Monday, March 21, 2016


One time in first grade, I was standing in a line with my cousin Sean. I am not sure where the line was going, but I feel like we were standing there for a long time considering we were only seven years old and our attention span was lacking.

Wherever we were heading, it was taking awhile to get there, so he and I were chatting. It was the kind of situation where you could talk quietly with your neighbor, but we were in the school hallway where other classes were in session, so obviously we were expected to keep it to a five inch voice or so.

Well, I felt like being a bit of a rebel, so I asked him how loud he thought he could scream. He shook his head, saying no, he was not going to test out his vocal cords at that point in the day. Even back then I did whatever I wanted, so I opened up my mouth and screamed a blood curdling scream, a scream so loud you would have thought I had just gotten shot or stabbed.

Our teacher, Mrs. Hansen, came running over to us. When she saw that neither one of us were bleeding, she got angry and asked which one of us had screamed. I confidently pointed at Sean, completely blaming him for the scream. I remember his jaw dropped and he shook his head no.

I can't remember what happened after that. I don't think I got in trouble, because I feel like I would remember that. I don't think he got in trouble, because I feel like the guilt would have ate at me and I would have confessed.

At any rate, I'm sorry, Cousin Sean, for being such a first grade d-bag.

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