By Ben Greenman
from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled
John Valliere, age nine, has of late become a celebrated personage in the neighborhood, having risen into view not for the reasons that traditionally elevate boys of his age (achievement in sports or in the classroom, or, at the other end of the pendulum’s swing, mischief or worse) but for his remarkable skills as an orator. Each Saturday, at noon, Valliere stands on the front porch of his house and delivers an address, and while crowds were initially small, consisting only of Valliere’s best friend Luke and Luke’s dog Moose, the speeches have since acquired a following in the neighborhood. Three weeks ago, Valliere lectured on military valor. Two weeks ago, the topic was the quality of a baby’s laughter. Last week, Valliere lamented the frustrations of childhood, where boredom cannot be gainsaid by the practices so commonly employed by adults, including travel, intoxication, the spending of money, and what he called “physical outlets of the pleasurable type.” This last sparked controversy, as it struck some of those present as a reference to sex, inspiring the delivery of a petition to Valliere’s parents that condemned Valliere for “dirty words and thoughts” and demanded that all future topics be cleared with the neighborhood association. Valliere believed that his parents would support him unconditionally. He said as much to Luke, who spread the word through the neighborhood. But Valliere’s parents took the opposite course, punishing him by denying him use of his game room and phone for an undisclosed amount of time. Early in the week, Luke was seen entering the house twice, once with a comic book, once with a bag that appeared to contain Valliere’s favorite type of sandwich, a ham and cheese. A third visit was attempted, but he was turned away at the door by Vallerie’s mother. This was on Wednesday. Valliere was not seen Thursday or Friday, though neighbors claimed to hear yelling in the house. As such, there was a very real sense that this week’s lecture would directly address the matter. Valliere came to the front lip of the porch at noon. The full text of his remarks appears below:
John Valliere, age nine, has of late become a celebrated personage in the neighborhood, having risen into view not for the reasons that traditionally elevate boys of his age (achievement in sports or in the classroom, or, at the other end of the pendulum’s swing, mischief or worse) but for his remarkable skills as an orator. Each Saturday, at noon, Valliere stands on the front porch of his house and delivers an address, and while crowds were initially small, consisting only of Valliere’s best friend Luke and Luke’s dog Moose, the speeches have since acquired a following in the neighborhood. Three weeks ago, Valliere lectured on military valor. Two weeks ago, the topic was the quality of a baby’s laughter. Last week, Valliere lamented the frustrations of childhood, where boredom cannot be gainsaid by the practices so commonly employed by adults, including travel, intoxication, the spending of money, and what he called “physical outlets of the pleasurable type.” This last sparked controversy, as it struck some of those present as a reference to sex, inspiring the delivery of a petition to Valliere’s parents that condemned Valliere for “dirty words and thoughts” and demanded that all future topics be cleared with the neighborhood association. Valliere believed that his parents would support him unconditionally. He said as much to Luke, who spread the word through the neighborhood. But Valliere’s parents took the opposite course, punishing him by denying him use of his game room and phone for an undisclosed amount of time. Early in the week, Luke was seen entering the house twice, once with a comic book, once with a bag that appeared to contain Valliere’s favorite type of sandwich, a ham and cheese. A third visit was attempted, but he was turned away at the door by Vallerie’s mother. This was on Wednesday. Valliere was not seen Thursday or Friday, though neighbors claimed to hear yelling in the house. As such, there was a very real sense that this week’s lecture would directly address the matter. Valliere came to the front lip of the porch at noon. The full text of his remarks appears below:
Excuses, invented on the spot, elaborate tales of self-justification, intentional misdirection, full-bore deception—lies surround our lives. It is fair to assume, on general evolutionary principles, that our capacity to identify lies has value for our survival. But this is no longer about general principle. It is about my own personal survival, as I have been the victim of a pernicious accusation regarding the content of last week’s address. Calling the charge disturbing is an understatement. Calling it slanderous is perhaps more to the point. The lie was manufactured. It was deployed, as weapons often are. And then it was used again and again, not by its original designer, but by secondary and frankly second-rate adults who should know better. Adults! Or, if they would prefer the more affectionate honorific, which I will now intone with the greatest sarcasm possible, grown-ups. These so-called grown-ups are the enemy of truth. Though they affect authority, though they claim to posses the moral basis, they are in fact the most frightened of beings, worried constantly about finding the next dollar or being respected at work or, in the case of one of them, even talking to his first wife on the telephone once a year during the holidays for fear that my mom will give him hell for it. Yes: hell. It is a word I know and a concept I also know. Hell, hell, hell. I do not wish to stand too long here today. I do not trust these people to protect what little freedom I have left. But I will be back next week, undeterred, unbowed, with more explicit instructions about how to throw off the yoke of these grown-ups. All I will say in closing is this: collect any and all unstruck kitchen matches that you can find.
Next week’s remarks will be published in full as well. Luke and Moose were in attendance.
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