Self-Help Review 1: All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten.

Self-Help Review:
All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten
1986
By Robert Fulghum

I promised to kick off my Self-Help Review with Wayne Dyer's "Inspiration, Your Ultimate Calling," but as it turned out, two library patrons decided that they needed a dash of inspiration in their lives, and checked out our two copies. Set back, I decided to request a copy from another library and in the meantime quickly go through another book. I had mentioned "All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten" as one of the questionable books that I would be reading, and to my delight, the library had a copy. Since I wanted to feel better about not finishing college, I grabbed it. For years I have heard of Fulghum's book, and have even seen posters with the "wisdom" of his opus enclosed in glass and hung in clinics, schools, and various other spots in need of homey cosiness. The book was shelved in an area of the library just before the Self-Help section, and when I checked it out I expected it to be a Self-Help book. As it turns out, it is so different from what I expected that I hesitate to even include it on this review site.

The book starts off with a letter from the author to YOU. He talks about why the book was written and that many of the stories have been embellished to be more interesting and that you're just going to have to deal with it. Not a bad introduction, admittedly, but what follows makes me regret undertaking this endeavor.

The famous chapter, the one that the book is named after, is a whopping four pages long. I'm being generous by saying "four pages" because it's really more like three, and actually two if it were single-spaced and with slightly smaller type. There are sixteen of these sandbox "gems," some cute, some retarded, some just bad advice. I'm sure some diabetics would disagree with "Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you." I come from a bloodline where diabetes is almost a guarantee, and if I drink milk my stomach snarls and my ass belches out the kind of nauseating fumes that you wouldn't wish on someone who raped your grandma, so that little nugget of wisdom doesn't exactly work for me. Also, "Take a nap every afternoon" is the active encouragement of sloth, a biblical sin. So by following some of these rules, you might end up roasting in hell for all eternity. Don't say I didn't warn you. The last rule that I'll tear apart is "Share everything." Sorry, but when I get married, I'm not going to let everyone take turns banging my wife, and I have no intention of banging Mr. Fulghum's wife, either.

What's in the rest of the book? Many, many short stories. The maximum length is around four to five pages, and the vast majority are three. The common theme is taking memories the author has, stuffing as much importance into the little things as possible, and then presenting them as a gift to the reader, which you can either take or leave. Here are some ideas the author has to make the world a better place:

Drop a bomb of crayolas over countries on the verge of war, since everyone finds coloring irresistible.
Stop handing out shitty gifts at potlucks.
Instead of being tidy and neat, spend just one week polishing a stick, and that will be the only job you'll need to finish for the rest of your life. I'm not making this up.
We should spell "hors d'oeuvres" this way: "orderves."
Everything you could ever wish to know about a person you can discover by snooping around their bathroom.
Weeds are flowers.
Chicken-fried steak will give you a sense of well-being, and the best place to get one is at Maud Owens' Cafe in Payette, Idaho.

Then there are stories which as supposed to put our lives into perspective, and to keep alive the wonder of a child within us. The entire book is laced with aging, baby boomer bullshit humor. I don't give a rat's ass how many of our parents were boomers...they were the shitty generation, and as much as they'd like to take credit for everything good in the country and world, they still fail to earn my respect or make me laugh. I'm talking about the generation as a whole, not individual people. I love my mama just as much as I love yours.

It's also a poorly written book, which desperately needed an editor's touch to clean it up. Don't give me crap about the grammar in my blog...anyone who says "unless you can create, don't criticize" is copping out with the oldest and lamest excuse out there. This book is supposed to help people, and it helps if your grammar isn't shitty.

What's good about it? Well, he does mention Joyce's "Finnegans Wake" in the last chapter and pays tribute to it by ending in mid-sentence, but he also knows jack shit about FW, so his tribute is only half-assed. I appreciate his praising of chicken-fried steak, and yes, one chapter actually touched me. It was one of those chapters that is so obviously trying to tug at your heart, like many of the others, but because I could actually relate to the situation described, it worked. Like that old saying goes...if you throw enough shit against the wall, some of it is bound to stick. The best thing I can say about this book is that it's a very quick read. I went through half of it solely on fifteen minute breaks at work, and finished the rest over an hour.

Just for the record, here's a list of lessons that I learned in Kindergarten, and which continue to do me good to this day:

If you eat your boogers, worms will grow in your stomach.
Stay away from the "pee pee boy."
Johnny Appleseed, Pecos Bill, and Paul Bunyon are the greatest heroes a boy could look up to, because they taught us the basics on how to be a man. How's that? Plant your seed far and wide, ride a few cyclones, and when you're finished go around destroying nature with a big blue beautiful Babe by your side.
If you walk around in the Big Kids side of the school, everyone will think you're a bad-ass and respect you more.
Ditch the slides and go for the swing.
It's always OK to laugh at dumb kids for doing dumb things.
Those Chow Mein Noodle haystacks are fucking awesome, and will continue to be fucking awesome till the day you die.
Don't throw your box of milk at someone, or you'll get into trouble.
If you have a really cool dinosaur book, girls will want to be around you.

My verdict? If you like sentimental crap and never mentally grew past age 5, you'll love it.