Proecthesis

Proecthesis (pro-ek’-the-sis): When, in conclusion, a justifying reason is provided.

I had a perfectly normal childhood growing up in suburban New Jersey, about twenty miles from New York City. My father was a muskrat trapper. He trapped muskrats in the swamp around the small regional airport near where we lived. He got up every morning around five to check his traps. When he caught a muskrat he would beat it to death with piece of lead pipe. Then, he would drop it in the gym bag that he carried specifically for that purpose. He had gotten the gym bag at the local thrift store and it had the name of our local high school stenciled on each side.

He would throw the gym bag in his car’s trunk and head home to skin and butcher the muskrats. He sold the meat as dog food, mostly to owners of hunting dogs, and to a couple of butcher shops The furs were sold to “Doggy” Norton. He’d gotten his nickname because he had a big black nose like a dog’s and he panted, often with his tongue hanging out. But he was a good guy. He always gave us a touch above market price for our pelts.

To prepare the furs for sale, Dad would make cuts around the muskrat’s tail, and up and down its hind legs.Then I’d peel the skin from around the legs and tail and pull the skin off like a glove, turning the muskrat inside out. Sometimes, when a skin was hard to remove, I’d have to use pliers to get a grip. Anyway, then, Dad would finish up by pulling the skin off over the muskrat’s head and scraping the hide on a board. He would gut and clean the carcass later.

We were a great father son team. Muskrat pelts were with a lot back then, and we made a good living trapping them. There’s nothing in my upbringing as the son of a muskrat trapper and a nearly silent mother (who I have nearly forgotten), that would lead me to believe I would become inflicted with sticky note mania.

Things started getting strange with the invention of sticky notes. I started with simple reminders for myself and others. If I had to make a phone call, I’d put a note on the phone. Ir I had to go grocery shopping, I’d put a note on the refrigerator. Then, it got weird: I learned to write backwards so I could read sticky notes in the mirror, stuck my forehead, maybe reminding me to brush my teeth. Then, I started writing gibberish on them and sticking them everywhere. So, my apartment’s walls were soon covered with sticky notes. Then, my bedspread. Next, the dashboard of my car. I met other people like me. We would get together and plaster each other with sticky notes. After doing that, I decided I wanted to wear sticky notes. I covered my denim jacket with sticky notes. I admit, I glued them on. I looked like a big canary when I wore my jacket. I got numerous compliments. A Hong Kong garment factory named “Spring Luck Tailor, called me. They wanted to mass-produce my “sticky note coat” and would pay me $1,000,000 for my permission to exclusively do so! I love sticky notes. So what? Maybe I can help other people use their neuroses, and even psychoses, to make a lot of money, like Elon Musk or Norman the Lunatic

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

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