We’re thrilled that Ripley got into the annex of our catchment school – just K to 3, and in its own building, closer to us than the main school. Since he came from an annex, this works well – he’s not coping with “change of school size” at the same time as “change of school”.

So far, so good. He likes his teacher, as do I. He has met a child or two, although he’s suddenly very focused on the “Bully Busters” portion of his agenda, and told me “I’m not a social kid, am I mom? I’m a kid who is all about the reading.”

And indeed, he has always been about the reading, but he’s always made friends, too. I let him know I thought he was a good friend to people, and that it will just take a little time to settle in. Fortunately, he’s not the only New Kid: that’s calming him, a bit.

One of the things I didn’t notice until the wind changed for fall – you can really smell the perfum du dump on the playground. The school is just a few blocks away from the Transfer Station. Other than obviously being garbage, it’s not actually too bad: not uncomfortable, or anything. Like skunk from a few blocks away, it’s just really obvious. It fades about half way between school and home.

I was considering this dumpy scent, considering if it’s a wrong side of the tracks phenom, and realized that I’ve internalized some sort of Pro-Working-Class Dump Acceptance via kid oriented entertainment. Like Francine Franski’s Dad in the series “Arthur”, a sanitation engineer. He sets up a playground comprised of stuff thrown away and becomes the hero of career day, overcoming Francine’s working-class rental-apartment and shared-bedroom embarrassment.

Then there was Dougal the Garbage Dump Bear, which I found somewhere in a waiting room or library.  Less working class oriented, it’s about the treasure to be found in that which is thrown away. And of course there was the Velveteen Rabbit. Didn’t seem fair that he was made real upon being thrown out – Pinocchio at least had a chance at transformation at home.

(Actually, there’s an interesting little essay in that, isn’t there: becoming real, either by being well loved and discarded, or by behaving to an external standard. Or maybe sometimes a children’s story is just a children’s story.)

And there was a book I really liked, middle grade, called something like “Muh, muh, Fish, and me the Dump Queen”…. wait. Google! I’ve been half remembering that book for years. It appears to be “Mrs. Fish, Ape, and Me the Dump Queen“. Right. She lives with her uncle who manages the dump, and becomes friends with the school custodian. Also seemed to speak to my odd-family-structure and used everythings condition. Probably made my first prole/dump connection, right there.

This is picked up by real life for me. One of my father’s partners ran a daycare in the Main St. corridor, and the guys on the garbage route used to clean and restore and bring by toys they’d found. They drove a big orange truck, those days, and the kids would anticipate garbage day. In a moment of community and kindness, my dad’s partner made a sign for the guys at Christmas saying “Merry Christmas, Big Orange Truck!”  – and I believe brought them cookies and coffee.

This was a money where your mouth was demonstration for me. The hippie side of my family had more money but talked more about poverty causes, and it always struck me as an uncomfortable marriage.  There’d be discussion of the liberation of the proletariat, in whatever form, and in the same conversation disparagement of things like Molson Canadian (beer), Players (smokes), country or hip-hop or the Stones. Or football, KD and hot dogs, carnivals, and rabbit fur. Or, ahem, the lottery. Then I’d go home to my more working class neighbourhood.

Oh, hey, they’re describing us! Wait, what?

So, anyway: the garbage truck was also the real world intersection for me between poverty activist culture and the blue collar job. AND NO ONE THREW ANY PUNCHES. Tho’, if you think about it, those blue collar jobs were better money than retail…

So. To sum up. My son can smell the dump from his new school, and it makes me realize I have a thematic DUMP MOTIF.

This maybe entirely appropriate, if the course of human history has been determined by our waste. As some historian whose name I’ve forgetton has suggested.

 I should probably google that, too.