Flashback Friday

I don't really do much these days. I mean, I do things, but nothing very blog-worthy. Like, there are only so many game shows I can audition for to entertain you. And I do a lot of laundry, but people aren't usually interested in hearing about that. (A lesson I learned the hard way in the 5th grade science fair, when I did my project on "Which Laundry Detergent is the Best?" I took 2nd place, winning a 50 dollars savings bond, and the assurance that I would never have many friends.)

Anyways, that's why I came up with Flashback Friday. I've decided that snappy alliterative titles are the way to go. Flashback Friday will bring you assorted memories that really have no business being on the internet. But let's face it. My life was more interesting back then. Oh young Jeanne, if only you knew what the future had in store for you...

I wouldn't say I was a teacher's pet in elementary school, but I was pretty obedient. I was respectful of authority and I was terrified of the slightest reprimand. That's why I distinctly remember things like getting my name written on the board in 2nd grade. I think it was a three strike system. You got your name on the board for the first offense, a check mark for the second, and another check mark for the third. That's when you got punished. Anyways, I'm pretty sure I only got my name written on the board just the one time, for spending too much time washing my hands at the sink (no lie), but it still stings.

Recess detention was the worst fate I could imagine. Not because I liked recess so much. In fact, I probably would have just assumed never have recess. I don't particularly like running around, being outdoors, or really any kind of forced socialization. But the stigma! I wasn't the type to get a recess detention. That is, not until 3rd grade.

Looking back, 3rd grade is when it all changed. Aside from that name on the board incident in 2nd grade, I don't think I'd had any run-ins with teachers or law enforcement.

My music teacher was Mr. Patrick. He was very old and he wore those short-sleeved dress shirts that were pretty much completely transparent. He also hated me. I don't know why. I guess it was because I was completely incapable of filling the letters in on the chromatic scale. I don't know why, but it's the same feeling I get when trying to read a map. It just does not compute.

But we took these music tests every week. And every week he passed out the tests, and the pencils. The pencils all had those cap erasers on them, the ones that really don't serve any erasing purpose whatsoever. And the erasers all had numbers on them. The numbers all corresponded to our seat numbers. I think I was 12. Now that I think about it, this was a really weird, anal retentive thing to do. Why did he even bother providing pencils? I'm pretty sure we all had pencils.

So one week, after finishing the test, we turned in our tests and pencils, and Mr Patrick noticed that my pencil (#12) was missing the eraser! I was the prime suspect, of course. I still claim to this day that I did not touch that eraser, but my word was no good. There was no trial and I was found guilty of this egregious act against a pencil. My sentence? A recess detention.

I was so upset that I don't even remember the detention itself. But I imagine it involved clapping erasers and/or waterboarding.

So thank you, Mr. Patrick, for teaching me a valuable lesson. To this day, I've never not stolen a crazy person's eraser again.