I Boycotted My Kindergarten Exams
By Mike Wolf
I began my first day of Kindergarten at Lewis and Clark Elementary School with great apprehension. It was three miles away, and I had never been away from home so far before. My Mom said I would have fun, and I gave her provisional trust.
When I walked into the room, I saw my teacher, Ms. Caldwell. She was a stunning blonde-haired beauty with an amazing figure, so my blood leaped at the opportunity.
It began with a shared glance. Caldwell held hers a little too long, and I started to feel hot, so I went back to my coloring book to cool down.
How could I tell her I was already dating three girls? There was Holly from across the street, Wendy from the end of the block, and Mira from daycare. I knew it would break my teacher’s heart, but what could I do? My best option would be to snap it off before my mind had gone too far.
During our naptime, I got out my He-Man mat and settled down for a siesta. After everyone else fell asleep and the room was quiet, I got a whiff of an alluring perfume. Ms. Caldwell had lain down next to me. When she was sure that everyone else was fast asleep, she made her move to seduce me. I suddenly sat up and yelled, “We can’t do this!” Half of my classmates woke up crying. Naptime was a total bust.
During arts and crafts, I ate enough glue to seal all my bodily orifices. After covering my arms with library paste, I told everyone I was a lizard and started peeling my skin off. Again, my classmates began to cry.
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At story time, Ms. Caldwell read us a tale about a dog with fleas. I said to put the dog in a tent with a flea bomb. I was made to stand in the corner.
Then we took a standardized test to see where we stood academically. Standing up, I refused to take the test because it would chokehold my qualifications for admission to an Ivy League University. I was sent to the corner again.
While waiting for the school bus to take us home, I was dying for a cigarette and decided hitchhiking seemed the quickest way there. So I snuck out to the highway, lit up, and stuck out my thumb.
It wasn’t long before a rusty VW bug rattled up next to me. I opened the door to a rolling cloud of skunky smell that I couldn’t place. Sitting on his ratty seat covers, I noticed his van was festooned with Megadeath stickers.
After we were on the road, he asked me if I wanted to get high. I thought, No way, I’m not going to get stupid with this guy. I’m only five years old, and I’m dumb enough already. I waved away his half-smoked joint. We were in front of my house, so I rolled out of his car in a raft of funky cold medina to my house.
I went in, and my mom scrunched up her face and said, “You smell like a dead skunk! Get in the bath.”
It was the first step of many worldly experiences I intended to include in my memoirs.
