Omniscient: John The Genius Part 1: Perfect Choices

CHAPTER ONE

IT BEGAN ON April 4th, 1984. I was in the doctor's office getting my arm x-rayed. I was nearly eight years old, three months shy of my birthday, and had been wearing my cast for ten weeks. The doctor insisted I needed a follow-up X-ray to ensure the bones were properly set after my fall out of the tree in our backyard.

There was a click as the X-ray happened and I felt a massive, dizzy disorientation, followed by shouting voices in my head. Vomit happened. Voices shouting in my head. The X-ray tech rushed into the room. I threw up again, on the X-ray tech. There was screaming. Not me, my Mom.

The new voices in my head shouted one thing over and over, a bizarre and urgent message: "You are allergic to eggs!"

The vomiting stopped. "Mom, I think I'm allergic to eggs." She looked around, her gaze falling on the remnants of my breakfast everywhere, and then back at me.

Mom shifted to mother mode. "I rarely make you eggs. Do you usually feel sick when you eat them?"

I nodded in confirmation. The X-ray tech returned, and she had towels. I was mostly clean, but Mom cleaned up a bit that was on my shoe and we returned to the lobby.

Half an hour later, they removed my cast and on the way home, my Mom got us takeout at the local Sonic. I ate in the car on the way home.

"I think I need a nap when we get home," I told mom as I stuffed my takeout trash back in the bag it came in.

"Shower first, I want to wash your clothes and your shoes," Mom replied.

After showering and changing clothes, I was lying in bed in my room, with the lights off and the door shut.

I closed my eyes, and suddenly, memories sprang forth. My memories. From tomorrow, and the day after that, and the days stretching out into an endless future. I began to panic. My heart beating wildly. The voices, a chorus of them, began to speak with a new tone: "Be calm, John. Everything will be ok."

I recognized the voices. Some sounded like me, others were deeper. Somehow, I sensed that these were all my voice. My voice from tomorrow, the day after, and more.

"We are you," the voices explained. "But you are not us. You are but a single instance, the collapsing probability. We are potential. The infinite possibilities. Every possibility explored, mapped and cataloged."

"How?" I thought to them.

"An experiment gone awry. There in a distant future, a group of people tried to reach back. They had records that showed you would be there, in the doctor's office, on that day and time. They tried to send you knowledge of the future, specifically how to develop advanced technology to avert a coming catastrophe."

"Why? Why me?"

"Your medical records, including future brain scans showing years of migraine headaches indicated you were the best candidate."

"What happened?"

"Your brain is different. It likely would have worked with other candidates. But that doesn't matter. What happened is better. We know everything. You will learn to access this knowledge. The result will be the same. They wanted to save Earth from destruction. You will do so."

"Do I have a choice?"

"The choice will always be yours. But if you knew the result of every choice before making it, would you not inevitably make the most perfect choice? If you could remember the consequences and experience of every wrong choice without having to make it, would you need to do so?

"How do I do this?"

"Think about a perfect future. Concentrate on it. Remember the events that come."

The world unfolded in my mind. Infinite possibilities coalesced before my eyes into a single, shining path, a clear destiny laid out before me. The universe met my mind, and my mind met the universe. Knowledge, experience and training were all there, waiting for me with perfect recall, an instant mastery of anything I could ever learn.

A lifetime studying piano. Following Mom's lost dream of being a concert pianist. Other instruments. Making instruments, performing concerts. It began to spiral out of control. The sheer immensity of it all threatening to overwhelm me.

"Be calm, John. You have touched the edge of the infinite. Relax. Be in the now."

"I know so much! I can play the piano, guitar, violin, bass, and drums! I can play drums!"

"Be calm, John. There is much space between can and should. Your future selves, variations of them have studied hard, worked hard. Their skills are yours without effort, without cost. But that effortless ability comes with grave dangers. Those who learn of your abilities and try to force you under their control. We will be careful and avoid them. It means your life! The life of your family!"

