A school story to share. One you don't hear everyday...
We've just returned from our field trip to the middle school. The fifth graders are wide eyed and dreaming big. One of them has just confessed to me his embarrassment after multiple middle school girls told him how "cute" he was. The class has now settled into some good books and I'm getting caught up on a few emails. Then, it happened. The worst decision Martin has made all year. From across the room, comes a stream of water at my head. By "stream of water," I don't mean the dripping faucet kind. If this stream were a river it would have been the Mississippi...after some winter snow melt. After it drenches the side of my head, deflects all over my computer screen, and soaks my report cards, I rise. "Who was it?" I say once in a hushed voice. Silence. "Who was it?" (a little louder this time). "What are you talking about?" replies anonymous student. "WHO WAS IT THAT SPRAYED ME WITH WATER?" (the all caps doesn't accurately portray my anger) "What water?" I hear as it's dripping down my face. I can't believe the glazed eyes. The hush amongst the room. No one is owning up. No one is revealing the criminal mastermind. It hits me. One thing about the almighty Mississippi, it leaves a trail! "The trail. Follow the trail," the voice of my father rings in my head. Finally, the perks of being raised by a hunter. I follow. Drip by drip. If I would have looked up, I'd have seen the guilt all over his face. (my dad didn't teach me that) There, hidden deep in Martin's backpack, was the weapon of choice. The TURBO 5 cylinder Supersoaker 2000.(wait a minute, isn't the hunter supposed to have the weapon?) "Martin" I say through squinted eyes (from both anger and runny mascara) "Make your way to the principals office." Oh, no he didn't.
3 years ago