Huh-oh. It’s somebody’s Bison birthday. That’s right, everyone’s favorite columnist Dr. The Clax hit the big one-double-oh in Bison years.
All that means is that this issue marks his 100th column. What? I know.
So let’s see. How should we celebrate such a monumental occasion? Glow sticks? Cascada? Hmm. In times like this, I like to ask myself, what would Claxton do?
Well, for starters, he would probably tell an embarrassing story from his childhood, some amusing anecdote about some blunder that ended up teaching him a life lesson.
Then there was the time Young Clax decided to make a slide out of an old piece of wood. The ER nurses enjoyed immense giggle fits that day. Be sure to ask him about it in public.
Seeing as I didn’t hit the ER until high school, I don’t think this is my best WWCD approach. Well, there was the time my grandma met me at the bus stop in the rain and tied one of those plastic grandma hats on my head. Even the bus driver laughed.
My pride was the only casualty then, so let’s try something else. Now, knowing the Clax, he might go for the yard care angle. Many a column is spent lamenting the toils of laboring the land, and by that he mostly means keeping his lawn cut.
So maybe I, like he, should make witty comments about my neighbor’s hedge trimmers and should dress in sackcloth and cover myself in ashes when my mower runs out of gas. Maybe I, too, should somehow squeeze a metaphor out of trimming grass with a pair of scissors.
But I have asthma.
Perhaps I should try to write something without using a different, but particularly crucial vowel, slaving over a thesaurus until I’ve all but expelled the letter “o” from my vocabulary. Yeah, right. Then how am I supposed to YOLO?
OK, so maybe I can’t tell you what the Clax would say. I can, however, tell you what I know about Michael Claxton.
Michael Claxton is the guy who, instead of a simple “thank you,” hands you a box of Zebra Cakes. He is the guy who makes sure to stop by campus mail on his way out of town for a family emergency to send you a photocopy of something that he knows will brighten your day.
He is the guy who gives you a very nerdy homemade card that is so delightfully reassuring, it can make you forget how scary life is for a bit.
So, oh Claxton, our Claxton, consider this a digital Zebra Cake, a little striped nugget of thankfulness from your readers.
And WWCD? I don’t know, I guess I could have always snagged Cliff and pseudo-rapped this from the Benson stage.
But his isn’t “What Would Logan Do.”
So release the balloons, have a chicken biscuit, and let’s celebrate the 100th column of the man who I’m almost certain coordinates his neckties with his lesson plans.
Happy Claxcentennial, everybody.
