That’s what that prompt mean to me. If you didn’t catch the quirk, it was asking about my first memories in school.                        

You give that title back!
You give that title back!

Nothing short of pure blundering and blind panicked flight. For this, I invite you to stoll in our livid imaginations/alterations about our entrance into realizing that you are in fact not the youngest (me) in the household. And what’s that? There are other kids your age just as snooty?!

Clearly, I was a pageant child.

Here I’ve got three wonderous examples to parents, and perhaps aging (genius) toddlers alike what it’s truly like to enter the school grounds.

One of my earliest memory in kindergarden had been in Hong Kong, next to my Grandmother’s apartment, where the entrance always stunk of wild cats and their feces. Didn’t stop me a bit to go right ahead and chase them though. For funsies. I don’t kill animals. Unless they are served on the platter for me..

Any who, this memory only resulted in me falling asleep during class, right after the new teacher threw up – cause us darlings were too terrifyingly attentive – and the next thing happened to be the afternoon bell for break time. I woke up rejuvenated and largely educated that there exists  rules my entitlements on the play ground. First shots, and every other consecutive time, on the swings, monkey bars, and slides m’lady. It was a rather exceptional day.

Don’t worry, something worse happens. Quit wishing.

So in grade 3, I somehow really discovered, or more likely defined the difference between a boy and a girl. Before that it was just one with short hair and the other with long. Both sounding like tweedie the bird, who would know the better.

Let me just reminisce for a moment for the beautiful little Caucasian wonders – blue eyes blonder hair and all – before I break the spell and say they were all perverse fools in progress.

I really do think it was them who invented the game of butt slapping to be a game. It’s a child’s rendition for a poor excuse to pinch a girl’s breeches. Or vice versa. Not that I had any great desire to touch anyone’s nether regions. I had enough struggle trying to process why somebody would ever want to touch themselves there. Even in the shower. For cleansing purposes. And I frequently patronized these thoughts while I sung my heart out on the toilet seat for my mother to come take care of doodie.

But I played anyway. And since I was so fiercely determined to win, I ran full force into another girl and got a slit scar right at my eyebrow, which lovingly lasts to cause a brief baldness of hair to this day.

Could I also mention just how I was quite frankly fascinated with the amount of blood that came out? Balls to the people who called me air-head. Hah.

Alas, all of these events seemed rather mundane for the magnificent Duck. I understand. Let me tell you a shit story. A literal shit story.

Again, in the brief moments of grade 3 I was attending a rather prestigious school with international students. Also where the boys, who I had found out above, were (sadly) discovered only good for looking and not talking. Or touching. Regardless, there were uniforms for both sexes and as a girl I was asked to wear a blue striped dress. Hardly a task for some spoil brat in love with Barbie and Ken.

I peg it as I was just way too excited for everyone else to witness the Duck that day, for I had a terrible stomach ache during the car ride there. Of which my mother shot me the solution – hold it in.

On no accounts should anyone, under 16 and over 60, or honestly, anywhere in between hold anything in.

No I didn’t crap my pants in the car. I wouldn’t be alive for that. My -whatever-age-of-grade-3-hide would be emulating as a rug throw around the house for my mom about now. If possible, it was a rather worse suspense. I don’t know if this should indeed contribute towards furthering my bragrights™, I’d thought it was only possible for the elephants my family and I rode in Thailand, who in succession to following behind each other, alternatively pooped along the trail.

Yeah, I think I kinda shit my pants while walking into the school.

At that, my mother finally realizes just how urgent the matter was. This should be lesson that no kid’s issues should be taken lightly guys. Your rather expensive uniform could be costly and your social status as perfect mama would take a hard hit.

Her solution was as simple as the last. She took my panties and off she went.

She wasn’t heartless though, she brought me to my home room and fluffed my skirts around me so I sat like a perfect lady. Pure naked baby bum against the carpet floor. I don’t think I ever looked back.

If you’re wondering, she did in fact bring back a fresh pair of under garments for me to change into.

In the hallways of course.                       apple

What’s your first memories of school?