Fifth Grade Freak 2

Fifth grade was an awkward time for everybody. That was the year all the boys had to have a chat with Coach Denney while all the girls had to have their own chat with Mrs Gregory, the counselor. After that, all the fifth graders began looking at each other a little differently. So, obviously, I didn't need to do anything on my own to make myself feel more awkward or out of place. At this time, I didn't have any special skills or talents that stood out to anyone. If my parents had any ideas of a lifestyle like that of Dina Lohan, then by my 5th grade year, it was obvious they should give up hope on me and focus on my little brother. So, when I found a skill I was great at, I did all I could to be the best in my field: the field of gerbil catching. Our class had 2 gerbils as class pets, a tan one named Brownie and a black one named Blackie. (Reference previous posts regarding the lack of creativity of my class in both nicknames and pet names). Every now and then (read: all the time) Brownie and Blackie would somehow manage to McGuyver themselves out of their posh gerbil palaces and roam the classroom, free to eat whatever and poop wherever. Because my friend, Angela, and I rode the same bus to school, we always arrived together to wait for the bell. Lining up to wait for the bell to ring was alot like a first recess. While we couldn't play on the playground, we did get to socialize which is what recess was all about anyways. We'd stand outside waiting from 7:30 until 8 talking about how cute Jonathan Taylor Thomas was the night before on "Home Improvement" or how I had gotten my mom to sew a huge sunflower on my flip up denim hat to match Blossom's. One morning, it was freezing outside and there wasn't much to talk about, so Angela and I were glad when Mrs Norris came outside to ask us to catch the runaway gerbils. Mrs Norris left Angela and I to our hunt while she sipped her morning coffee in the teacher's lounge. I decided the best thing to do before beginning was to secure the parameter. I shoved my scarf under the bottom of the door to insure no escape for these rats who didn't appreciate the palacial home full of tunnels a class of fifth graders had provided for them. Brownie was an easy catch. That gerbil was fat and not as stealthy as Blackie. I suspected Blackie to be the one who figured out all those McGuyver moves to free the two. It was obvious that Blackie had stolen a sharpened pencil from beside their home and hid it under their cedar chip carpet. Then, using the sharp pencil, one of Brownie's whiskers, and those crafty little paws, Blackie manuevered an escape. Angela and I were sure to wear our gloves while searching for Blackie because he was a biter, and it gave us a tough edge like Dog the Bounty Hunter. Angela spotted Blackie scurrying across the floor in front of a bookcase. After trying to catch him by blocking him off, we decided to lure out Blackie with food. I was sure it wouldn't work. This wasn't your everyday gerbil we were dealing with. This one was smart. I was considering striking a deal with Blackie to see if he'd take my math test for me in exchange for a little freedom each week. I guess I overestimated the brillance of a hungry gerbil, because he fell for the bait. Once Blackie realized he had been dooped, he high tailed it across the room. I saw him heading my way and dropped to the floor to catch him. My awkwardly long legs and plump torso came crashing down on the cold floor far more quickly than I had anticipated. I look at Angela in confusion because it seemed that Blackie had developed the skill to also fly as he was no longer anywhere to be found. Angela looked stunned. As I stood to try to track down this genius gerbil, I realized I wouldn't have to look far. Blackie had been crushed by my shin. His small, lifeless body laid on the cold, hard floor. I checked my Levi's for any evidence before I urged Angela to leave the gerbil there and come with me to seek help from Mrs Norris. As we walked to halls, I began to get nervous and my palms started to sweat. Was I going to get a demerit for murder? Could I take my $2 lunch money and run to a pet store for a quick replacement? How could I hide the body? How could I get Angela to keep her mouth shut about the whole thing? Mrs Norris came back to class to help us put Blackie in paper towels and in a small box while the rest of the students began to file in. Once roll had been called and lunch orders taken, Mrs Norris made the fateful announcement. The class seemed sad about the loss, but didn't seem to be out for justice. I decided I was overreacting and went about my day as normal. We were to have a funeral for Blackie during third recess. By the time recess after lunch came around, rumors were already circling. Everyone in fifth grade knew Blackie's death wasn't a natural one, and everyone knew I was to blame. During our third recess, the time of the funeral came about. Blackie was set to be buried beside the air conditioning unit just outside our classroom window. As everyone began gathering around the ac unit, I heard others whispering and pointing at me. Not long after, I was asked to leave the memorial service because it wasn't right for me to attend since I had killed Blackie. "Whatever, weirdos," I thought as I walked over to the playground. I don't need those guys. I have friends in other classes and these people were not ones I wanted to go into middle school being associated with anyways. I mean, remember John talks to a beanie baby. How did he and Rattail Cliff think they could throw such big rocks from their psycho and unstylish glass houses?!

