I saw a friend's photo on Bookface the other day, and the album was titled, "Litany of Misdeeds." That, or maybe it was just another strange pirate phrase, cause my Bookface account is in pirate speak. Sometimes I have a hard time trying to decipher what my options are... do I make someone 'Walk the Plank' if I want to block their cheesy status updates?
Anyways, should I ever turn this blogging thing into an auto-biography that blows Harry Potter out of the water (that rhymed!), then I suppose I will name it "Litany of Misdeeds." That may be a bit misleading because my life hasn't been riddled with misdeeds, relatively speaking, but I do remember a few times in elementary school...
Note: Because of a theme of mixing fiction with reality, some of you may not believe the following stories, considering my straight-laced disposition... but I assure you, these stories are true.
First grade: I am sitting in the lunch room pretty much by myself. All the rest of the school, it seems, is at a "B.E.A.R" party (being an excellent reader or something like that) and since I never turned signed papers in, I always got left behind. So there I am spacing off and all of the sudden some GIRL sits across the table and starts talking to me. Gross! I'm in first grade, woman! She starts kind of flirting with me (this girl is in my class and liked to tease me for my curly hair) and I'm getting annoyed. She is leaning on this oddly shaped lunch box with rounded ends, so I give the lunch box a slight shove to try and give her the message to wait a few years before trying this again, but it just so happens that the lunch box slips from it's upright position and the weight of her head comes crashing down onto it, or maybe it was the table... the physics of what happened is really hard to explain. Just know this: she got a pretty good--and pretty unintentional--pop in her chin. And since we're still in first grade, she cries and tattles, and a bewildered little Mr. Martin finds himself for the first time in his life sitting in that dreadful dungeon that only the token "bad" kid (Aaron Taylor) had ever been to.
I can't remember my parents' reaction. Perhaps the memory is suppressed.
Second grade: Though this one may actually have happened in third grade and the third grade incident would go here, but all the same...
Kids play with their food. That's a given, right? Go to a school cafeteria and all of the sudden parents are no longer in the equation--let the cajun cooking begin! So this one "friend" (emphasis on the quotes) of mine is mixing all sorts of undesirables on his plastic lunch tray: mashed potatoes, maybe some chocolate milk, okra, and there's always peas involved. Kids all around are squealing with delight. In those days, I used to take these chocolate puddings in my lunch, though I wouldn't eat them 3 out of 4 times (why did I keep packing them? I packed my own lunch, after all) because of their disagreeable constitution. It was like chocolate jell-o, which may sound great to some folks but it was just wierd to me back in the days of my rebellious youth. I had one of these said cups, and I thought I'd make a contribution to my "friend's" miasma. Squish goes the pudding and he stops in his tracks of squinty-eyed high pitch laughter... and the little fetcher raised his hand and tattled. Somehow, despite the mess of evidence (deliberate pun there) on his tray, I found myself trudging to the office of doom again.
Third grade: This one is the biggest head scratcher of all. A kid sits on a pencil... and I went to the office. Really? What did that even have to do with me? I mean, sure I was holding this upright pencil in clever anticipation of an unsuspecting victim, but he decided to sit in the very chair I had booby-trapped. How is that my fault?
I was a bit surprised at how his thick jeans failed to prevent the lead from getting through. Then all these people were getting on to me about lead poisoning and whatnot and I found myself, once again, in that now familiar office.
Fourth grade: I think by this time that Aaron Taylor might have been held back, so I wonder if people thought of me as the problem child? It would have been severely ironic considering how things ultimately turned out with me in contrast with my classmates (still the only one stone cold sober)...
I don't remember specifically going to the principal's this year. I just rarely did any work, so I spent every recess period sitting on the sidewalk going over the first page in my hand-writing speller over and over again cause I never turned it in. Perhaps I foresaw the irrelevance of good penmanship with the dawning of the digital age...
The next few years I don't think I went to the principal's office, though I had scores of detentions because of consistent tardiness--thanks Lindsey. The only misdeeds I can remember for 5-7 are slight reprimands for trading Magic cards in class, though that should have gotten me expelled for extreme geekiness. Oh the humanity!
Eighth grade, however, I made up for it. Three days in a row... three trips to the principal's. By this time, going to the office isn't such a big deal--in fact, silly teenagers that we were, we may have considered it a feat--but three days in a row could prod even my slumbering conscience. Once was for throwing a wad of paper in band class, though that particular band class was more of a study in student hostility and rioting... Once was for playing hooky during athletics, and I think the other time was just a whim from Ms. Piper. Boy, she hated boys. I used to get sentences for putting my feet in my chair, no joke!
And then, freshman year in high school, I started reading the Book of Mormon and stuff, and I made the connection to what true happiness is. The rest is a much more boring history, but a history that still continues to write itself. Holy narcissism Batman!
