Old scores forgotten in a German kitchen, Taking the fun out of reading, Root plus canal = what? Barney Ross . . .

May of ‘96

German, Japanese, American -- in the kitchen . . . #1 Child writes from Stuttgart, where she's boarding with some empty-nesters. The lady of the house was a kid in the years when the only way Americans got to Germany was on Flying Fortresses and the like, like #1 daughter’s uncle. And guess what? The other boarder, also a young professional, is Japanese.

The three of them chatted recently in the kitchen over tea. The lady of the house knew far better than the two young people what they had there. She called their attention to it and took a special picture of them all, of those three friends relaxing together. Who'd a'thought it? Our daughter found herself "rather moved by the observation."

Little America in Stuttgart . . . She recently visited a U.S. base, where her fellow Americans were so buoyantly friendly, she wrote, "it made my heart hurt." (And she's loving it in Germany.) But the Miller Lite was "awful," which happens when you have been drinking real beer. She and her friend, a German, had a "Tex-Mex platter on a paper plate" in the bowling alley, where a guy yelled "Fries!" from behind the counter, "so loud -- it doesn't happen here," she said, adding, "That I miss too."

New theories dissected . . . There's a fairly new literary theory around, you know, highly cynical stuff full of "Gotcha!" It says if you read for the sheer pleasure of it, you're missing the point. All this Dickens and Robert Louis Stevenson is political tract material, you see. Take that stuff apart and what do you find? Dictation from the ruling class.

Take it apart, the new theory says. It was constructed; deconstruct it. Dissect it. Nothing but worms and ants. If you defend the beauty of it all, as if it can stand apart for all to love, you are a blankety-blanking cultural conservative, fellow traveler with robber barons.

For some dissection of the dissectors, consider a review in a recent (London) Times Literary Supplement, where the elite meet to greet the latest in literature, history, politics, etc. The review likens today's Literary Theory (reviewer's capitals) to "uplifting tracts" as read by a girl in the George Eliot short story, "Janet's Repentance."

Janet would hurry past references to "Zion," "River of Life," and the like in favor of things she could imagine and get pleasure out of -- "the minister's pony," or "boots and shoes" -- images of everyday reality. The Literary Theory folks want us instead to stop and savor those uplifting references.

The reviewer thus likens deconstructionists to 19th-century religious tract writers!

Comments welcome . . . Much obliged to reactions pro and con. It's a major reason for this effort, a sort of diamond in the opinion-polling rough. Your every bit of enthusiasm is noted, your pregnant pauses too. I appreciate them all. As for the utter nay-sayers, and I have blotted their names from memory, I can only say so is your old man, not to mention your old lady.

Annals of dentistry: bad press for root canal? Discussing my recent root canal operation with my dentist, during which he hadn't stuck me, but I'd felt almost no pain, I asked how he had anesthetized me. He hadn't, he said, to my amazement.

But George Vecsey had assumed anesthesis in the NY Times when he urged the Knicks not to make Michael Jordan mad before their playoff series, claiming it would only make things worse -- like root canal without anesthetic, he added.

No, all root canals are not created equal, my dentist explained. In mine there had been no "intervention" with or on (I forget) the nerve. So mine was relatively easy for me. On the other hand, sometimes even with anesthetic, a root canal can hurt, he noted -- a scary prospect indeed.

Nonetheless, we agreed the root canal had an undeserved reputation. I'd been prepared by my brother not to worry, in fact. Advanced in years and dental-chair experience, he says he'd rather root canal than teeth-cleaning. What do you readers think?

Black kids fight . . . A parting shot on our ever-present race-relations challenge. Black kids fight each other more than white kids fight each other. Too many fights at our high school, often enough girls on girls. When one happens, kids rally 'round to watch. "A real ghetto fight," they say afterwards, admiringly. It's a problem.

I'm reminded of the boxer Barney Ross, who grew up Rasofsky on the West Side. He'd come home beat up by neighborhood kids and get beat up by his father for getting beat up on the street.

Ah, wilderness. In a way it's like that guy yelling "Fries" in the bowling alley or the Oregon Trailblazers of 1846 and their Indian friends. Parkman came from New England, where things were comparatively gracious. Adventure drove him along that trail.