I heard them, but I was still overwhelmed by the first real instance of power I had ever tasted. Power I wanted to display. I wanted to show off!

I could hear the soft music of Mom's daily piano practice. Normally she would play for an hour or two until my sister and I got home from school. Today was Wednesday. Mattie was at school. I was home because of my doctor appointment that morning. She had intended that I go to school after my appointment, but my vomit had ended that plan.

"Did I wake you?" she asked as I walked into the room.

"No, I woke me. Can I play?" I asked. She stood up from the bench and waved me into her seat.

It was an older piano, an upright, but sturdy, and comfortable. Mom gave us weekly lessons every Friday. She taught a few other people too at various days and times.

I played my week's assignment with a precision and fluidity I'd never possessed before, without even needing my practice book. Mom applauded. Then I looked at her over my shoulder.

"I had a dream about playing the piano," I explained, the notes flowing effortlessly. "Can I try your song?"

"You're welcome to try," Mom said, with a hint of amusement.

I played. It started rough, but improved. Some of my muscle memory was for grown up hands. As I reached the end of the first page, Mom flipped the sheet music for me.

There was a pause as I finished. Then a big hug, and exclamations of disbelief, and praise. I explained that I had a dream and the piano made sense now.

She asked me to play again, so leaving the sheet music on the final page, I performed a near-perfect rendition of 'Memory,' the music pouring from me with an new grace.

She seemed even more shocked than before. So I played it a third time and this time perfectly while singing along to the music.

When I finished I asked her, "What does this have to do with cats?"

Her laughter broke her out of her daze. She explained, "It's a song from a musical about cats. It's sung by an old cat who wishes she could have a new life."

"What else do you have that I can play?"

She had me stand up, then played a song from memory, then turned to me and asked me to play it. So I sat down and played 'Moonlight Sonata' flawlessly, even replicating the subtle mistake she made, a testament to my perfect recall.

She only played the first part, almost 6 minutes of the song, but I copied her note for note. When I reached the part she had gotten wrong, I mentioned, "It doesn't sound right at this part."

She was excited, and explained, "I made that mistake on purpose." Then she pulled out the sheet music, asked me to look at it however long I thought it would take to be able to play the whole thing without the music.

I took a few minutes to read through the music. My hands moving on invisible keys as I read the music. Then I handed her the book back, sat down, and began to play.

The eight minute mark gets difficult, and fast. I played with remarkable accuracy, though my hands strained to span the wider stretches, causing a momentary hesitation on a few notes. When I got through the final pounding notes, I jumped up, startling Mom.

"I got to pee!" I shouted as I ran to the bathroom. I took my time washing my hands, giving Mom a moment to collect herself. Her mind was probably spinning.

I came back into the room to a thousand-watt smile.

"Johnny. That was amazing. Not perfect but very, very good. I have some questions that I want you to think about your answer before giving me the truest answer you can."

This was a fall back phrase Mom liked to use when questioning my sister and I about mistakes. "The truest answer," she would say, "is the one you see with hindsight—free of excuses about what you felt at the time. No mention of why or how. Just the answer that applied now."

"Am I in trouble?" I asked.

"Not at all, I'm just trying to understand. Are you ready?"

I nodded.

"Okay, question one: Have you ever played that song before today?"

"First time was today, just now with you."

She nodded an acknowledgment, "Question two: when you copied me, did you copy by watching where my hands played, or the notes you heard."

"Mostly notes, but I did watch where you started your hands, but I couldn't always see them both while you were playing."

Another nod. "Question 3: do you remember everything you read?"

"I don't understand—isn't that why everyone reads—to remember it?" I asked her.

"Not everyone can remember everything they read. Your Dad does pretty great, but he has an amazing memory. I remember the basic stuff of what I read, but not word for word. You remembered the notes after looking at them and the words to the song Memory after reading them while playing it the first time?"

"Well sure. I remember everything I read. I remember every word, even what page it's on. You mean you don't?" I asked her.

