Raccoon Toons

Pockets. Pockets. Pockets.

Many years ago in the first grade, pockets were everything. Pockets were it. Pockets were what mattered. Let me explain.

At the beginning of every class our teacher Ms. Wiley, would place a large pile of magic beans on our desks. They were in fact, flat glass marbles, but for some reason I always preferred to call them magic beans. Because magic beans is a way cooler name than flattened marbles. Attributing some sort of mystical power to these little glass objects increased their value exponentially.

Once the beans were placed on our desk, we were instructed to place a marble into each of our pockets. Every pocket. Jean pockets. Coat pockets. Shirt pockets. Even hat pockets. Once we had proceeded to put a marble into every last pocket, the teacher would then instruct us to remove one. We would count. 1. Then she would tell us to remove another. 2. This would continue until all the marbles had been removed from all the pockets.

I suppose the point of this exercise was to teach us how to count. But none of us, including Ms. Wiley really cared about the counting. No no. It was all about who could have the most pockets. The competition was on.

At first the amount of pockets was pretty standard. The average was 4 pockets or so. Kids who wore jeans got that sneaky extra little pocket that hides inside its larger brother on the right thigh. Pretty soon kids were wearing jackets to school with extra pockets on the outside and in. The record number of pockets got higher and higher.

We began layering our clothes. Doing anything we could to get one more pocket above the competition. Hooded sweatshirts were worn under jackets. Pants with extra pockets on the legs suddenly appeared.

But it was all over when that one girl wore her special pocket jacket.

There was a girl who sat on the other side of the room. I cannot remember her name. We’ll call her Ralphina. Ralphina had this jacket with what seemed like a ka-zillion pockets. It was completely unfair. Some of us worked really really hard to come up with ways to scrounge out an extra pocket or two. But Ralphina didn’t have to. All she had to do was wear her special jacket.

You see during this particular era, at the height of their popularity was the exceptionally trendy: jean jacket. Yes, the denim jacket. So popular in its day. So ostracized after its fall. But one thing they didn’t lack, was pockets. I don’t know what it was about the 80′s but man did we sure have a thing for pockets.

The highest number of magic beans I was ever able to place in my pockets was 13. 13 pockets was the highest I was capable of. 5 in my jeans. 1 on the breast of a t-shirt that I hated but only wore for the pocket. 1 in a Stanford hooded sweatshirt that was handed down from my cousin. And 5 in my own jean jacket.

That was my record. It wasn’t the highest ever, but it was the best I was capable of. The pinnacle of my pocket planning plot.

Ralphina had 17.

SEVENTEEN POCKETS!!!

Who the HECK needs 17 pockets?!?!

After a while Ms. Wiley stopped having us place magic beans in our pockets. I suppose it’s possible that she had decided we had all adequately proved that we knew our numbers. But I don’t think that was the case. No one likes a blow out. I think she, like us, knew that the competition was over. Ralphina’s special jacket had won the day.