I GOT THE CHICKEN POX about halfway through the second grade, and I had to stay in bed wearing flannel pajamas with the ends of the sleeves sewn shut so that I couldn’t scratch my vesicles. One day, Matthew’s mother drove him to my house. My mother came into the room with a package for me, a gift from Matthew. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, but I could see from the shape that it was a record. On the wrapping paper, Matthew had printed a note to me.
The record was called The Amazing Randy the Unbreakable Record. I was feverish and uncomfortable and bored, so miserable that my mother’s hand on my forehead was almost intolerable, and I couldn’t manage even to tell her to thank Matthew for the gift. My mother told me that she would play the record and let me listen to it alone.
“Call me when the first side is over,” she said. She closed the door and left me with the voice of Randy, a voice that I can hear as I write this sentence.
“Ouch! Oh my! That’s always a shock. No matter how carefully a person sets the needle down on me, I always feel a little pinprick. Well, hello there! I’m Randy. What’s your name? (pause) What was that again? (pause) Oh! Now I’ve got it. That’s one of my favorite names! Well, as I said, I’m Randy. I hope you like my name as much as I like yours.
“Da-da da-dum-dum-dum—
I’m Randy the Record,
Now what do you think of that?
I’m Randy the Record;
I’m round and black and flat.
“Ho-ho! Say, that was fun, wasn’t it? I have rather a good voice, I think. Of course, as the years pass, my voice won’t stay sweet and clear. It’s going to get worn and scratchy. Well, that’s life. Listen—you can help me last a little longer, but you’ll have to treat me carefully: never touch my top or bottom with your fingers, only my edges; and don’t go thrusting any pencils, knives, or other weapons into my hole. If you do, I could be badly maimed and slip on the spindle, which woooould maaake meeeaaa saaoound lahhhk theeis.
“Ha, ha, ha! Well, that may sound like fun to you, but I’d be horribly embarrassed if I sounded like that, and you’d get tired of listening to it after a while, and if you weren’t feeling well the sound might make you want to throw up, so don’t play around with my hole, okay? Another thing: watch out for the needle. If you set it down hard or bump it or stomp around the room and make it jump, it will gaareeeahgeeeech! Uh! Jesus Christ! There’s nothing worse! You know how bad chalk screeching on a blackboard sounds—well imagine what it feels like to the blackboard! And then a scratch like that will make me stick in that spot, so that when the needle gets there you’ll find me saying the same thing over and over and (click) over and over and (click) over and over and (click) over and over and (click) over again, which would be a miserable way for me to end my days and could drive you mad. So you see that it isn’t only for my own good that I tell you these things. But if you treat me right I’ll give you years of listening pleasure.
“Oh, you do right by me,
And I’ll do right by you.
Bo-bo ba deedle-de-dee,
Boop-boop ba doodle-de-doo!
“Ha ha! Sure hope you liked that one! Listen, there’s one thing I almost forgot. Every once in a while, give me a little wipe with a damp cloth, will you? Not wet, just damp—and not too cold—oh, and not too hot. And listen, when the time comes that I’m just too old and worn to sound halfway decent, don’t embarrass me by playing me for your friends, okay? I couldn’t stand that. I’ve got my pride. Just smash me on a brick or something and tell your mother that the kid next door did it. Promise? Go on, let me hear you promise. (pause) Thanks. Thanks.
“Now let me do something for you. Get yourself into a comfortable position and tell me about everything that’s bothering you. Tell me your hopes and dreams, your fears and worries, your hideous urges, and I’ll listen. I’ll listen sympathetically. I’ll listen to you without getting tired. Maybe you think that all the other kids are having a lot more fun than you are. Their mothers and fathers never make them do the things that yours make you do. They don’t have any chores to do around the house. Their daddies like taking out the garbage so much that they always want to do it themselves. I know how it is. I’m on your side. The other kids are happy as clams, and you’re miserable. Don’t let it get you down. When you’re feeling really bad, just put old Randy on your record player, and when you hear me saying ‘shhhhh-click, shhhhh-click, shhhhh-click,’ you’ll know that it’s old Randy’s way of letting you know that he hears you, he understands you, he agrees with you. When you’ve had your say, just turn me over. Now go right ahead and tell me aaaall about it. Shhhhh-click, shhhhh-click, shhhhh-click—”
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