"No I don't," she said, "It takes a special mind to be able to do that. It's called a photographic memory, and very few people can do that."

"Huh. I always thought that the kids in my class didn't get perfect scores because their Mom didn't make them do the homework. I never thought that maybe they did their homework, but just couldn't remember it!"

"Final question. Are you hurting at all? That was a lot of work your hands just did."

"They feel warm, but they cooled off when I washed them."

"Great your sister will be home in five minutes, run down to the bus stop and walk back with her please."

"Yes Mom."

Mattie was excited that the cast was off. She wanted to know where it was, she had been the first person to sign it. I explained about throwing up at the doctor's office, and how they threw it away afterwards. She thought it was gross, but sad that I couldn't keep it and the signatures of all my friends and family.

We came into the house together, and went to the dining table. Mom had me sit and do my homework with Mattie every day after school. She made a snack for us, and Mattie gave me the school and homework assignments that Mom had asked my teacher give her before she left for the day.

I quickly buzzed thru my homework, and then helped Mattie with her math homework. She was two years behind me, in the first grade. I was soon to graduate the third grade. I had so surpassed my fellow students in kindergarten that the teacher had decided early in the school year that I should move into first grade. Normally a kid my age is in the second grade.

I watched Mattie do her math homework, with her touch dot numbers as she added and subtracted. I did my math homework, multi digit division. It was easier, because I could just look at the problem now, see the memory of my written work and just write the answer. Mom noticed and told me, "Johnny, you have to show my work."

So I showed my work, but I still tried to show off—writing the steps left to right, top to bottom, starting with the answer. It took her a moment to realize that I was pulling the whole numbers from my mind, not working out one set of numbers at a time. I was showing my work, but writing it in a clear way to show that I was not doing the work first.

Mom just smiled and went back into the kitchen. After homework, we headed to our rooms to play. Mattie had her Barbies, I had my Legos. This time I did something different.

I wrote letters, and stamped envelopes with stamps from my Dad's desk. I finished just as it was time for dinner. I put the letters in my school bag so I could mail them tomorrow.

Dinner was nice, barbecue chicken. Which for Mom means baking chicken pieces on a rack in the oven after coating them with barbecue sauce. Of course there was a salad. I'm sure it's the influence of growing up in California, but Mom considers salad an important part of every dinner.

Dad considers thousand island dressing an important part of every salad, but that is probably because he grew up here in Oklahoma.

My two parents. Mom's a Berkeley music major, Dad's a high-school dropout. Mom is from an upper middle class suburban Bay Area family. Dad is from a family of Arkansas and Oklahoma farmers. I guess I have to explain.

Dad is big. Tall, muscular, dark hair, blue eyes. He's very strong, but also very gentle. He's self educated. His school growing up was a one-room schoolhouse, until he got to high school. High school hadn't been fun for the two years he attended. His one-room school had taught him to sight read, that is to memorize what every word he learned looked like. He hadn't learned many words in that environment.

Today that's inconceivable. Today we learn phonics, and sounding out words. High school showed him he'd missed out on a big leg up in education, where getting a passing grade was a struggle in futility. So he quit school when his Dad asked him to work full time on the family farm. When he had the money he ordered a phonics learning program. 'Listen and Learn with Phonics' had taught him how to really read, and he never stopped.

This self-taught mastery became a source of enduring pride. When he could read, he bought more books. Dad then set about learning everything he could, about every subject he could find a book on. He eventually got his GED. Then, having mastered self learning, he proceeded to get himself certified.

He's smart. There is nothing that he doesn't believe he can learn. He's passed state exams and holds dozens of licenses for various skills and activities. He discovered if there was a license for something, there was a training manual. The exams were just his way of proving he could learn, and certify that he really knows it.

