Last night, my dance teacher Doug Rivera threatened to send me to the Naughty Corner for moving my hips too much. I told him I couldn't help it. Turn on the music and my hips move, involuntarily. He let me off with a warning. But it did get me thinking about the dark consequences of bad behavior. There was that time in 7th grade at Emerson. So traumatic. I really don't like to talk about it. Okay, I will. It happened in... oh, this is harder than I thought... Girls Glee. A very cranky man whose name I've conveniently forgotten taught this silly class. One day, he was at his snarkiest, and said, "Now, see if you can do this." Implication: we couldn't do it. I turned to the girl next to me, and mimicked him. He didn't hear me, but noticed the extreme smirkatude etched on my punim. I may be the first person in history sent to the Girls V.P. for making a face. The conversation went something like this: "Carol, did you make a face in Girls Glee?" "I guess so." "Why did you make a face?" "I dunno." "Do you understand that making a face isn't okay?" "Uh-huh." "It's very disrespectful." "Sorry." This high-ranking disciplinarian handed me a note and told me to bring it back with a parent's signature. Oy vey, now I was really in deep doo-doo. How could I tell my mom about my horrible fall from grace? Oh, the shame! The indignity of it all! I was barely in the door when I spilled it. "Mommy, I'm so sorry, I was sent to the Girls V.P. for making a face, I'll never do it again." I waited for her to get mad, send me to my room, ground me for life. Instead, she started laughing. "Oh, honey, you really are your mother's daughter." Then she regaled me with the story of how she got busted in school for making a noise. She and her fellow delinquents would make random high-pitched noises when the teacher was at the blackboard. One day, she turned around and caught my mother in the act. As punishment, she had to stand in front of the class and read a letter of apology, while the boys threw spitballs at her. I think I got off easy.
My fourth grade teacher accused me of procrastinating. When I respond with "Huh?" she jotted the word on a slip of paper and asked me to have my mother help me discern the definition and to return the signed slip the following day... needless to say caused a late night of study at the kitchen table and follow up inquiries for several weeks.
ReplyDeleteIf there's anything you're not, it's a procrastinator!
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