wireframe readers, he read to himself in a low mumble.

Bread Crumbs: Morsels of Guidance for my Teenage Daughter in this 21st Century. By Neil H. Talson, III.

As he admired this heading, the word teenage somehow caused him to pause, and his thoughts were diverted. And in that instant, his mind was sent backwards as he became lost in the reflections of a misspent youth.

The grown-up Neil Talson had changed considerably since high school. Looking back upon the younger version, he saw an unruly kid full of mischief and void of ambition. He was fairly well liked by his classmates; though he was irresponsible and often disruptive in the classroom, and that made him unpopular with teachers. His grades were satisfactory, but they might have been exceptional had he only applied himself. He had to believe that his parents’ decision to send him to a prestigious private school in Montgomery was surely the worst investment they ever made. Later in life, however, a newfound interest in computer technology would come along and save him. At least from a financial standpoint, it would more than make up for the education he squandered.

Still, the memories of those years troubled Neil periodically, and they came with a lasting burden of regret. He never talked much about it, nor did he share these feelings of remorse with friends or colleagues. Had he done so, they might have told him that he was just being too hard on himself — citing that his only crime was adolescence. Of course, their armchair acquittals would not take into account the incident involving Mr. Altman and Andy Cooper.

March 1981, Saint Dunstan Academy

Leo Altman was the eleventh grade Algebra teacher at Saint Dunstan. Bull-chested and built like a marine, he was a good-looking man with wavy black hair; forty-five or so and nearly six feet tall. As for personality, this bachelor was a quiet, humorless sort who rarely interacted with students or teachers on a social level. And then there were the glasses. Due to significantly impaired vision, he wore a most unattractive pair of bifocals. Encased in nerdish black frames, the nearly inch-thick lenses magnified his eyes to the point that they appeared almost twice their normal size. Without them, the man couldn’t see diddly. But with them, he looked like a cartoon character, ripe for teenagers’ cruel amusement.

They called him Eyeballs behind his back. In the hallway, stares and snickers followed him, and he was the butt of a lot of jokes that made the rounds. In the mornings before class, when Altman drove his old brown Dodge into the school parking lot, some of the boys would make a big scene by yelling, Run! Save yourselves! — or something similarly as clever as they comically dove out of his way to get a laugh. Pretending not to notice or even care, the teacher would simply motor past these jokesters, park his car and go inside without a word.

Altman’s students were a privileged group of sixteen and seventeen-year-olds who were more interested in their hair than mathematics. It was a new era. Disco was out and Preppy was in; Rubik’s Cube was all the rage; and the cost of a gallon of gas had recently risen above the one dollar mark. The upcoming summer would be marked by the release of a blockbuster movie titled Raiders of the Lost Ark; the appointment of the first woman to the US Supreme Court; and the launch of MTV — a new cable television channel devoted entirely to rock and roll. Times were changing and things like classroom discipline and showing respect to one’s elders were on the front end of fading.

Neil was not among those who outwardly ridiculed Mr. Altman. Then again, he was not on his good side either. While his poor classroom conduct did not leave a positive impression, the main factor in the strained relationship was his inability to get to class on time. Since he was always slow to leave his buddies in sixth period gym class, Neil was habitually late for seventh period Algebra. One day, when Altman’s patience had finally worn thin, he warned Neil in front of the entire class that any further late arrivals would have consequences. And just a few days after that, to nobody’s surprise, he was late again. Arriving late and unprepared for a six-weeks test was routine for Neil. Being met by a locked door, however, was something new.

Cupping one hand over his eyes, he peered through the door’s window to see Altman handing out the test papers. So Neil knocked on the door. When this brought no response, he banged lightly, waved his hand and spoke loudly saying, Helloooo…

Still no response. Is he serious? Neil wondered to himself. Then he pleaded through the door, Hello, Sir? Hey, could you let me in… the door’s locked.

But Mr. Altman paid no attention to the latecomer. Instead, the teacher calmly made his way up and down the aisles, handing out tests to those students who were responsible enough to be on time. Meanwhile, they could only make eyes to Neil through the glass to communicate both their sympathy and helplessness in his situation.

C’mon! Look, I’m sorry I’m late! he yelled.

Again, no response from Altman, who was now at his desk reading while his students were fully engaged in taking their tests.

You gotta be kidding me! Neil said loud enough for the whole school to hear. Then he gave the door a quick kick before finally storming off.