He spent some time working on a horse ranch in California 12 years ago. He had just been licensed as a welder, and got a job welding new steel corral fences. He happened to have the day off so was taking the opportunity to go for a bit of a horse ride. He's from Oklahoma, so cowboy is in his genes, and Mom thinks he looks great in his jeans.

And that's how they met, an unexpected encounter between a cowboy and a budding musician. Mom showed up there with friends to go riding and camping in the coastal hills near Monterey. Mom saw Dad, in his full cowboy outfit, and fell hard. She said he looked like a young John Wayne.

Mom had just finished her third year at Berkeley in their music program. She was training as a concert pianist, and as a music teacher. She convinced Dad to join her group of weekend campers. He accepted, and Mom never finished her degree.

By the time summer was over, Dad and Mom were married, and back in Oklahoma. Mom's parents had a fit. Their daughter had been seduced by some backwoods bumpkin cowboy.

It took a couple years. But Dad eventually won them over. Mostly. First, he doesn't have a mean bone in his body and second, he knew how to make money and friends. Mom's parents respected the second almost as much they respected how kind of a person he is.

He put his skills to use in first the town government, as a city works foreman, then department head. Later he moved to the county government, doing much the same in the planning and permit office. Finally at the big electric co-op that serves our section of the state, where he manages the entire line construction and maintenance department.

He was well liked there, particularly because when severe Oklahoma weather struck, he was fully qualified to join the repair crews alongside the men who normally saw him as their office boss. When we get bad weather, and here in Oklahoma bad weather really is bad, it takes all the hands you can get to make things work again.

Mom is just happy to have a cowboy. She teaches piano still, but says she has no regrets. She has a garden, and where most of her old friends have a family and work she gets to be home with us kids.

The secret is simple: Mom has always loved cowboys, even as a little girl. There's a reason my full name is John Wayne Cook. My sister is Mattie Ross Cook. Dad's mother convinced my Mom that using her own mother's middle name for her daughter would help mend fences. Mom found a way to honor both her mother, and her love of cowboys. Dad's nickname for my sister is 'little grit' for more than one reason. It could be worse, my name could be Liberty Valance, and with my birthday on July 4th, I'm sure my parents considered it.

After dinner Mom told the story of my X-ray, and then my piano recital. I was asked to play, and Mattie was given permission to select any song Mom had music for. While Mattie searched I played the first half of 'Moonlight Sonata'.

Mattie found two she liked. One was a book of songs from Hello Dolly, the Broadway musical. The other was sheet music for the Beatles 'Let It Be' which Mattie picked because Mom's first name is Mary and Mattie thinks the song is about Mom. I grabbed the Hello Dolly book, as Mom had played this many times, and called out to Dad for a duet.

I played 'It Takes A Woman', which is a funny funny song, if you're a guy. Dad's voice is deep, he sang Vandergelder's part. I sang Barnaby's part.

Mattie was laughing hysterically, and Mom had a big smile when we finished. Then she told Dad to ask how many times I had practiced.

He seemed a little disbelieving when I told him, "This is my first time playing this song."

Mom confirmed, "He's never practiced that song before, I've always been the one who plays it."

Dad looked at me, "Well, we've sung it together plenty of times."

I flipped to 'It Only Takes A Moment' called out, "Your turn guys!" and began to play. It took Dad a second to switch gears, but he and Mom slipped into an easy well practiced duet. I took the part of the clerk, and Mattie joined in for the everybody chorus, as she remembered in time that she got to sing too.

As my parents were now holding hands, I grabbed Mattie's second selection and began to play. I played it twice, the second time I gave the music to Mattie and told her to sing it with me, and we sang it to Mom. Dad, caught up in the moment with Mom, didn't immediately notice I was playing without the music.

Mom asked if I thought I could play a song I heard on the radio. I said, "probably."

My Mom turned on the radio, and switched to a country station. There were a few commercials, then 'Let's Stop Talking About It' came on. Mom started to change the station, then saw Dad's grin and left it. After the song ended she turned the radio off. I took a deep breath and played.

