School Years, shard one
the principal’s office
I remember sitting in the front row of my first grade classroom. I guess we were all sort of new to the school, being first grade and all.
But I had just moved to town, the only place I had known as home now hundreds of miles away, blockaded by international borders and oceans…nope, couldn’t just hoof it back (I probably would have!); I was stuck here.
I don’t really remember how I found myself upfront, whether by choice or assignment…or maybe past mischief. I remember more regularly sitting closer to the back, near the exit door. So maybe we rotated assignments or maybe, again, I found myself on notice…not sure really.
I just remember my nice teacher asking me the question, math I think, in front of all. There she stood in front of the marker board, marker in hand, eagerly waiting with such a nice smile, to etch my answer, should I manage the correct one, into the annals of history, history again…for all to see.
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I knew the answer. Of course I did! I beamed with pride. And then, for all to see, I stuck my tongue as far out as I could reach. She sent me to the principal’s office. From then on…
I kept my mouth shut.
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