The reason why I know my mother was nicer than everybody else’s mother is because I have searched her photo archives–and mine–in vain for a photo of me missing my front teeth. If one exists, some sibling must have it with an eye toward using it to blackmail me should I ever become the next [Insert Famous Author Name Here].
I was looking for gap-toothed me because of a story my sister told me Thursday night about her grandkids. I didn’t ask for permission to share with the Internet, though, so I’ll just tell you my story. Debby, who I’ve previously told you made multiple attempts on my life during our childhood, knocked out my front teeth.
Yes, they were baby teeth. Yes, they were already loose. Yes, it was an accident. But whatever. It’s one more check in the “Tried to KILL ME” column.
Anyway, while searching, I grabbed this blurry photo of my third grade class. Our teacher, Mrs. Norton, had to work hard–very hard–to undo all the damage done to me by my second grade shrew teacher. That red arrow shows Mrs. Norton by the window.
At first, I didn’t think I was in this photo. Then I finally realized, Oh, yeah. There I am–that little boy on the back row.
I don’t remember one single classmate’s name. And it’s not because I’ve turned thirty-five a bunch. I didn’t even remember their names when I was a young girl writing in that memory album my mother gave me. That’s how emotionally screwed up I was–that I didn’t have a single friend in class for an entire year of school. If any of my classmates remember me, it’s only to Google my name along with key words involving that Unfortunate Incident that occurred just after school started. The Unfortunate Incident was how Mrs. Norton knew she’d inherited a big mess from a bad teacher.
Thank you, Mrs. Norton, for being patient and kind. And all y’all from third grade: That wasn’t me who did that. It was some other girl with a boy’s haircut who sat in the back of the class. Now go look at cat videos or something.
Are you really going to torture the Internet with such a complete lack of juicy details? Not that I would say anything on pain of death.
Yes.
She’s just like that.
Deplorable, isn’t it?
I forget about people I was at school with and then their name will pop into my head for no apparent reason. Then I wonder what they’re up to now. But I really don’t care.
I went to too many schools in too many places to remember everyone. But I can generally tell you who were my friends from each grade–maybe one to three people–even though I might never have seen them again after we moved. But third grade is a big blank. I do remember one girl from that year, but she lived across the street from us. She wasn’t in my class at school.