I was thinking the past couple of days about how I don’t really have anything to post on my blog. And I feel like I have to have some kind of something up. People (3) keep coming to the site and are seeing nothing worthwhile. And in fact I thought I had something funny to say today, but then the toilet in the Macalester Library finally flushed, and with its contents, so went my blog post. So, you don’t get to hear that slightly funny story. Instead I’m gonna post a slightly funny, but more not so funny story we had to write in class today. Let me explain, we had to write this paper on the spot, which kind of equaled what most almost final drafts look like for high school kids…that’s why it’s not very long and it’s not well written. Then again, nothing on my site is well written, so I guess nothings new. We had to write about a regrettable moment. I haven’t given this paper any thought; it’s just something to post. And I still feel like a jerk for it, don’t hold me accountable for it any more. Here goes:



Of all my regrettable moments in my life, and believe me there are dozens of them, the single biggest moment I wish I could take back was the time I called the girl with the large lips and big nose an elephant. Granted, I was only in fourth grade, and she in third. But the pain she felt then was as real as the pain I feel now when I think of my intolerable taunting.

As far as kids go, I was, on average, extremely nice. I always shook the adults hands at church, I said please and thank you to everyone who ever gave me anything, and I politely recited Christmas songs on demand at family Christmas functions. If I were an award handed out at the end of school or for a bowling league, I’d be the Congeniality Award for sure. But sometimes, on a rare occasion, I would earn the What A Jerk Award.

In Mrs. Noble’s class, I was pretty hot stuff. I was really funny, a few months older than the other kids, and had more friends than I could count. Life was good when I was the king. And I occasionally made all the dorks, nerds, and ugly poor kids know it. I remember one day at lunch, a little girl, Amanda, who had bigger than normal lips and nose sat down across from me. I was the funny kid, so it was my obligation to call attention to what was probably an all too familiar feature on such a little girl. “Hello Dumbo! Welcome to my table, Dumbo the elephant.” Reading these words now rips my heart in two. If I were an adult way back in 1989, I’d probably physically beat myself up.

Sometimes when I go back home I see that little girl. Except now she’s in her twenties and working at Wal-Mart. I wonder if she remembers me and what a jerk I was to her so many years ago. Whenever the chance arises, I avoid her register; mostly of embarrassment and sometimes simply fear. But once in a while I work up the nerve to check out in her lane. I feel that as a mature adult who wishes for nothing but to correct his past, it is my duty to not hide. When I do work up the nerve to show my disgusting face to her, I pray that I’ll have the courage to apologize for the tears she must have cried at night and for the friends she never had. I want to be able to say I’m sorry for being the bully in her life. I feel compelled to tell her how cruel fate is, for just two years later I was the dork, nerd, and ugly poor kid. I know how badly she must have felt when she was alone in her bed at night, crying herself to sleep because I was there too. But somehow, no matter how determined I am to say I’m sorry, I always shrivel up when it’s time to perform. Maybe I’m not the man I used to be, but I’m also not the man I hope to become.



Thanks for checking in folks. I'll have more later.

peace.