It’s Good Friday and I just read the most amazing post by my friend Amanda about God’s love for us. Beautiful.
I got to thinking–I know I have a lot of adult sins, but for the most part I’m pretty plain vanilla, so what fun would it be to read about that? (Plain vanilla has nothing to do with the fact that I’m pasty white; it means I am Boring with a capital B, IMO).
And then I started thinking about my childhood, and how I would often struggle to think up the 3 requisite sins when we would all line up to go to confession the week before Easter. I think I used the same three staples for most of elementary school: “fought with my brother, lied to my parents, was mean to my sister.” B-oring! And so not true. If memory serves me correctly, I was quite a strange child and did plenty to keep the priest busy handing out penances.
One of the greatest sins I committed as a small child involved a carton of milk. During first grade, every day around 10 in the morning, the teachers & nuns would march us all down to the cafeteria for Milk Break. After Milk Break we would have morning recess. Many times I did not feel thirsty for milk, but for some reason we were not excused to line up for recess until our milk carton was empty and we disposed of it in the trash.
On one particular day I was fed up with the process and I refused to drink the milk. Furthermore, I decided I would not throw my carton away. But when the teacher called out our class demanding to know who left the full carton of milk on the table, for some odd reason I kept silent.
The scary, large principal (Mrs. Evans for my CTK buddies) was called in to intimidate us and this prompted some boy in my class to blame another little girl. Still I stayed quiet, even when the principal made the little girl drink my carton of milk while we all stood around and watched. Right about now you are probably feeling very sorry for this other little girl, but you should know that she won’t friend me on facebook, so she probably deserved my six-year-old self’s apathy.
I don’t think I was always a bad kid, but in the second grade I took April Fools a little too far and decided to spread glue all over the teacher’s chair while she was out of the classroom. I was the class hero for about 30 seconds. I must not have learned my lesson, though, because later that same year I remember clunking my metal lunchbox over some girl’s head because I felt she was a pathological liar and I was sick of it. Still, I managed to have friends.
One thing I do regret doing, and will probably really regret writing about here, once my sister sees this, was done out of extreme jealousy. I’m not sure if this is something all middle children experience, or if I was just a bad apple, but for some reason I was insanely jealous of my little sister for much of my childhood. This makes backward sense, because I was the one getting to do everything first.
Anyway, I guess I was in about 5th grade and she has just gone through her First Communion and we had her candle displayed on a table in our living room. I don’t know what she did to make me so mad, but I very clearly remember the joy I got out of breaking the candle into 6 or 7 pieces and then re-stringing it on the wick and stacking it so that no one would realize her memento was ruined until they picked it up.
Clearly I was in great need of Jesus, despite the expensive Catholic school education.
There is more, but I feel like you probably have a healthy sense of what a demon I was as a child. Legend has it that my temper tantrums got my mother thrown out of department stores.
Aren’t you the lucky one for knowing my lovely, well-mannered adult self instead.