Brown Dog and the Red Panda

          Always one to keep his options open, Henry changed his major seven times. When he finally graduated from college, his father, Eugene, congratulated him for “cramming a four-year degree into eight years of study.”

      “Dad,” Henry replied, “with all the choices we have today, it’s hard to lock yourself into something you’ll have to do for the next fifty years.”

      “Forty-six in your case, Henry. Four years are already gone.”

      “Okay, forty-six years, Dad. That’s still a long time and there are a million ways to make a living. A lot more choices than when you grew up.”

       “Right, Henry. Back in the Middle Ages, most boys became shepherds, but not me. I had bigger ambitions. I chose the exciting new world of accounting.”

       “Didn’t you ever think about doing something else? Something with a little more pizzaz?”

       “You can’t put pizazz in the bank, son. There is no Chase Bank of Pizzaz. Pizzaz didn’t pay your tuition.”

        “I know and I’m grateful, Dad. I really am.” 

And he was grateful for the eight years he’d been able to hang out, go to classes when he felt like it and sleep in when he didn’t. And, truth be known, he had no interest in pizzaz. If going to college was an acceptable way to spend your life, Henry would have been a forever student. Two years earlier, he was about to graduate when panic set in and he abruptly changed his major from mathematics to philosophy. He didn’t tell his father of this move for more than a year, instead claiming he was a credit or two short and would graduate soon.

          When he finally fessed up, his father’s response was brutal. “For Christ’s sake, Henry, philosophy? Maybe if you stay in school another twelve to fifteen years and get a PhD, you could teach at some college. Other than that, you might as well go straight to McDonald’s, because you’re going to end up flipping burgers.”

          Although Henry liked the prestige that came with being a college graduate, he didn’t want to change his life. A degree would mean more was expected of him. That was frightening. He loved college life. And he was immensely popular. His unique sense of humor, coupled with a clearly articulated lack of ambition, made him something of an enigma. He rejected many contemporary ideas, but in a profoundly slipshod manner. He was, in the minds of his friends, “the real thing.”

           He’d cultivated that persona in high school. Even though he joined no clubs, played no sports, and received no awards, he was remembered as the smartest kid in his class. Three years after graduation, most of his classmates thought he’d been their valedictorian. Several faculty members agreed. But he wasn’t. He’d graduated seventeenth in a class of eighty-five.

          His popularity went beyond his classmates. About one third of the students a year ahead and a year behind Henry swore he’d been in their class. That allowed him to attend three different high school reunions. Everyone was delighted to see him. He learned, at an early age, that image trumps reality.

         When his college friends took up whitewater canoeing, Henry bought an old canoe and mounted it to the top of his car. When the straps holding the canoe in place began to fray, he had the canoe welded to the rack. The only time his canoe got wet was when it rained.

        What made this okay was that he was completely open about it. “Oh, I don’t canoe,” he’d say, “I just want to be known as a canoeist.” That endeared him to nearly everyone who asked. Occasionally someone would accuse him of being dishonest. But he easily deflected critics with a round of carefree banter that had them laughing within minutes.

        Once though, his attempt at deflection made his accuser angry. “No,” she snapped, “you’re passing yourself off as something you’re clearly not. How could anyone trust you?”

         To which he responded, “You color your hair, wear a padded bra and make-up, not to mention heels that make you four inches taller. I put a canoe on the roof of my car. We’re even.”

        She denied wearing a padded bra.

        Desperate to stay in college, Henry told his father he wanted to attend graduate school. After laughing uproariously for three and a half minutes, Eugene got serious. “Maybe, Henry, in a few years, but you need some real-life experience first. Get a job. Pay your own way, save a little money, then we’ll talk about it.”

        Henry did find a job. He was hired by a college in North Carolina as a dormitory supervisor. It was perfect. He was given the best room in the dorm and a small salary. He could take classes for free, use the library and hang out with students all day long. The job even allowed him to have a pet, so he adopted a stray dog that found campus life as pleasant as Henry did. He promptly named him Brown Dog and they became inseparable.

     Life could not have been sweeter. He met girls who’d stop to pet Brown Dog and because the college was in whitewater river country, guys were impressed by the canoe atop Henry’s car. His gift of gab and sense of humor made him a campus favorite within weeks of his arrival. He was from the north, so one boy in his dorm took to calling him “Hank the Yank” and it caught on. Soon, everyone wanted a room in Hank the Yank’s dorm.

       Everybody’s day of reckoning eventually comes, and Henry was no exception. He’d run Hank the Yank’s dorm for eighteen months when he met the love of his life.

       Beth, like every other girl on campus, stopped to pet Brown Dog. “What’s his name?” she asked.

      “Brown Dog,” Henry replied.

      “I asked his name, not what he is,” she answered. “I can see he’s a brown dog.”

       “And that’s his name,” Henry said cheerfully.