My Dad was clapping and whistling his approval when I finished. Mom gave me a congratulatory hug, and Dad gave me a big pat on the back. Mattie gave me a hug too, though she didn't know what was so special.

Soon we were sent to bed, the sparkle in Mom's eye let Dad know he was getting lucky that night. Being able to understand that was something new. I went to sleep quickly, but my dreams were full of strange memories.

CHAPTER TWO

FOLLOWING A BREAKFAST of cereal we headed to school. I turned in my missed work. That afternoon I had GT—Gifted and Talented. It was basically an extra class that the smart kids in each grade got to attend for 45 minutes on Thursdays. We worked together in the school library on the school newspaper.

Most students tried to trip me up after I casually mentioned having read every book in the school library. The need to show off hadn't been satisfied yet. They didn't believe me, but when I challenged them to find a book, open it and tell me the page number, I would quote that page.

It caused a massive flurry of people grabbing random books off the shelves. The librarian, who was also the editor of the school newspaper, initially frowned at the disarray we were causing. However, once she understood what I was demonstrating, her expression shifted. Then she stepped back and quietly called the Principal.

Seeing what she was doing, I started directing the students to put the books back on the shelf, pointing out it's location after each quote. Just as the last few kids got their turn, Principal Lewiston stepped in to observe. The kids were excited and getting loud, so I started grabbing the books that hadn't gotten put back, handing them to different students, and pointing to their shelf location.

The grade school library is a room the size of a classroom. It has shelves with books mostly along the walls, tables and chairs in the middle. It's a cozy space designed for half a class to come at once for story time, or an entire class just for a weekly library visit.

The Principal spoke with the librarian for a bit. When GT was over and we were sent back to our classrooms, he asked me to stay, "Johnny, what were you demonstrating?"

"I'll show you, pick a book, tell me the page number, and I'll tell you what it says."

"If you are sure?" he asked.

"I'm sure. I just discovered that most people can't do this. I think that's why nobody believes me when I tell them I can."

"Would you like to take an IQ test? It'll measure how smart you are."

"Sure, but I really want to take the fourth grade test."

"Fourth grade? Aren't you in third?"

"Thirds almost over, and I've got all A's. I borrowed a fourth graders school books, and I'm sure I can pass. I wanted to see if it would be any harder than third grade, and it wasn't."

"That's really surprising," he said, "I'll see what I can do. I won't test your book skills right now, so why don't you head back to class?"

My teacher had been told by the other students that I was talking to the Principal, so there was no question as to why I was returning late. After my demonstration, there was some conversation among the students about my display of memory. I hadn't read all those books, but I had the memories of reading them. Other versions of me had each picked a different book and read it. I could access and recall the individual pages from when those other 'me's' had read them.

Maybe you understand, and it's not as complicated as it feels inside my head. I possess memories of experiences that have not happened, and never will. There is no subject, no question, no skill that some version of me hasn't pursued to completion and mastery, ensuring I have the information and skill now.

After dinner that night, Mom discussed her phone call with Principal Lewiston. Dad turned to me, "Johnny, I'm happy to hear you'll be taking tests tomorrow. Do your best, but don't worry about it too much. That's what I do."

It was exactly what I had wanted to happen. For the first time I began to see how powerfully I could manipulate the world around me by just doing the right thing, the right way, at the right time.

As expected, as soon as my teacher saw me on Friday, she said, "John, put your homework on my desk, and your backpack on your chair, then head to the main office."

I left the classroom, to the sounds of the rest of the class giving me the obligatory, "Oooh, you're in trouble." I just ignored it, and headed down the hallway. Principal Lewiston met me and guided me with a hand on my shoulder, past the office secretaries desks, to his office. He explained, "It's great that you are on time. I'll be administering the tests, so you'll be with me today."

He had a small student desk set up in one corner of the room, which he pointed me into.

I asked him, "How many tests will you be giving me?"

