Misspeak

I was only fourteen, living in a small studio

mid-town with my dad. We had recently moved

to Kansas City from St. Louis where my mom

and dad got divorced. Dad showed me around

town so that I could go places my own. He tried

to keep me busy as to not think so much about the

family separation. One Saturday I took a bus

downtown to look around.

I found a place, the name of which escapes me

now. Inside, they had some really neat models

of city streets, buildings, cars, people, traffic signs

and all, the kind you’d see on a real fancy electric

train set-up. I was fascinated and studied it for quite

awhile.

That night when dad and I were in bed, I told him

about my trip downtown and the cool model I had

seen. “What would you call such a thing,” I asked

him? “A diorama,” he told me. “Oh right,” I replied

as if not to look completely stupid.

After a week or so, and having made another trip

downtown to take another look at the model city,

I told my dad again what I had seen. “I really like

those diaphragms,” I told him. “Diorama,” dad said

sharply. “They are called dioramas.” “Yeah right,”

I responded repeating what he said, “Di-o-rama!”

“Correct,” my dad said.

Dad never did explain my mistake, never told me

the difference between di-o-rama and dia-phragm.

It wasn’t until years later when I was grown and

living with a woman who used a diaphragm as a

birth control device. And it struck me then why dad

was embarrassed and reluctant to tell me the differ-

ence between the two. Some things a guy has to

learn on his own, I suppose.

At least I never made the same mistake in front of my

girlfriend. Had I called a diaphragm a di-o-rama, she

would have surely wondered what kind of simpleton

hick was this with whom she was involved?

Even though I always held a special fondness for and

fascination with dioramas, I was always a little hesitant

about bringing up the subject with my girlfriend. One

slip of the tongue, and I figured I’d be done.

-30-

Chris Hanch 3-4-2020