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"I'm Counting To Ten!" (A Parable)Nov 26 '00 Write an essay on this topic.Attention Epinions Police: This is NOT off-topic! Back when I was going to school (at least where I grew up), grades 6 through 8 weren't considered to be middle-school. Grades 7 and 8 were considered to be junior-high, in a sense, but it was still all considered to be grade school or elementary school until we graduated from eighth grade. Thus, when the recess bell rang, we went out to play four times a day. We had three fifteen-minute recesses and a longer one at noon. My very favorite recess activity was playing on the swings--and this was true from my very first day of school until I received my diploma eight years later. I still love swinging, though I would probably break any swing I would get into now. I remember passing by St. Mary's School while out on a drive a few months before I started first grade. There were some swings there like I'd never seen before. Instead of having flat board seats, they had drooping seats made out of some kind of canvas or something. "What's that place?" I asked my folks. They told me that it was the Catholic school. When I started first grade, I gave my folks a description of the playground, telling them that there were "four Catholic swings and two regular ones." Now, it was 1967, and I would soon be graduating and going on to high school. That spring, I was swinging and talking with my friend and classmate from day one, Rita Clark. We were looking back on our years at Fall Creek Heights Elementary. "I remember when Mrs. Whiteman was going to paddle you, and you wouldn't bend over," Rita giggled. This was something that I'd forgotten for some reason (I guess that, when you get so many paddlings at school, it's inevitable that one of them might slip your mind), but it all began to come back to me, and it was the 1960-61 school year all over again. To this day, I can't remember what had gotten me so mad in the first place, but I was throwing a major temper tantrum--something I was very good at! Because I looked pretty comical, to say the least, when I was down on the floor kicking and screaming, this elicited tons of laughter from the rest of the class--with the exception of the teacher, who didn't think this was a bit funny. That was one thing my second-grade teacher and I agreed on about the current state of affairs: We didn't find it the least bit funny. In fact, I found it so UN-funny that I picked myself up off the floor and tore out of the classroom, with Mrs. Whiteman close behind to pull me back in. "And just where do you think you're going to, young lady!?!" One thing I was known for when I was especially upset was becoming highly dramatic. "I want to get away from these horrible children!" I shrieked. (The pot calling the kettle black!) This brought on more laughter. "Young lady! You're going to go sit in your seat, and you're not going out for recess! Instead, you're going to get paddled!" Suddenly, I became very subdued and my roaring dwindled down to whimpering. I might have been a pain-in-the-butt, but I was in no way fond of having my own butt in pain. The bell rang for recess, and all but two of the kids hurried out the door to get to the playground. Rita had just gotten back to school after being out sick, so she stayed at her desk. And I was behind to attend a "board meeting." Even at that point, I was wondering if there were a way to escape my fate. I finally came up with it! When Mrs. Whiteman commanded, "Bend over!, I simply wouldn't! Standing there like the steadfast tin soldier, I met her repeated commands to bend over with my own repeated "NO!" This went on for a little bit--then, Mrs. Whiteman played her trump card. "If you don't bend over by the time I count to ten, I'm going to take you to the principal's office. Believe me, Mr. Creason will paddle you MUCH harder than I'm going to!" She began to count. "ONE!" (still standing) "TWO!" (not budging) "THREE!" (holding my ground) "FOUR!" (not about to give in) "FIVE!" (just like a marble statue) "SIX!" (not even a hint of giving in) "SEVEN!" (Glory Glory Hallelujah! I'm still straighter than a ruler!) "EIGHT!" (nothing even resembling a bend in my body) "NINE!" (I wonder what on earth I thought would change with just a second to go!) "TEN!" And so we had arrived! My options didn't include escape. It was just a matter of deciding between Mrs. Whiteman and Mr. Creason--which is why I was bent and ready to receive what I had coming to me in a split-second! In spite of the discomfort of board meeting bottom, there was a certain sense of relief in having it over with! The moral of this story is: There comes a time when you have to accept things the way they are whether you like it or not. Mr. Creason and Mrs. Whiteman have both been gone for many years, but I can always get bijou to pay Al Gore a little visit! Are you available, bijou? You know what you need to do. However, in his case, his ten seconds have been up for a long time, so take that into consideration!  |
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by PacManY2J
by ladyconsumer
by kairosdreaming