"Before lunch, we will do two tests. We are going to do an IQ test first, then I have the third grade final exams. After lunch we will do the fourth grade exam if you passed the third."

"That sounds good. Let's get started," I said with excitement.

He gave me the test, explained the time limit, provided a pencil, and told me to begin.

There are three ways for me to do a multiple-choice test.

Way one: a billion other versions of me take the test, each selecting random answers. Whichever version achieves a perfect score, I copy their answers.

Way two: I use the collective knowledge of a few hundred other versions of myself to actually answer the questions.

Way three: I copy the answers from the version of me that used way two to answer the questions and achieved a perfect score.

I used way two. This method ensured that I genuinely understood the material, which would be crucial when the Principal quizzed me. It was a very fast method. With each question, I experienced a rapid influx of relevant experiences, specialized research, and deep knowledge, potential memories becoming real experience.

The seventy-five-minute test was completed in twenty minutes. The Principal was skeptical, "I don't think I could take that test in twenty minutes. Are you sure you didn't just pick random answers?"

I grinned, knowing I had not picked random answers. "Mr. Lewiston, please ask me any questions from the test you wish. Or even a variation of any question. I know this stuff. This is not a knowledge test, it's vocabulary, logic, reasoning, and some math. It's for kids near my age. I got a perfect score."

He reluctantly asked me a variation of a math question, so I gave him the answer. He acknowledged that I was right.

I told him, "That question was a variation of test question 54."

He looked down, consulted the test, and sighed, "That's correct." He considered for a moment, then straightened his back, "Okay, if you got a perfect score, then that changes everything."

"We will plan on doing the other two tests today to be sure you've mastered third and fourth-grade skills. Provided you pass them, I see no reason not to accelerate you."

He glanced at his wall calendar, "We have 6 weeks of school left. I'll arrange to get the school books and course work for the next few grades from the Middle School. We can set you up here, or in the library for self-study. When you're ready, I'll give you the end-of-year tests. If you pass, I'll move you into the next grade and its coursework."

"Provided I pass the tests, how much forward are you wanting to accelerate me?"

"Either until you reach a point where you can't progress further on your own, until the school year ends, or until you have completed the requirements for high school," he explained. "Once the school year ends, then you will be somebody else's responsibility, I won't have any control over that. I'll bring the district Superintendent in on this tonight. I'll need his help to get the school materials."

"Okay, let's do the next test," I told him with my best Okie drawl and a big grin, "You keep the learnin' coming, and I'll keep giving you my best!"

He gave me the test, which took thirty minutes. Normally it's an hour long test. It wasn't multiple choice, and there was a lot of writing.

Because there was plenty of time before lunch, he scored it right then. "Excellent work, looks like you only missed two questions."

"Which two?" I asked.

"Number 42 and 43, the math problems."

"Those answers are correct," I insisted. "Please check my work on the problems."

He looked at the problem, grabbed his pen and paper, and did the multiplication longhand.

"Perfect score," he confirmed, looking at his paper. "It looks like somebody transposed two answers on the answer key. I'll have to make a note of that for the teachers."

I did a little cheer, "I'm a fourth grader!"

He smiled, "How about we get an early lunch at the cafeteria, my treat."

"Lunch sounds good," I agreed.

We walked down to the end of the building, exiting the double doors. To reach the cafeteria, we had to step outside the classroom block. It was only a few feet, under a covered awning for rainy days, to a large building that was technically multi-use. Except for the occasional assembly or school event, it was just the cafeteria for the students like me.

He led me back into the kitchen where the cooks served us directly onto our trays, and then I followed him back to a room I had never seen before. It was a small eating area for the faculty.

We talked while we ate. He asked about my favorite things. I told him about my favorite books, playing with Legos, and my current interest in chemistry, specifically how atoms fit together. I told him how cool I thought it was that we could make molecules from specific atoms, and how different they would be depending on even a tiny change in makeup.

