We think the earliest seed was planted that first Halloween. Reese and mum were emptying the contents of his sweet plunder on the dining room table, when she spotted a peanut butter cup. She offered it to him and excitedly whispered, “This was Daddy’s favorite candy, so we decided to name you Reese.” Reese peanut butter cups have been universally beloved since their inception in 1928. And up to that moment, so did little Reese. The new reality of Reese chocolate stains from peanut butter cups lasted longer than certainty of Daddy, who had split long before Halloween, before Reese could notice. Reese didn’t know the source of his name until today, proffered through the innocence of a well-meaning mother during a holiday celebration.
Reese reacted quietly to the news and arranged his candy like we all do to make it last. He tallied his bounty. At the top of the list were Snickers, Clark bars, Hershey’s (naturally hiding the ones with nuts), Milky-Ways, 5th Avenues (he could use those for trade), and those sticky popcorn balls. All caressed in chaos by the immortality of eternal candy corn. These were the inexorable predicaments of childhood. He would learn the currency of candy through future Halloweens. But that, my friends, is another story.
The accrued burden of being named after a candy bar chosen by an absent daddy began to bother him, like the conspiratorial tag on the back of his neck placed by some truculent, sneaky Asian. Nothing was intentional of course. Reese was a kid and guaranteed a basis of simplicity. But a young boy’s migration must start somewhere. When you are a nine-year-old kid, reparations don’t come easy.
His mutiny started with petty annoyances, numbered through the rebellion of streaky underwear, or the pantomime of prayer when he felt the peripheral look of Mum in church. Reese knew that these were not enough. Not enough for his insurrection. Those outward appearances did nothing to change him. He needed to feel in control, and was growing into adulthood as a person named after a confection… His father had absconded, leaving him with a homage of chocolate and peanut butter, instead of a daddy who would nurture him like his buddies.
One day in English Grammar, the teacher delivered an admonition of “I” before “E” except after “C”. She was very serious and said that “IE” in a word made an “EEE” sound. “EEE, he thought? That sorta sounded like his name.” He started to scribble on his notepad… “If ‘IE’ sounded like ‘EEE’, do you suppose I can get away with spelling my name R-I-E-C-E? How cool is that! Riece but not Reese, like those damnable candy bars melting brown pigments in a peanut butter stink!!” He was reminded of those 9-year-old streaks, and recoiled just a little.
He went home to tell Mum about today’s great revelation in English Grammar. She received the news quietly and smiled. She told him a spelling change didn’t seem too much to ask. Perhaps giving Reese this decision, this little bit of freedom… would give him confidence. The next day, she petitioned the Court of Common Pleas Allegheny County for a name change for a minor. Easy, and the new Riece Clutterbuck was ecstatic. He had a common name, his own name. To hell with having the name of someone’s corporate product. He was a young boy in Pittsburgh PA and well, Daddy was gone with the wind, but Mum said again and again he took that problem with him when he left. She preached since he left you don’t own his absence, you shouldn’t have to carry it. Mum also knew that he was the type of young man who would love to correct people when they spelled his name. “It is spelled R, then I before E, C, then E. Yep… You got it.”
Riece seemed to take off from there. He prospered in school, and even got free ride scholarships to some illustrious Ivy League schools. He decided on Princeton as it was closest to home. Riece wanted to major in Politics, and possibly go into the history and practice of diplomacy after graduation. He had conquered an attempted takeover of his life by the Hershey Co. Certainly, his talents could be better appreciated through the world of politics and public service, and his peanut butter triumph was an interconnected skill.
Riece quickly matriculated his way and passed the bar in Pennsylvania, where he was asked to serve as a senator’s aide in Washington. He sold the idea to Mum by taking her to the Capital and giving her the deluxe tour. Also, there was a direct train between the Burg and DC, not to mention the status of working for a United States senator. Riece, no matter how you spelled it, had made it, and Mum’s years of sacrifice were paying off. Her son would see to it that her elder years would be easier on her than her sacrifice as a single parent. Perhaps she could find a part-time job in Carrick?
It was not long before Aide Riece Clutterbuck, J.D., became a candidate for Representative in the United States Congress in the 17th district. He would get the current incumbent’s endorsement in exchange for his promise to support his former employer to win a tough fight for Sen. Toomey’s old seat. The Dems needed a young, reliable candidate for November. Win-Win was the strategy. Everyone was supposed to get a treat, as there are no tricks in politics, or so he believed.
About three weeks into the campaign during Halloween there was a small story in the Washington Observer-Reporterthat a woman reported being assaulted at a club nearby, and could not remember or identify her attacker. The assault took place during a Halloween party. The alleged attacker was wearing a Jekyll/Hyde Halloween mask. The police were doing an intensive investigation to determine the identity of this alleged attacker, and who or what charges to apply.
And now, our story turns to CONCEIT, as there is always an exception to the “IE” rule. Last Thursday, Reice Clutterbuck J.D. was charged with statutory rape. Everyone who recently knew him and expressed interest in his political career wondered about the real Reice. Who was this person, who was running for election to a position that would affect the lives of his constituents in Pennsylvania, and other citizens in our country? In fact, Riece, spelled “I-E”, was an exception to the rule. We suspect, sadly, that the internals of his stumbling fall revealed we should spell his name and character conducive with “E after I”, as in DECEIT, the spelling concurrent with his character. It is a shame that his deceit will live longer than his misdirected grandeur, but not in the nightmares of a ravaged woman.
His Mum currently works full-time as a bagger at a grocery store in Carrick.
We are resigned to remind Mr. Reice Clutterbuck J.D. of a famous quote from Malcolm X. “Sometimes a fruit falls from a tree and rolls so far away from its roots that it’s no longer of the tree. The hard fall, and long journey, bruises the fruit so much that it totally changes it”. The sad transformation touched not only Reice, but others who thought they were safe from the horror of growing up in America. His potential was a lie perpetuated not owned by us, and the victims live here.
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