Horismus (hor-is’-mus): Providing a clear, brief definition, especially by explaining differences between associated terms.
“Time is conscious of waiting.” It does not go “tick tock” or hum. It is not about day or night. Time is used as a measure called “per” or before or after, late or early or on time.
I was thinking about time because I had gotten a wristwatch for my 12th birthday. It was a Timex Boy Scout watch. It had glow-in-the-dark numbers, a sweep second hand, and a little square with the date in it. It was Boy Scout green and waterproof to 200 feet. It was also shock proof and anti-magnetic. It ran on batteries and was made in Japan.
I wasn’t a Boy Scout, but I still loved the watch. I wore it to school the day after I got it. I wore my sleeves rolled up so I could show it off. I was even ready to join the Boy Scouts—the BSA—the Boy Scouts of America. Then, Louie Pezzo showed up wearing a solid gold Rolex. His father was into crime and could get anything for Louie. That included alligator shoes, fireworks, a color TV, an electric popcorn maker, and more. Louie always had to one-up somebody. He had 100-plus-upped my Boy Scout watch with his Rolex. I was hurt, but I didn’t show it. Instead, I asked him if he wanted to join the Boy Scouts with me. Since he had no friends, and everybody hated him, he jumped at the chance.
Mr. Bangholtz was our Scoutmaster. Louie and I were the newest members of the troop. Already members were: Floyd Leash who lived at the edge of the swamp, Rollo Bing who lived in a mansion on a hill, Pardor Scanson who just sat in a corner sharpening his knife, and Bulgy Branford who was morbidly obese. It was very unusual, but I was the most normal person there.
Mr. Bangholz told us he was going to show us how to light a fire so we’d be ready for next week’s camporee. He picked up a red Jerry can and a boom box and told us to follow him to the parking lot out behind the YMCA. We got out there and there was a pile of wood about five feet high. Mr. Bangholz doused it with gasoline from the Jerry can and lit it. Then, he pressed the play button on the boom box and “Fire,” the weird 60s song, started to play. Mr. Bangholz started skipping around the flaming wood pile waving a lit road flare over his head. Floyd Leash yelled “I’m going to home.” Louie said “You’re a dead man.” Bulgy yelled that he wanted a snack “immediately.”
We heard sirens. It was fire trucks coming to put out the fire! “Who’s in charge here?” asked the firefighter. I am,” Mr Bangholz sobbed as he stood in front of the fireman’s hose and begged “cleanse me, I am filth, I have sinned.” The firefighter yelled “Get out of the way you friggin’ lunatic!” Mr. Bangholz made a sound like a train whistle and jumped into the fire. He had doused himself with gasoline and quickly went up in flames. Luckily, the firefighters were there and were able to quickly douse the flames. He lived.
In court, Mr. Bangholz testified that he had planned to give us a surprise tutorial on dealing with burn victims, but it got out of control. He was found not guilty of lighting a bonfire in a private parking lot. We found out later that he was divorced four times and refurbished used bicycles in his basement for a living. He suffered from bi-polar disease and took medication for it, but that he hadn’t taken his medication for three weeks and had been talking angrily to himself.
We sued the Boys Scouts for not properly vetting Mr. Bangholz. We won. Now the Boy Scouts ask prospective Scoutmasters three key questions: 1. What year is it?; 2. Can you tie a square knot?; 3. Do you eat your spinach?
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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