       She rolled her eyes. “Then your name should be Knucklehead, because that’s what you are.” She bent down, cupping the dog’s head in her hands. “Poor doggie, stuck with Knucklehead.” Turning to Henry, she added, “You’re not very clever, are you?”

       That would have stung had Beth not been so pretty. Henry tried to be clever again “Well, I could have named him White Dog just to confuse people. Would that have been better?”

       Beth rolled her eyes again, “No, that would have been equally stupid. Hey, you’re that Hank the Yank guy, aren’t you? You run Hank the Yank’s dorm.” Henry heard traces of the Scottish Highlands in her slow southern drawl. That matched her auburn hair, blue eyes, and ornery spirit. He was instantly infatuated.

       “Go out with me Friday and I’ll let you rename Brown Dog,” he heard someone say, then realized it was him. His mouth was working but without any connection to his brain. He later came to think of that moment as the bravest in his life.

        “A date with Knucklehead. That would make Mom proud!” That thought sealed it for her. “Okay Hank, a movie, maybe?”

         She never renamed Brown Dog, and eventually succumbed to Henry’s charm. They dated for a year before he proposed. She tried to explain to him that she was not ready for marriage. "Maybe when we're older, and both have good jobs. I’ll move in with you,” Beth told him. “But I won’t live in a dormitory and we can’t make it on a dorm supervisor’s salary.

      Henry had nine months left on his contract. That gave him time to determine how he could make enough money to move out of the dorm. He spent hours in the library, searching for occupations that wouldn’t take much of his time. He read dozens of articles with titles like “Do What You Love” and “People Really Get Paid to Do This!”  It was the first time he’d put much thought into what he wanted to do with his life, but the articles provided little guidance. Then, at a college basketball game he and Beth attended, Henry saw the Red Panda’s halftime act.

         Sitting in his dorm room after the game, Henry brought it up. “Beth,” he said, the excitement in his voice palpable, “how in God’s name did the Red Panda decide on her career. Imagine the conversations she must have had with her parents. Let’s say she’s in high school, and her mother asks, ‘Rong---that’s her real name---what do want to be when you grow up? A doctor, an attorney, a college professor?’

        “She answers ‘No, Momma, I want to be an entertainer.’”

        “Like a ballerina, an opera singer, a great acrobat?”

        “Something more unique, Momma. Something no one has ever done before.”

        “Oh, that’s not good, Rong. How do you know people will like it?”

        “Because it’s brilliant…and very, very complicated.

        “Okay daughter, what is it?

        “I want to ride a seven-foot-high unicycle, balance bowls on my foot and leg, then flip them through the air and catch them on the top of my head!

         “The blood drains from her mother’s face. ‘Oh no, daughter, that’s insane. No one could do that. You will fall and crack your skull. Why would anyone watch such an act? This news will kill your father! He hopes you’ll be a doctor.

         "No, no, Momma. People will love it. Papa too! First, I flip one bowl, then two. Finally, I do five and finish with fifteen bowls on top of my head. All the time I’m flipping bowls, I’m balancing on a seven-foot-unicycle. It’s my dream! I can already hear the audience screaming my name. Maybe I get famous and marry someone from America’s National Football League."

         Beth laughed “Very funny, but what has this got to do with you?”

        “Well, I can’t think of anything I really want to do in life, yet the Red Panda somehow drums up riding a unicycle, flipping bowls into the air with her foot and catching them on her head. And she makes a fortune. Up to $3,000 for a seven-minute performance. Her act makes no sense. What’s the point of flipping bowls onto your head? And how’d she come up with that name? She’s not red and she’s not a panda.”

        “Not everyone is as literal as you, Henry. Not all brown dogs are named Brown Dog.”

        Ignoring her comment, Henry continued. “Evil Knievel jumped a motorcycle over all kinds of things, trying to kill himself. He had to be the dumbest man on earth, but he was rich and famous. Think about the things people decide to do! Why does anybody become a mime, for Chrissake? All you’re ever going to do is make people angry. And what’s with the stupid striped shirts? Do you think they referee basketball on the side?”

       “Mimes shirts have horizontal stripes, Henry. Referees’ shirts have vertical stripes.”

       “Maybe they ref laying on their side, making the stripes vertical. And, of course, their whistles would be silent. It would be wonderful. Nobody’d know what was going on.”

       “That’s it, Henry, you could be the first mime-referee. I’ll bring it up to your dad next time we visit. I sure he’d pay for mime school. It would be in France. Wouldn’t a year in France be great?”

       “What I’m saying, Beth, is that I want to do something different, something unique, that’s all. I don’t want to spend my life counting widgets.”

       “What DO you want to do, Henry? What’s important to you? What would your dream job be?”

       “I like what I’m doing now, Beth. I have gobs of free time. I can take walks in the middle of the day. Read when I want to. Talk to interesting people. Resolve a problem every now and then. Read about things I’ll never do. It’s fun, but the pay stinks. And my dad doesn’t think it’s a real job.”

      “I got it, Henry! It’s so obvious! You should be a college professor. They do exactly what you do but teach a class or two every day.”

