Quote of the Day: “There is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval.”
- George Santayana
This is Way Back Wednesday which really means I have nothing much to write about so since “Wednesday” starts with the same letter as “Way,” (“W” for you Einsteins out there), that means you get a little dose of my vivid memories from when I was a little shaver.
My most inequitable childhood memory came in 4th grade.
I was a very good child, believe it or not, which means I was shy, quiet, reserved, and adorable. See:
Anyway, my teacher was a Mrs. Badger. No kidding, folks, that was her name. And she was a big, fat, mean old hag who scared the bejesus out of all of us.
If we were good by her standards, which was rare, she would give us Zingers on Friday. She set them on our desks while we were at the playground so when we came back in, there they were.
One time she set the red ones with coconut shaving all over it and my heart sank. I hated those red ones and even to this day, I deplore coconut. No reason, just never liked them so when she rewarded the class with this particular flavor, well, it wasn’t much of a reward for me.
It turns out that one of the kids had come in during recess and Zinger-nabbed one of the hideous little coconut nastiness and predictably, Mrs. Badger practically had a grand mal seizure over it.
She gathered all of them up and then harangued us for what seemed like forever. Then she had us put our heads on our desks and said she was going to the teacher’s lounge and wait for the guilty party to come fess up. In hindsight, I’m sure she was gobbling the confiscated Zingers like Tic-Tacs.
Of course no one moved until I couldn’t take it anymore and decided it was necessary to go inform Mrs. Badger of what was on my mind.
I got up, went to the lounge, and asked to speak with the old witch. I logically explained to her that since I didn’t like red Zingers with coconut topping in the first place, there was obviously no way I could have been the guilty party.
I don’t exactly know what I expected her to do or say but at the time, it seemed perfectly reasonable to go to her and offer this stunning piece of logic.
A few minutes after I had left my desk, I returned and not literally but figuratively, waddled back to my desk with a red Zinger shoved clear up my 4th grade ass.
That’s where my memory drops off. I’m sure no one confessed and I’m also sure that we never got another Zinger again from Mrs. Badger.
I guess I can take solace in the knowledge that she is likely dead by now but even that is a hallow victory because I’m not, you know, a COMPLETE asshole.
Maybe I should do some research, find her grave, and sit on her headstone eating an entire box of red Zingers with coconut topping.
Free Advice for Today: “Never invest more in the stock market than you can afford to lose.”
- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.