Heel. Toe. Exposed.

Mom and Dad always let Nathan and I participate in whatever extracirricular activities we'd like. I started taking piano lessons at a fairly young age, and my parents even bought me a piano to have at home to practice and play. Every summer was spent at the ballpark going back and forth between softball and baseball games of mine, my brother, and my cousins. One Saturday, Nathan and I were playing in my bedroom. I often liked to dress him up in my Sunday church dresses and splash my (pretend) make up on his face until he had transformed into my little sister. I had a hunch he wasn't really into it, but he had no choice. Luckily, he was a pretty good sport. His misery was interrupted by my mom calling me into the livng room. She was watching a gymnastics competition on TV. She told me to watch them and explained that my cousin Stacy (my ultimate bff) was taking gymnastics and had for a long time. (Seriously, I'm pretty sure that girl started doing flips and handstands in the placenta. She could also climb a sycamore tree faster than any squirrel). The gym where Stacy took gymnastics was taking students for a beginner class. While Stacy wouldn't be in my class, she'd still be there for her workouts while my class met. I thought "Sure, sounds like fun. I have no idea why being so bendy would be beneficial to my life, but hey, this could come in handy if ever I'm in a situation where I needed to escape ninja style. And sure, those girls that can flip always had boyfriends for some reason." So, I told Mom to sign me up! I was pretty excited when the day came that I would start my first gymnastics class. Stacy had been telling me all week how awesome it was going to be. There was even a trampoline at our gym, and I had been dying to get one at home. Maybe I could talk my parents into getting me one since I'd clearly need to practice my ninja flips as much as possible. While getting ready for class, I realized that I didn't have any gymnast clothes. I couldn't show up in shorts and a tshirt when the rest of my beginner classmates would be in leotards. They'd think I wasn't serious about the sport. I'd be a mockery. Mom informed me that there was no way I was getting a leotard before the first class. Who knew if I'd even like it. Borrowing one from Stacy was out of the question (not only for sanitary reasons) because I already stood a head taller than her. Mom told me I could wear the unitard I usually wore with my Levi's for the first class. Granted, it was creamy white and waffle print and had cap sleeves, and it fastened with four snaps at the crotch. As I put it on without my Levi's, I took a long look in the mirror and decided this would have to do. I could jazz up the plain look with a neon scrunchie or two. Always accessorize! So, Mom dropped me off at class. After a brief intro from Ms. Donna, my instructor (who, by the way, was the same height as me), we began our stretches. My class consisted of a mix of boys and girls, and most the other kids went to different schools than me, so I was excited to meet them all. All during our stretches and learning the terms of the equipment, I'd glance over at the uneven bars and see Stacy swinging from one to the other with grace and ease. I thought this had to be pretty easy. The very first thing we learned to do was the balance beam. Ms. Donna had us practice the balance beam by walking on one that was flat on the floor first. Once we had mastered the floor beam, she moved us up to the big beam. I was getting a little bored. All we were doing was essentially learning to take a sobriety "walk-a-straight-line" test. When was I going to learn to flip backwards off the end of this thing like Stacy does? Ms Donna helped me up on the big beam and told me to walk from one end to the other with my arms outstretched. "Yawwwnn...," I thought as I heel toe'ed the mundane assignment. Halfway through the beam, with my entire class sitting below, looking up at me, I heard a small "clink, clink". "Hm. Keep going. Heel. Toe. Heel. Toe.", I said in my head. Clink. Clink. Then, the class started giggling and snickering. Ms. Donna pulled me from the beam and ushered me to the restroom. That's when I noticed the snaps of my unitard had come undone, exposing me and all my glory to the gym. See, it's one of the situations I needed to learn to flip. I needed to ninja flip my escape pronto. Luckily, Ms Donna grabbed my purple Umbro shorts for me and suggested I invest in a gymnastics leotard. (Ya' think?!) Class didn't last much longer after that, and Stacy came to check on me and help me pick out a couple leotards. We knew after that display of embarassment, my mom was sure to give in and buy a couple. I had just given my class their first full frontal view. I didn't last much longer in gymnastics. All the amazing things Stacy could do never came too easily to me. I couldn't even do a cartwheel to move into the next level of classes. Sitting at the piano was more my kind of sport. At least with the piano, there was far less of a chance I'd debut as a girl gone wild.

