Breakfast recollections...

This morning as I was doing my ritual slaughtering of cheerios by repetitive mastication, I was also staring thoughtfully at a small section of the kitchen wall. It used to have a hole in it before grandpa fixed it. About fourteen years ago I had watched my mom pull her heel out of said hole. Which is a great way to follow up putting it in the wall. Which is what she did after I told her I didn’t write my name on the piece of paper she was holding.

The parents had decided after seven years of nurturing, home schooling, and religious training totally away from society, it was time to enroll me in public school. I wasn’t technically in second grade, so when my dad tried sticking me in third grade, he got a little flack from the prestigious Paulina Elementary. After a couple of placement test which I slapped around like a hoe, I was in and off running.

“We don’t print in the third grade” the teacher said sternly, staring down disapprovingly at my paper. “We use cursf” I followed her gesture to the wall where the cursive alphabet adorned the wall. The heads of all my classmates turned to regard me curiously. As I struggled to learn the entire cursive alphabet that first damn hour, I quickly realized I had a little catching up to do, but not just academically.

I watched with envy at the relative ease with which some of my classmates captivated the attention of the classroom with stories of fighting and dirty words. None did this as well as Vernon Rousell. He was a taller kid with a natural confidence and swagger. Over the next couple of months, as I tried to peck my way up in the ranks of the third-graders, we came into conflict many times. His stories were always a little better than mine, his jokes were always funnier. I finally found a way to get the better of him. We were both talking third-grade smack to each other across the aisle during one of our teacher’s frequent absences, he was on one leg demonstrating a karate kick he assured me would kill me if he decided to use it against me, when an idea hit me. Running up to him I kicked him while he was on one leg. A bitch move? I agree. But it had its desired effect. Kind of. He flew back across his desk, bringing it down on top of him just about the time the teacher walked in. From that moment on, we were enemies. Plus I was in serious trouble with the teacher.

Giddy with my new found respect I barely heard my parent’s lectures about their concern over my recent behavioral problems. I began planning my next step to delinquent supremacy. I was going to draw a butt. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, a butt. It took me all of three minutes to draw. When the door closed behind our hall-wandering teacher, I leaned back smugly and handed it to the girl next to me. “What is that?” she asked. Taking it back I painstakingly inscribed B U T on the top of the page. I handed it back and it got the appropriate amount of snicker. Folding it in half I began slowly circulating my artwork to a steady tune of grins and muted giggles.

Enter Travis f*cking Detillier. In addition to the uproarious, teacher attracting laughter he gave off upon receiving my work, he also shakes his head and gives his desk a few enthusiastic thumps with his fist. The class quickly becomes busy again with their work and I desperately motion for Travis to return it. “No, give it here” Vernon says and reaches out for it. Of course Travis obeys without hesitation and Vernon gives me an evil smirk as the teacher enters.

“You can’t prove I drew that” I informed him when the teacher leaves again. “My names not on it.” In response, he reaches on the teacher desk and grabs a stack of our daily writings. Thumbing through them quickly, he finds mine and takes it back to his desk. I watch nervously as he carefully forges my signature on the paper with the help and critique of those around him. When the teacher returns, he gives her my artwork complete with a very incriminating, very well done addition to the bottom. It read, “by Daniel Wahl”.

“I’m disappointed.” The principle looked at me sadly as she Xeroxed a copy of the offending document. But my mind was elsewhere. I was in some serious shit. I was going home early. They had called my parents. Such a thing had never happened in my family and I knew I would be putting on every pair of underwear I owned as soon as I could get near my closet.

“Yes I drew it, but I didn’t sign my name” My mom obviously wasn’t buying that. “Your lying!!” She yelled. “I swear” I insisted, “I swear to God.” Boom! There went the poor sheetrock. Luckily the shock of my apparent blasphemy and the gaping hole in the wall sent her storming out of the house. I made good use of the time and was well prepared when my impending whipping from dad took place. “By the way” dad said as he put his belt back on and headed to the door, “you misspelled butt.”