Justice

Justice: A story about my first born self

If you read my post yesterday you know that I recently read a book that contained some information about how my birth order has affected my personality.  One thing mentioned in the book was the first born children have a strong sense of justice and law and order.  I'm also taking part in a writing class as part of the National Writing Project.  One of the assignments of the class is to produce personal writings.  The story you are about to read was my first personal interest writing.  I think it is an entertaining of example of how my beliefs of law and order have affected my life experiences.  

Enjoy :)

I'm Sorry Mrs. Hallam:

One of my worst elementary school memories is the time I forgot my homework.  As a child, I was very anxious and, as a result, very forgetful.  I struggled a great deal with anxiety and depression.  The smallest mistakes would set the perfectionist that lived in my brain into a tail spin.  It started with crying when I missed a question on a test, or hating myself when I didn’t know the answer.  This progressed to full on, body collapsing, meltdowns over a pencil that had dropped to the floor.  I remember getting physically sick at the thought of the stress that came with another school day.  My mind was constantly reeling about what things that I had or hadn’t done and this led to more mistakes as I had difficulty remembering everything I needed to do to have a “perfect” day.  

One night my teacher assigned typical homework; write one sentence for each spelling word.  As a people pleasing, brown nosed student I spent the evening writing and rewriting the perfect sentences.  The next morning when it came time to turn in my homework, I realized that my worst fear had come true.  I had left my work on my desk in my bedroom!  What would I do?  What should I say?  Instant nausea!  I told the teacher what had happened and received my dreaded consequence.  I would miss recess to complete the homework and, worse still, have my name on the board as a constant reminder of my failure.

I did my time without fanfare and completed the work.  I was able to remember pieces of the sentences I had done the night before and used some of that to finish just as recess ended.  Of course I wanted to turn my work in RIGHT THEN.  I didn’t want to take the chance that I could misplace it again.  Plus I had to get my name off the board.  Unfortunately, my teacher was busy and asked me to turn it into the homework bin the next morning.

The next morning came around and I bet you will never guess what happened…I LOST IT AGAIN!  Sick to my stomach, I rushed to the bathroom in tears.  What could I do?  I didn’t want to miss another day of recess.  I had done the work...TWICE!  I couldn’t leave my name up there on the board.  I was a good student, never in trouble.  When I got back to the classroom I noticed my teacher was distracted with a group of students so I did the unthinkable.  I walked past the white board, back to the slick white surface, and daringly erased my name.  No one saw me or noticed the red in my cheeks as my heart raced over what I had just done.  When my teacher went through the morning routine, she checked the board for names and mine was not there.  She never even noticed.

I never brought this moment up again with the teacher, but the guilt ate away at my soul.  Years went by.  Am I a bad person?  I’m a liar!  Did she know?  Was she disappointed in my?  Finally, I am an adult.  A college graduate who can hold this dark secret no longer.  I sat my family down in our living room.  They look suspicious.  What could this possibly be about?  My parents know that I am about to share some dark piece of me.  Finally, I confess.  I tell the whole story of my horrible decision to tell a lie.  I felt the sweet freedom that comes when an enormous weight has been lifted off your shoulders.  Everyone else thinks how silly I am.  My sister and father, notorious troublemakers, finds the whole event hilarious.   They cannot fathom why this minor event should continue to affect my life in such a momentous way.  What matters is that I finally feel a bit of peace and to Mrs. Hallam, wherever you are, just know...I’m so sorry!