Rats Saw God

In fourth grade we all had to take part in the Presidential Physical Fitness Program. This was the first time in my school career that gym class was not something involving a kickball, jump rope, or even a square dance. Yes, we square danced in gym, which wasn't bad IF your partner was one of the cuter girls in class, but being that there were probably only 2 that fell into that category it was always a crap shoot. Anyways, PPF program was the first real test of a young child's physical abilities. The reward for meeting the requirements of the program was a certificate with an official looking signature from the President and more importantly a blue round patch.

Why a patch? Who knows. It's not like we all had jackets or better yet sashes to sew all our patches on. In reality the patch would end up in a desk drawer along with crewed up superballs and cereal box toys. Never the less I wanted that patch. And for the most part it was smooth sailing. The shuttle run with the chalk board erasers, I conquered. The v-sit reach with two classmate pushing down on my knees was a breeze. The only problem with the sit-ups was trying not to pass gas on the person holding my feet. The mile run was torture but I got through it. The unmovable obstacle came in the form of pull-ups.

Being only nine years old my upper body strength was practically non-existent. I could not do a single pull-up let alone the required five. Thus my PPF award was out of reach. However, this being public education, where no student is to be told that they are less than the best, I received a round yellow and white patch that said "participant." I hated that patch and it's "good try, you did you're best, better luck next time" message.

Fast forward twenty years, as a teacher with slightly better upper body strength, I stumbled upon a container packed with PPF patches. They were just out there in the open, not hidden away, not under lock and key, not guarded in anyway. So I snatched one. I consider it a lifetime achievement award since certainly I have done at least five pull-ups in the past 20 years.

We have these important things in our childhood lives, and we grow up to learn how very unimportant these things are in the real world. But the fact that these things were once so important makes us look back at them with nostalgia. They allow us to remember what it means to live a care-free life.

That's what's great about the coming-of-age genre. Stories about young characters facing problems that aren't that big of a deal, but to those characters, the problems are practically earth shattering. Problems that many of us had and made too big of a deal about at the time. Rats Saw God has nothing to due with rats or God but rather a smart yet slacking teenager with girlfriend and daddy problems and by the end he's learned how to deal with both, a character in the mold of many guys were or knew growing up.

One quick note, this book was an ALA Best Book for Young Adults. I mention that only because it seems YA lit has gotten a little edger since I was a young adult. For example the first line of the book is "Though I tried to clear my head of the effects of the fat, resiny doobie I'd polished off an hour before..." Toto, I don't think we're in Narnia anymore.