That episode cured Neil of being late to Algebra, but it was an infuriating and humiliating lesson to learn. And even though Mr. Altman agreed later to let him take a make-up, Neil hated the man for embarrassing him, and he mentally moved him into the enemy camp. Then the next week when Altman was handing out the graded tests, the enemy lost ground.

One of the kids in class had carelessly shoved his books under his desk and left one of them sticking out into the aisle. Maybe it was Altman’s poor eyesight, or perhaps he was just too focused on handing out the exams. Whatever the reason, he didn’t see the book in his path, and he stumbled and fell forward. As his feet got tangled, the papers in his hands went skyward, and his glasses sailed across the room. The next thing you know, old Eyeballs was face down on the tile floor — and because it was high school, the room erupted with laughter.

As everyone laughed hysterically and watched the papers float down on this pitiful man, Neil noticed the glasses had landed by his foot. Without any forethought, and before he realized what he had done, he picked them up and slipped them into his shirt pocket — and nobody had seen him do it.

Within less than a minute of the big fall, the bell rang and the blushing, squinty-eyed teacher stood and brushed himself off while the last few kids retrieved their scattered test papers. Everyone else was bee-lining for the door, heading home for the day.

Did anybody see where my glasses went? Altman asked loudly over the commotion of the exodus.

No sir, they said, almost in unison, as they hurried out.

Barbara Millens and Lacey Temple — the well-known goody-goodies of the class — stayed behind and helped their teacher look for his glasses. Neil on the other hand walked out and made tracks to his locker the second he heard the bell.

Later, on the way out to his car, Neil slowed down in front of Altman’s room to see that the man was still searching for the glasses, except now the girls were gone. He could hear his instructor’s mumbles of cursing as he scanned the floor the best he could.

Though done on impulse, taking Altman’s glasses was Neil’s way of heaping a little punishment on his teacher for the locked-door incident. But now he felt bad. Seeing the guy all rattled and disheveled, blindly searching for glasses he would never find, Neil thought about just giving the darn things back. They were still in his pocket. All he had to do was go in and hand them over. But what would he say? If he claimed to have found them on the floor, what would be his reason for having taken them out of the room? Altman would surely see through whatever tale he came up with and then their already adversarial relationship would be even worse.

As Neil analyzed his situation, Altman turned and looked out into the hall where he was standing. Even though he knew he was only a blur in the teacher’s eyes, Neil quickly turned his head and faked innocence. Yanking his backpack higher on his shoulder, he continued down the hallway until he was safely out the door and inside his car.

TWO

On the drive home from school, Neil impatiently pushed all five buttons on the radio only to find news on every station. Once he stopped long enough to listen, he realized they were all covering the same breaking story. The overwrought newscaster reported:

"There were six shots fired at President Reagan as he was coming out of the Washington Hilton Hotel. Reports say that he was hit… I repeat, the President was hit… and was immediately pushed into a limo and rushed from the scene. There is no official word yet on his condition… The shooter we’re told was wrestled to the ground by Secret Service… Also, Press Secretary James Brady was in the line of fire and was wounded… we understand that he is in critical condition. We were informed that a Secret Service agent and a police officer were also struck…"

The shaken voice of the reporter, combined with the pandemonium heard in the background, was distressing. Neil knew this was a tragic moment in our country’s history, and it compounded the anxiety and regret he was already feeling over the Altman incident.

Sleep was elusive that night. The remorse Neil felt about taking the glasses consumed him. However, after much tossing and turning, he finally hatched a plan. The next day he would get to school early and place the glasses at the foot of Barbara Millens’ desk. Should she find them, it would no doubt create some confusion, since they had already searched the room so thoroughly. Nonetheless, she would be the first to return them to Altman for nothing else except to score brownie points. And if she happened not to see them, well, eventually somebody else would. Either way, the case would be closed, and Neil would not be connected to the mystery of the disappearing and reappearing eyeglasses.

THE NEXT MORNING, though tired and a bit bleary-eyed, Neil got to the school at 6:55, about thirty minutes earlier than usual. Pulling in, he saw that Mr. Altman’s parking space was empty and he was not expected until 7:15 or so, which was when most of the teachers got to school. Neil had twenty minutes to get in, leave the glasses and get out before everyone started showing up. There was plenty of time.

When he entered the school building, it almost