Misery Loves Shadow Puppets

Growing up in my house when anyone would be sick or get hurt, we all cried out for Mom. This included my dad. Looking back, I realize that my mom has the patience of a saint and the loving touch of an angel. My dad has always been a great care taker as well, as long as you weren't crying in pain or vomitting. If the latter was true, well, move over and make room for one more by the toilet. Dad hated to see me sick or not feeling well, but hated more that he couldn't do anything to fix it immediately and make it go away. Trips to the doctor usually involved Mom and the sick child while Dad worked. So, you can imagine the adventures to be had when Dad had to take me to the doctor. I had come down with the worst sore throat my little 8 year old body had ever experienced. Usually, even if sick, I'd spend the day off school laying on the itchy, brown couch watching cartoons with my dad (pausing at noon of course to catch the news and "Dialing for Dollars") and eating chicken noodle soup. This time, I didn't even want to leave my bed.  As my fever spiked, and I was sure I wouldn't live to get my hands on the New Kids on the Block digital watch I'd been eyeing, Dad decided it was time for me to see the doctor. My dad helped me get dressed in my Levi's slims (my jeans were so difficult to find.. the ones that fit my tiny waist were far too short--I'd kill for that problem today) and LA Gear Lights shoes. (Sidenote: Why are light up shoes not good enough for today's kids? I hate those shoes that squeek when the kids take a step. Do parents not realize they drive everyone around them crazy? One mother actually explained to me that it was a safety feature. Really?! Why don't you try just keeping up with your kid so you won't have to follow the sounds of the annoyingly loud squeeky shoes to find him? Plus, my argument to her is that the child is in more danger with those squeek shoes because it creates an urge in me to strangle her kid.) After my long, thick and curly hair had been pulled back in probably the best (read: worst) looking ponytail my dad could create, we were off to the doctor's office. My dad's celebrity in my hometown is nothing short of remarkable. As a kid I often wondered how he had the time and means to meet every single person who lived in White County. Did he just say he worked at Vickers as a cover story, when he was actually some famous man who peaked before my birth? I hadn't figured it out. But, like every outing with my dad, he knew every single person in the waiting room. As I sat in agony, Dad mingled with all the other waiting patients. I began wondering if we were actually at my doctor's office or if Dad had drug my weak, obviously expiring self to some kind of mixer. Some mixer, there weren't any refreshments. After waiting for what felt like long enough that I now needed my first training bra, I was finally put in an exam room. Dad noticed how horrible that I felt after waiting all day and reading every Highlights magazine in the office. With limited resources, Dad did what he did best.. goof off to make me laugh. He flipped the light switch in the exam room. I heard a little clanking around and became nervous. What was he up to?! Then, a small light from the machine that illuminated xrays filled the room. There was my dad, using tongue depresser props creating a shadow puppet show. Only my dad would come up with this routine. For just a little while, I forgot why we were even seeing a doctor.