Shocking Details Revealed!*

When I was in ninth or tenth grade, my guidance counselor casually mentioned that because of an elective I had taken, I would be able to graduate early if I was interested were interested wanted to. Apparently, I was brain dead that day, because I said that I was definitely not interested. After all, high school is such a great place to hang out! Who would ever want to leave early? Not WG, that’s for sure.

Except that within a few months, I came to my senses and announced that yes, indeed, leaving this craphole would be a GREAT idea, the sooner the better.

Then I came up with a brilliant plan! I would graduate a year early and spend my freshman year of college in Israel! So I applied early decision to Brandeis and told the admissions people all about my great plan. And then I went home and forgot about it and got all into the idea of winter in Boston and COLLEGE and WOOHOO! And when the admissions lady called to check if I was still going to spend my freshman year abroad, I said, no way, no how, just get me to Boston! One if by land, two if by sea, Puritans and witch burning sounds good to me!

Against their better judgment, I am sure, they accepted me. I enrolled at age 16 (such promise! And all for nothing!)and promptly declared a major in Theatre Arts. You can imagine how thrilled my parents were to pay $27,000 each year for me to learn the fine art of one day bussing tables in New York.

My freshman year at Brandeis, a couple of girls on my hall went on this program to Israel during winter break. It sounded cool, and I really wanted to go, but I wasn’t old enough – you had to be eighteen. So, the winter break of my sophomore year, I went. And came home brainwashed beyond words.

“I am moving to Israel,” I announced to anyone who would listen. “I am going to join the Israeli army.”

In an uncharacteristically dumb move, my father told me, “You can’t do that.” Dude, what’s the FASTEST way you know of to get your just-turned-18-year-old kid to do something? Yep.

So at the end of my sophomore year, off I went. To Israel. With two semesters of Hebrew under my belt, two suitcases of crap in my hands, and a geeky looking wallet with about $50 around my neck. Too bad I don’t have a picture.

I wound up on kibbutz, where I went to ulpan to learn Hebrew and folded clothes in the massive laundry room for hours on end.

Eight months later, I petitioned the army to draft me. They refused. I insisted. They thanked me profusely but mentioned that they had enough soldiers. I smiled politely and pretended not to understand. They looked at each other warily, sighed wearily, and allowed me to join up.

And so began the course of events that would lead me into Mr. WG’s office. But let’s give you a reason to come back and read some more on Sunday.

*Or, you know, not.