      “EVERY DAY! I don’t think I’d like that.”

      “For heaven’s sake, Henry, you must do something. Teaching two classes a day wouldn’t kill you!” Beth sighed and slumped down in her chair where resignation slowly replaced her disappointment. He was right. Teaching two hours a day would kill him. But there had to be something he could do. People really liked him!

        Henry saw the far-away look on her face and knew she was thinking. Then her eyes brightened, she sat up straight and when she spoke, there was true excitement in her voice. “Henry, dear Henry, how about this? You become a congressman! Think about it. The salary is more than adequate, the perks are great, you’ll have lots of time off and you really won’t have to do anything. Most of them don’t, and you’re better at doing nothing than anyone I’ve ever met. You have the perfect personality for the job. Everyone likes you and thinks you have accomplished a lot in life, even though you haven’t. A few years in Congress and everyone will believe you’re the Speaker. Even your dad. You’ll exceed his expectations without doing anything.”

       “But the elections, Beth. Raising money. That’s a lot of work.”

“Leave that to me Sweetie. You just show up, talk to people. Shake hands, kiss babies. You’re a shoo-in! We’ll select a district that includes a college campus and buy a house close to the university. During breaks from Congress, you can wander around conversing with students, much like an adjunct professor. You’ll be the happiest man on earth!”

          “It’s a great idea, Beth. And how about this as an add-on; I’ll learn to ride a unicycle. It’ll be my special schtick. I’ll ride around campus, gather a crowd and conduct listening sessions. On occasion, I’ll ride it into the Capital. Won’t that be something!

         “I’d leave all that up to you Henry. You certainly know how to connect to people.”

         “Okay we have a plan. But what if it fails? What if I lose the election?”

         “We’ll buy you a bookstore near campus. You won’t make much money, but you can still take long walks, read when you want to and mix with students.”

         Their plan worked to perfection. Henry entered Congress in 2009, representing a district in rural North Carolina. Every year, he’d pick a day to ride his seven-foot-high unicycle to the podium. News stations in his district always covered the rides, and his constituents loved it.

         But the unicycle schtick turned on him in 2018 when a Republican Congressman from Texas discovered that Henry’s unicycling hero was a woman from China called the Red Panda. He immediately expressed distrust of Henry and within months, the Chinese Unicycle Conspiracy Theory was all over Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. The theory made no sense, guaranteeing thousands would believe it.

      Henry was primaried in 2020, replaced by a diminutive evangelical preacher who vowed to pass legislation prohibiting the sale of vehicles with less than two wheels. Citing Henry’s liberal voting record, he claimed unicycles were the work of the devil. Beth tried to save Henry by revealing the preacher still played on his town’s Little League team, but voters saw nothing wrong with a four-foot ten inch thirty-two-year-old playing Little League.

         When interviewed by a local television station, one constituent summed up public opinion on the matter, “Well, hell, he aint nothin’ but little. And it is Little League. I don’t see the problem.”

         The day Henry opened his bookstore, he turned ruefully to Beth. “Hon, the only other seven-foot unicycle in America belongs to a Chinese woman named Red. I should have made the canoe my symbol. Americans love canoes. Fur traders, Lewis and Clark, the Mohawks, all used canoes. Nobody went west on a unicycle.”

        “It’s okay, sweetie,” Beth replied, taking the long view, “that means your place in history is secure. No one will ever again ride a unicycle in the halls of congress. You had a ten-year run and never introduced a single piece of legislation. That’s an amazing record. And, years from now, people will remember you were the youngest Speaker ever elected.”

          “I wasn’t Speaker, Beth.”

          “I know, white boy. But I won’t tell anyone.”

           Henry smiled. “Beth, you said you’d marry me if I ever got a decent job and made some money. Well, I was in Congress for a spell. Does that count?”

          Beth looked startled. She barely remembered that conversation. She picked up the glass of wine she had poured earlier and downed its contents. She was pouring another when she spoke. “You know marriage is not important to me, Henry, but okay, if you make all the arrangements.”

           Beth’s parents had never approved of Henry. They considered him lazy and thought he might be a communist. They refused to host the wedding, so Henry moved the ceremony to his family’s lakefront home in Minnesota. As their wedding day approached, Beth began to have misgivings. She loved Henry, but, in her heart of hearts, she knew he wasn’t husband material. She began to wonder if she was marrying him to spite her parents, but she couldn’t find the courage to tell him.

             So, on a lovely July day in Minnesota, she stood with Henry in front of two hundred wedding guests. As the ceremony proceeded, doubt ratcheted through her body, threatening to buckle her knees. When the minister asked, “Is there anyone who knows why these two people should not be joined in matrimony,” Beth turned to her mother, her eyes pleading for help. Her mother smiled knowingly and blew her a kiss. "Damn!” Beth murmured.

           She turned back to the minister, a single tear meandering down her face “I do,” she said softly, “I do.”