It's No Use Crying

So, I’ve gotten in trouble three times in my life.  For reals.  That’s it. 

I mean, I did more than three trouble-worthy things in my life growing up but I either

A) never got caught (I need to be careful as we are in mixed company here),
B) it wasn’t bad enough to “really” get in trouble,
C) my dad was secretly happy that I actually was a “normal” kid,
D) all of the above.

Surely, I did (and continue to do) plenty of things that have displeased folks and such.  But nothing that I’d say was really “wrong”.  I’ve always left that for other peeps.

1978: First grade – Mrs. Wood’s class, Davis Thayer.  (Same classroom where M had first grade, but I digress.)  I was wearing my favorite outfit.  In my mind, I was drop dead gorg.  Navy blue cordoroys (probably size 4T slim), a red and white checkered button down shirt with metal snaps that were really cold against my body and an elastic belt with magnet clasp that was blue with red letters that said “JEANS” across it.  Oh and don’t forget the Dorothy Hammill haircut. I was rockin' the outfit and felt like a million bucks. 

Anywho…it was snack time. I don’t remember who the friend was but apparently I had a lot to say to him or her.  (I’m sure it was a “her”. The only boy I ever had talked to up to that point was Tommy Walker in kindergarten.  Oh my God – was he so cute – and he had a Dorothy Hamill haircut too!)   As much as I didn’t enjoy small talk (yes, even back then) if you got me in a scenario where I felt comfortable,  you couldn’t shut me up.  (Some things never change.)  Mrs. Wood told me numerous times to stop talking and quietly eat my saltines and milk.  (Were we in prison or in elementary school?)  I did not stop talking.  In fact, I kept talking and getting up to talk to my friend at her desk when I thought Mrs. Wood wasn’t looking.  She was looking and I saw her coming over to me again!  I knew that she was going to tell me that I was going to have to stay in for recess!! That was a fate worse than death!!!  Miss out on playing 7Up or Chinese jumprope?  Not I!!!!

In an attempt to get back to my seat in the front of the room (have I mentioned I was the teacher’s pet) without getting caught, I spun around very quickly and knocked my friend’s milk all over my snazzy outfit . The milk totally soaked my pants.  (I was approximately two feet tall.  It didn’t take much).  I went down to the nurse and she pulled out some of the clothes from the lost and found bin for me to put on.  Really?  (If only my parents had worked right around the corner…they could have brought me some new clothes.)  Anyway, I returned to class wearing the same favorite red and white checkered shirt ... with the lost and found (too wide and WAY too long) orange, purple and green plaid bell bottoms.  Suddenly, I was no longer Vogue-worthy.  I looked like (as H and M horrifyingly say) a hobo.

In a New York Minute, I was no longer quite so gorg.  I was mortified… and apparently, a bit snippy with Mrs. Wood.  I blamed her for my sudden fall from fashion stardom.   I was going to show her who was boss.  In my attempt to show her that I didn’t appreciate what had just transpired, I had a bit of a ‘tude.  (A five year old 'tude, but a 'tude nonetheless.)

I guess I failed to realize that when you are five and in first grade, you are not the boss.  Under any circumstances.

She kept me (and my 'tude) in for recess anyway…