History repeats itself

Once upon a time...23 years ago if you must know....I was in first grade and I liked a boy.  His name was Eric, and he was one of the few boys would had no problems playing with girls. There were a group of us who regularly played together: Staci, Sarah, Gwenda, Holly, Ricky, Jeff, and Eric.  One day I realized I liked Eric and shortly thereafter found out he liked Holly.  This did not make me happy.  Not knowing how to deal with that feeling, I decided the best way to express myself was to leave a note on his desk stating the exact opposite of how I felt about him.  I don't remember if I wrote I hate you, or I don't like you, but it was one of those, and I clearly remember trying to sneakily put it on his desk.  I casually walked down the row of empty desks and placed it on his as I continued on my way to the side of the class room where we were gathering for some reason I do not remember.  When we returned to our desks Eric found the note and ran to the teacher, crying.  Despite my not signing the note, Mrs. Price knew who had written it, I figure now that she knew each of our handwriting.  She called me over and spoke to me in the corner wanting to know why I wrote it.  I tearfully told her I didn't know (I've had many years since to ponder on and figure out the why) and told Eric I was sorry.  Mrs. Price made me sit outside the classroom until the principal Mr. Finkbinder came (no I did not make that up, but I may have spelled it wrong) to talk to me.  I cried the whole time I sat there.  It felt like an eternity before he came.  Our classroom faced the back of the office where the Principal's office was so I could see when he came out.  Mr. Finkbinder, being the amazing principal he was, simply made sure I knew what I did was wrong and mean and he knew I was thoroughly sorry.  I don't remember if my parents were informed of this, though I imagine they were, so I don't know what they did if anything.


Today when I picked up DQ from school, her face was red and splotchy from crying.  Her first response was I'm tired.  And I knew that was bull.  What's the British phrase/word for bull s&!#?  I'm sure it's better.  Anyway, I made her sit down by me and I pulled into a parking spot at the school and she sat there until she told me that she Mrs. Hawkes was going to talk to me because she wrote a mean letter to a girl friend of hers.  She was sobbing as she told me, and I immediately knew how she felt and had no idea how to deal with it.  So I simply did what Mr. Finkbinder did.  I made sure she knew that it was not a nice thing to do.  Like me, she didn't know why she didn't, though she said she doesn't remember what she wrote.  I'm sure we will find out tonight at the 1st grade Patriotic Program.  When we got home, I had her make the friend (who is one of her few school/church friends) an "I am sary" card.  It's from her, she can use the wrong spelling.  I'm okay with that, the lesson here is not grammar, and I don't want to detract to that.

I wonder if sometimes the stupid things we did as kids were in part to give us experience when dealing with our own.

Comments

Juli said…
I KNOW some of the stupid things I did will come back to get me in the form of my son's mistakes. It's the circle of life, right? (Enter Simba holding his new lion cub atop the mountain...)
sleepless said…
Mr. Finkbinder never said a word to us..He was a GREAT principal and understood children.

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