Patella (Alias the Kneecap)

I’ve never been an exceptional student, but there is one scientific term you can bet I’ll never forget.

          It was a cool day in the middle of May. The kind near the end of the school year that just drags on and on. Perhaps the most tedious thing about the last weeks of school was that I was so looking forward to junior high. I hated being treated like a kid all the time and being told where to sit at lunch and that I should keep my desk clean because, “It will lead to good habits in the future.” Yes, the last days of school were tedious.

          Except, of course, for the time that could easily be classified as The Greatest Day of My Career as a Student.

The time for science had arrived. Mr. Winnekamp asked, “Would anyone like to try to bone chart today?”

          There was an “Oh yeah, right” and a “Dream on,” but the entire snickering in the room tuned to a dead hush when I said, “Yeah, Mr. Winnekamp. I’d like to take the challenge.”

          Now, granted, in order to understand the magnitude of the moment, you may need some background. It had been announced the previous day that anyone who could name all twenty-six bones on the chart at the back of the “I Know My Bones” chart and would receive an official membership certificate to the “I Know My Bones” Club. But, as is always the case when such fame and glory are at stake, there was a catch: You only one chance to take the membership test. One mistake, one wrong word, and your chance to be the best of the best went down the tubes in one fell swoop.

          So now that you know the reason for the class’s amazement, I can continue where I left off.

          Mr.Winnekamp and I walked to the back of the room with the class still reeling in shock. When we finally arrived, the chart seemed like a giant peering down to seal my doom. The intensity was nerve-racking.

          After an eternity, the solemn silence was broken by the sound of Mr. Winnekamp’s voice. “What is the name of this bone?” he asked, pointing to the head of the skeleton on the life-sized poster. I looked around. Every eye was on me. For a brief second—and only a second, mind you—I might have felt a bit of nervousness run up and down my spine. But, being a Hasley of noble character, I straightened my back, looked him in the eye, and answered him. “That’s the cranium.”

          The class let out a sigh of relief, but then became as mesmerized as they had been only seconds before when they realized that there were still twenty–five bones to go.

          So on we went, me naming each bone he pointed to, in a process that seemed to take hours. After the first couple of bones, though, the class seemed to relax and feel confident I would answer them all correctly. Everyone was pulling for me and cheering every time I got one right. I felt like I was shooting free throws in the final game in the NCAA tournament. Finally we got to the last bone. It was the knee bone. The class, which seconds earlier had been buzzing with anticipation, now felt dead silent.

          Now, usually I’m pretty cool under pressure. I’ve gotten up in front of large groups before and it’s no big deal. But this, this was entirely different. Every eye was on me. Mouths hung open. No one breathed. Mr. Winnekamp even started to sweat. The temperature outside was a mild fifty degrees, but you could have fried an egg on my head. The air was so thick you could have hung a map in midair just by driving nails through it. Well, maybe not that thick, but close!)

          People were turning blue because they had forgotten to breathe, so I decided that it was time to take some final, decisive action. Calmly, coolly, I started to answer—and then my mind went blank! I couldn’t remember! Oh no! My chance for fame and glory shot down because I could remember the scientific name for kneecap. I thought so hard I thought my head would explode. Then, at my lowest moment, when I was in the pit of despair, at the end of my rope, about to lose faith, it hit me.

          I looked up. The class was hanging on every breath. My throat was as dry as carpet. I straightened myself from my hunched position, grabbed hold of my overall straps, looked at the chart, and casually said, “Ah…I’m pretty sure that’s the patella.”

          The whole room just exploded. Everyone was yelling and standing on their desks and patting me on the back and hugging me. I think I even saw some tears of joy wiped back. Mr. Winnekamp came up, shook my hand, and presented me with the award.

          “It’s possible they may rename the school after you, ya know.”

          “Gee, I don’t know,” I said trying not to appear ungrateful. “Having the school named after me might interfere with my chanced of having a ‘normal’ childhood.”

          Mr. Winnekamp said he understood.

          There were three really good things that happened to me as a result of being the first in my class admitted to the “I Know My Bones” Club. First, could wear my corduroy overalls to school and not to worry about anyone picking me up by the straps. Second, I had a lot of new friends. And third, I have missed a lot of questions on a lot of tests, but you can bet that I’ll never be at loss for the answer to the question, “What’s the scientific name for kneecap?”