Monday, February 22, 2010

Memoir Monday: The First Time I Said The "F" Word.

(Hey guys and gals. It's Memoir Monday time! This is where you write down a story about yourself, steal my button down there, drink a beer, and call it all a win. The only rule is that it has to be true, other than that, there are no rules. I need you to join this week! Once you post, let me know, and I will link you up down there for all my kick ass bloggy followers to go and read! Y'all are the greatest, and I love you. If you want to see all the Memoir Monday posts, just click on the brand new button!!)




I've always been an incredible speller. 

Well, except for spelling "throw." And "tetanus."

This is the story of how that all got started. I was in the first grade, still pretty green around the edges and that jazz. I led a very sheltered home life, and profanity was not something I was familiar with at all. 

My first grade teacher was Mrs. Pirkle. She was meaner than a cobra in a briar patch and about 6 months older than Moses.

It was Christmas time. Being in first grade, I was still extremely impressionable. I had heard a song during this holiday of Jesus, one that went..."Jingle bells, Batman smells, granny had a gun..." Yeah. The one that goes on to say the "N" word. 

So I came home one night and performed this rousing parody for my parents at the dinner table. My father laughed, and my mother almost blew her top. This caused my father to stop laughing and to threaten me with my life the next time this situation arose. 

Enter the day of the Christmas party. My mother made a delicacy back in those days known as Pecan Tassies. These things were amazing. They were ambrosia. They were LEGIT, son. I was trying to get her to bring some of those magical morsels of pecan-y goodness in to the party. And she was telling me in no uncertain terms that there was no way that was going to happen. 

It was a rowdy day at school as the excitement for the party and presents built. There were lots of threats thrown out by Mrs. Pirkle to "cancel the whole thing if y'all don't SHUT UP!" At one point, she left the room to go to the office, and this is when my world came crashing down. 

In the front of the room, a young man named Justin stood up and spelled out a word. "F-U-C-K." After he was done, he sat back down. I was a smart kid. I was an ambitious kid. I knew how to spell and I knew how to sound out words. If you needed something sounded out, I was your guy. Hell, I still am. So I did it. I stood up very quietly, cleared my throat and said...

"That spells fuck!"

Some of the BIGGEST potty mouths I graduated with looked at me on that day and gasped as if I'd just committed murder. It was the biggest frame-up I've ever experienced. Even Justin turned on me. Some little shit RAN next door to tell the other first grade teacher on me. I was in SO much trouble. The other teacher came back, stories were told, and I'm pretty sure at one point I was accused of rape. 

I was sent out into the hallway while my mother was contacted. I waited. And waited. And eventually the teacher came back and said that they couldn't reach my mother at home, so I was just going to have to miss the party and the present exchange. I was RELIEVED. I damn near pissed myself in relief standing there on the wall. MY MOTHER DIDN'T KNOW!!! It was the best moment of my first grade life. I wasn't in trouble just yet! Hooray!

As I stood against the wall counting my blessings, I felt the draft created by the front doors of the school opening up. As I turned my head to look, I FELT the presence much before I actually saw her. My mother. My dear, sweet mother carrying an armful of pecan tassies and smiling the smile of a mother who has tricked her son and is about to surprise him and make him a hero. Then she saw me on the wall. 

The bladder loosening feeling returned, but this time it was in fear. Pure, unadulterated fear in it's rawest state. The second she saw me standing against the wall, I knew my life was over. I started trembling and crying and carrying on so bad that 3 different teachers came out to check on me, which I'm sure made my mom even MORE mad, because I was drawing attention. 

The story was shared by the teacher, and I was immediately escorted from the school, and beaten beyond belief by my dear, sweet, pecan tassie surprising mother. Which, by the way, I didn't get to taste a single one of. My father came home, and if I was expecting more laughter, I was WAY wrong. I was beat again, and sent off to bed. 

And that's how I learned that saying fuck in the first grade will get you in ALL KINDS of trouble.



Other Non-Profanity Laced Walks Down The Hall Of Memory Lane: (GO READ THEM)