May 01, 2005

a history of my life so far, part 1

KINDERGARTEN

I remember very little about Kindergarten. I remember Brady England, which is ironic because he moved away before the first grade, and I haven�t seen him since. Strange. A while back when I came across our school yearbook from that year, I recognize most everyone, but for some reason Brady England�s face stands out. I have no idea what Brady England did to me that makes me remember him above kids I went through the 12th grade with. But surely it must have been something really good or really bad. I wonder where Brady England is today. My Kindergarten teacher�s name was Miss Barnett. I remember her face, but I remember nothing else from that school year, except that my best friend Jeff, from 5 houses down, cried the whole first day of school, and his Mommy had to come get him because he wouldn�t stop. And the only reason I remember that is because my Mom told me years later. So that doesn�t count because I didn�t remember it on my own.


FIRST GRADE

Mrs. McCreless was my First grade teacher, and she was very, very old. Well, it is very possible that Mrs. McCreless wasn�t exactly that old, but that I was simply very, very young, and anyone over the age of 40 looked ancient to my 6-year-old eyes. Hard to say. Regardless, the one thing I remember most about Mrs. McCreless is that she accused me of lying. One day I brought my brand new lucky rabbit�s foot (blue, my favorite color) along to school to show off to the other kids who obviously were not as great as me, seeing as how they didn�t have lucky blue rabbit�s feet. I passed it to my friend Mark Largent (not so bright), and as he was admiring it, Gregory Beatty, resident first-grade troublemaker, whipped it out of Mark�s hands. And he wouldn�t give it back. So I (being the obvious tattle-tale that I was) informed Mrs. McCreless that Gregory Beatty had stolen my lucky blue rabbit�s foot and wouldn�t give it back. She quietly called Gregory over to her desk and told him what I had accused him of. He emphatically swore that the rabbit�s foot was in fact HIS, and that I must just be jealous of him. And lo and behold, the old fart believed Gregory Beatty. Over ME, the child prodigy (not really, but sort of) who read better and faster than everyone in the class. To this day I can�t fathom what made her think he was telling the truth. But I was completely shut down, and even now, sixteen years later, I will not stand to be called a liar, because I am not one.

SECOND GRADE

Mrs. Sunna hated me. I don�t know why, it is unexplainable. I believe that I was a lovely child. Now granted I was a bit talkative. This shows from the comments on my report cards from 1st Grade through at least 6th. But other than that, I imagine I was quite wonderful. But Mrs. Sunna hated me. When she heard talking she instinctively looked in my direction and told me to �pull a card.� The card each of us started out with was green. The second was yellow. The third was red, and the fourth was orange. If you got to the orange card, you were really asking for trouble. After all, we had all heard the horror stories of kids who had come cheek to cheek (if you know what I mean) with the principal�s �paddle.� When you had pulled three conduct cards, you were sent to the Principal�s office to face your doom. This happened to me three times in Second grade. But all three times it was the fault of Chris Mashburn. He had a knack for wreaking havoc and pinning it on goody-goody kids who talked too much (Mark Largent and me). But Mark and I never got licks from the wooden paddle. Or at least I never did. I realize all of these memories are of me getting cheated by some other kid. But this makes perfect sense if you think about it. I remember the times I was wronged; the times I was falsely accused and my character misrepresented. I hate for people to think I am someone that I�m not. And I really hate to be called a liar, or even to have it insinuated. Another memory from second grade is the stories I wrote about Garfield and about Gayla�s Gang. Another kid in my class, one of the only black kids, Charles, who, looking back, has got to be a flaming homo at this point, wrote short stories based on the Babysitters� Club book series. I, on the other hand, wrote short stories based on ME. I�ve been selfish from Day One. The beginning of each story started off with me naming each and every member of Gayla�s Gang, one by one. (There were usually about 10-15 members.) I, being the forenamed Gayla, was the LEADER, and don�t you forget it.

THIRD GRADE

The main thing I remember about third grade is Marissa Goard, AKA the Booger Queen. I regret to tell you that this nickname was given to Marissa by yours truly. I know. It�s awful of me, it is. And to this day I think of poor Marissa sometimes, wondering whether I scarred her for life. Is she celibate? A hermit? Still eating her boogers? We may never know.
My third grade teacher was Mrs. Whittington. I loved Mrs. Whittington because she told me I should be a writer when I grew up. That made me feel pretty great. She told my best friend at the time, Michelle, the same thing. Michelle was also a talented third-grade writer. Honest, she was. Unfortunately, she is now the mother of three children (that I know of) and supposedly addicted to certain drugs. This is no good. I loved Michelle. She was funny, and she wrote with her left hand, which was also funny. Not to mention funny-looking. My mother, who is left-handed, has some of the best handwriting ever, but not Michelle. Michelle�s handwriting looked as though she were a right-handed kid trying to write with her left. Anyway. Once in third grade I had a slumber party at my house, and my other two best friends, Amy and Lola, attended. Amy and I froze Lola�s panties in the freezer because she fell asleep before we did, and that is what you�re supposed to do at those things. Her mother wasn�t very happy the next morning. What can you do? When you�re 9 years old, you don�t think ahead. Also in third grade I took an exam and was permitted to attend Quest, the gifted and talented program in the school district. Me and another girl, Erin, who I�m still friends with to this day, were the only two kids in our grade to get into Quest. It was fun. Every Monday morning we rode to another school and did fun things instead of real schoolwork, like logic puzzles and playing Logo on the Apple computers. To me it seemed like we just got a day off of school because we were smart and didn�t need to work as much as the others. Which was fine by me. Erin and I had a good time. That year in Quest, our big project was the "Invention Convention." (Every year there was a big project, you see.) My invention was the "Brella-Bike" (I've always been a sucker for alliteration), a bicycle that has a retractable umbrella attached for when it rains. I made a scaled down version of it. I didn't win. It was a good idea in theory, I suppose, but it didn't really come out as well as I'd hoped. Years later, in high school, I became friends with a boy who had won 3rd place in the Invention Convention for his project: a toilet seat that had a light that lit up when the lid was raised up at night (so that women wouldn't sit on a wet seat). He was still bitter, claiming he should have won first prize. I couldn't disagree.

blueavenue at 5:24 p.m.

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