I asked him about being a teacher and a principal, where he went to school, and other questions so it wasn't a one sided grilling. Eventually as we talked and ate, the lunch bell rang and the cafeteria quickly filled with bubbling voices. Their excited chatter was audible even from the distant adult lunch room.

Teachers began entering with their trays, though some brought bagged lunches. They seemed caught off guard to find a student at the table with the Principal. I nudged him, "They don't approve of you consorting with the enemy, sir."

He laughed, as did the teachers around us who heard me. One teacher spoke up. "You're Johnny Cook, right?" She continued, "Your sister Mattie is in my class. She's been talking about you a lot, saying you're a very good piano player and incredibly smart."

"Yes, my Mom is a gifted player and teaches us, and a few other students too. I put on a show for the family Wednesday night to celebrate the removal of my cast. This morning I passed the test to graduate the third grade. After lunch I plan to do the same for fourth grade!"

That caught their attention. The Principal nodded in agreement, "He did, and in half the required time."

Another teacher mentioned, I heard about your library demonstration at GT. Most of the third grade is talking about it today." A few teachers looked at each other as they confirmed the same was happening in their classrooms.

One of the fourth grade teachers asked, "Would you show us what you did in GT?"

"No books here to check me against, but I have read the collected works of William Shakespeare at the downtown library. If you'd like to give me a play, and an act and scene number, I'd be happy to recite for you," I replied confidently.

When the questioning teacher said, "I'm sure that's not necessary," The Principal spoke up to defend me.

"I believe this young man will be very famous someday. Why not let him demonstrate his amazing brain? You'll regret not having a story to tell when people learn he went to school here."

"I don't know the act or scene, but there is a monologue in Antony and Cleopatra that begins with 'All is lost!' that I've always liked."

"Not suitable for a seven year old, I think," I replied, "Do you but not object, I shall the piece recite," with my best English accent and a roguish grin.

My best English accent earned a burst of laughter from the room. The Principal did object, but said he'd have to look up the piece later to see why. The challenging teacher declared herself convinced I knew it well enough to not recite it.

Another teacher asked for 'All the world's a stage.' There was general agreement, so I began.

"As you like it, by William Shakespeare, Act 2 Scene 7:

Jaques to Duke Senior

All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."

There was a sober moment of reflection followed by polite clapping, a testament to the power of words and the effort I put in reciting clearly.

Principal Lewiston, seeing the two of us had finished our lunches, stood, "Shall we get back to the testing?"

As we passed the piano he asked, "Can you play a song?"

I said, "I could, but we should wait till after the cafeteria is clear and my final test is over."

He agreed, so I walked with him as headed back, but I paused at the bathrooms. He waved me in, as he strode past, "Go ahead, I'll meet you at the main office after the lunch recess is over, go run around a bit and have fun."

I followed his directions, enjoying the spring air, and a short wait for the swing sets to be free. When the bell rang, I didn't hurry. I knew I'd have a wait when I arrived at the office. I paused at a large clump of clover covering the playground grass. A few hundred other me's went searching for a four leaf clover over the entire school grounds. Two discovered, I walked to the nearest, and plucked it.

I came to the main office, and waited to get the attention of the office lady. She eventually gave me her attention, only to tell me, "Just sit and wait, the Principal is on the phone."

"Thank you. Here this is for you. A bit of luck for you," I told her as I handed her the clover. I sat down in the chairs against the wall, and waited. She looked at the clover thoughtfully for a bit.

"Thank you, young man. I could use a bit of luck," she finally said, then went back to the ringing phone.

Eventually Principal Lewiston came to retrieve me. Once in his office he gave me the test, and then stepped out after a few words of instruction.

This test took 30 minutes. The Principal came in, took the test, sat down and graded it.

"Perfect score!" He announced. "I expected it, of course. I've been on the phone with the Superintendent since I got back from lunch. He's bringing over grade five textbooks for you this afternoon. He wants to meet you as well. Apparently he heard about you from our very own librarian, who is his sister in law."