Education and other preparations
Larry Flynn We, the boys, found joy in our boarding school days at St. Thomas Preparatory when we looked out the windows of Pennington Cottage and down upon Flower Boy—the ruddy Irish kid from Buffalo who tended the dormitory garden as part of his work duty—and relieved ourselves, if only for a moment, of our deepest inadequacies. “Brought your kneepads today, Flower Boy?” we’d say, or “Oh me, oh my, what pretty flowers you are planting, Flower Boy!” We fist-bumped and shrieked, following the model of recent alumni who showed off their tattooed biceps when they returned to visit The Prep from college. In these moments, I wanted to be Flower Boy. With earphones on, Flower Boy tended the garden, as had been written in his scholarship contract. He planted pink, yellow, and red annuals. He installed a trellis and guided tomato vines along its frame. When we overheard someone talking outside the dorm, it was usually Flower Boy, who stained his grey Costcobrand sweatpants and tees with mulch. Was he talking on the phone? Was he talking to the plants? Was he—okay? We had never seen him sitting in the waiting room with us at The Prep’s Clifford Health & Counselling Center, the one adorned with oversized farmland paintings on all three walls and newly installed white tile. We only saw Flower Boy gardening or sitting at his desk, buried in labor, gripping a Capri-Sun in his right hand and a mechanical pencil in his left. I needed to become Flower Boy.