Tragedies of a 1st Grader

Being home for Christmas and spending time with the family always becomes a time for reminiscing. Tonight, the family went to dinner. My mom and my sister are both teachers, so often times our conversations revolve around children in their classroom. With it being flu season, my sister was talking about children in her class that were sick. Naturally, this turned my thoughts to my elementary school days. 

I take you back to my life in 1st grade. I was an awkward child. I wore weirdy clothes, had weridy friends, and did weirdy things. My teacher in 1st grade was Mrs. Ruscello. She was the 2nd scariest teacher of the entire school, next to Mrs. Haney. Mrs. Ruscello had quite the tough reputation, and I was terrified of her. I was a diligent student. I did my homework, answered questions when asked, and stayed quiet the rest of the time. I remember one day in particular, my stomach was hurting during class. I hated to miss school. I was always afraid I would miss out on something (over achiever I know). But, this day, I was ill. I felt so sick all the day long. Finally, before lunch, I gathered up the courage to talk to Mrs. Ruscello. 

Mrs. Ruscello, I said, I don't feel very well. I think I have the stomach flu.

Silence.

Um, but maybe I am ok. Actually, yeah, I think i feel better.

Silence.

Yeah, ok. I will just go sit down now.

Abby, if you really think you are so deathly sick, go get a drink of water. You are fine, just eat something at lunch.

BAD IDEA, Edee Ruscello. BAD IDEA. 

Lunch that day was beefaroni or as I now like to call it Barfaroni.

I think that explains itself.

After forcing myself to scarf down some food, I laid on the ground during recess. That's right, straight up laid on the ground. 

Finally, I made it to the end of the day. I was waiting for the buses to come with another teacher in my building, Ms. Joy Hazucha. She was such a kind soul. She told me if we talked about something else besides my stomach, that I would probably feel better.  So, we talked about her new shoes.

I don't remember much about her new shoes except that they were grey, and 5 seconds after she showed them to me, they were covered in Barfaroni and the tears of my 1st grade eyes.

Sorry, Joy. Now you get even newer shoes. 

That was the first time I had ever seen Joy not so joyous. She led me to the bus, and my led I mean pushed. 

I stepped onto the bus as Joy explained to the bus driver that I was sick and should sit in the front of the bus. I climbed aboard the bus, looking for my older sister to come comfort me. I spotted her in the back of the bus and motioned her to come sit with me. Before she could move or I could take another step, I felt a pit in my stomach. Next thing I knew, beefaroni was on the bus aisle. 

I looked up to have the eyes of 30 other students  and my bus driver Dave, staring at me in disgust. Then kids made gagging noises and moved towards the back of the bus. 

Amy! I yelled. Come sit with me! 

My sister was no where to be found. She was too embarrassed. After all, in elementary school it is not cool to help your younger sister. Let alone your younger barfing sister.

So there I sat, in my red shorts, and blue and white striped shirt with a giant pencil on the front (I know, I know, I should have been barfing at that heinous sounding outfitt), alone in my seat in the front of the bus, while all the kids complained of the smell. 

It's fine, as you can see, I am not scarred by this experience or anything. Not bitter at all.