I never did learn to play the sitar

For the next two weeks, I'm participating in the DonorsChoose Blogger Challenge. See the end of this post for details!

Second grade was the year that began with Obsession, and ended with Neurosis. I was obsessed with, among other things, astronomy, Japanese culture, and sitar music. I…I don't know, either. These were not interests that began in school, but my teacher, Mr. Barry, did try to cultivate at least one of them.

I developed this brilliant idea for a special astronomy project: somehow I was going to create a constellation projector with a refrigerator box. One of my classmates joined me for this project, and Mr. Barry got us a refrigerator box and let us plan out our brilliant scheme in the hallway, just the two of us and… the box. I felt like this went on for weeks but it was probably only a few days. All we did was sit inside the box and giggle. Mr. Barry tried to get us to organize our thoughts, but it turned out we really wanted to giggle. Our special project got scrapped, and I had to join the Regular People in the classroom. I was none too pleased about that, having quickly decided that I was special and required hallway projects.

Behold the arrogance! And the eyebrows!

I was extremely concerned about Mr. Barry. Since I was already shaping up to be something of a nervous mess, this year marks the beginning of my proud tradition of projecting my feelings onto other people. I thought Mr. Barry was under a lot of stress. He seemed really worried all the time, not that I could say how, but I knew it. I saw him pumping gas at the local station, which is when I first learned that teachers are not paid enough. My worry increased.

As for me, my grandmother died after a terrible battle with cancer, my mom (and the rest of my family) was devastated, and I was peeing myself quite a bit because, it turned out, in addition to being too shy to ask to go to the bathroom, I was getting bladder infections--which were caused by a narrow urethra, which ended up requiring surgery. Also my sister was leaving for college and I pretty much cried all the time? But oh, Mr. Barry was the one who needed my help.

In addition to my many woes, I was not getting any better at posing.

Boy, that was a shitty year. Mr. Barry was one of the bright spots in that year. He was the first teacher I had who I remember laughing at my jokes and the stuff I wrote that was trying to be funny. He was an excellent teacher and he had to pump gas. Goddammit.

I don't have a picture of Mr. Barry but in my imagination he resembled John Denver. I still can't watch "Oh, God!" without getting emotional. You'd think I wouldn't have many opportunities to watch "Oh, God!" but you would be WRONG. Or, okay, right.

What do you guys remember about second grade? Please share with the class.

DonorsChoose.org allows donors to directly fund projects for teachers in struggling schools. Any amount you can donate will make a huge difference for these teachers! To date we've already helped fund FOUR classroom projects, which is amazing. Donate any amount up to $100 and enter the match code FINSLIPPY at checkout, and your donation will be matched. Thank you!

I still don't need glasses, by the way

For the next two weeks, I'm participating in the DonorsChoose Blogger Challenge. Donate any amount up to $100 and enter the match code FINSLIPPY at checkout, and your donation will be matched. Thanks to DonorsChoose.org, I can match up to $50,000. We've already raised almost $1000 and completed two classroom projects! Thank you!

Yesterday we covered kindergarten, and you saw my squarehead and poor grades. In first grade my head became much more regular-shaped:

COME ON. I was so cute. (I remember being desperately in love with that dress. And then I spilled chocolate milk all over it during lunch that day. Heartbreak!)

While I don't have a copy of my actual grades (most of what I have here is what my parents pasted into a scrapbook for me), I do have some hilarious teacher comments.

You see that part about the glasses? Funny thing: I didn't wear glasses. What I did wear to school one day was an old pair of my sister's glasses. I must have stumbled around completely blind on that day. Then I came to school the next day with no glasses, and claimed they were getting repaired at the "Hillman-Cohen Vision Center," and until I got them back I was sadly unable to complete any work. This is not a real place. There was a Cohen's, but I added the "Hillman" for mysterious reasons. Maybe I thought if I made it extra Jewish it would be more believable?

I also like the part about how I Mother the other students. Capital M!

My first grade teacher was Mr. Enea, and I loved him. He let me read books from the sixth grade classroom, and he also let me go to the nurse's office whenever I asked to, which was an awful lot. (I was…anxious. You're surprised?) He was a warm and lighthearted teacher, and not someone who would yell at me for forgetting to put my coat in the right cubby. (I'm still mad at that kindergarten teacher! Boo! BOOO!) Mostly what I remember from that year was feeling relief. I could be weird and quirky and it was okay by Mr. Enea.

Next up: second grade. Also known as "The Year I Peed My Pants A Whole Bunch."

Good news: I finally learned how to skip!

I'm participating in the DonorsChoose Blogger Challenge this year! Donors Choose is an online charity organization that sends money directly to classrooms in need. You can choose which classroom projects you want to support and find out about the teachers and students you'll be helping. So many teachers are hampered by supply needs as mundane as pencil sharpeners and rulers, and we can help, immediately and directly. It's incredibly rewarding!

Here's the best part: if you donate any amount up to $100 and enter the match code FINSLIPPY at checkout, your donation will be matched. Doubled! It's like magic. Thanks to DonorsChoose.org, I can match up to $50,000. That's a lot of help to a whole bunch of worthy, struggling classrooms.

I'll be participating in the Challenge for the next two weeks, during which I'll be posting embarrassing school-related pictures and/or memories. Brace yourselves. It's going to get awkward around here.

And now... me in kindergarten.

I've never been lovelier!

I don't know what's up with me in this picture. My first grade photo is infinitely cuter. I just look so…rectangular, here. Rectangular, and nonplussed.That haircut is doing nothing for me. Would it have killed someone to put a comb through my hair? It looks like I just endured a vigorous noogie.

Here's my report card, which should be titled, "Lower Your Academic Expectations For This Kid, Mr. and Mrs. Bradley."

Full name and address? N.
Telephone number? N.
Ugh. Ability to tie shoes? N.
Ability to work independently? N.
Can skip/jump/hop without breaking something? N.
Can she color in the lines, for the love of God? N.

You know what stings the most, though? That "S-" in "works and plays well with others." Ouch. It's like it's code for, "Well, technically she can get along with people, but she's kinda whiny."

I remember very little about kindergarten, but what I do remember was unimpressive. I got into trouble for blowing bubbles in my milk carton during snack time. Also for eating some paste. (Minty!) I can't even remember my teacher's name. N to you, Teacher Lady! N TO YOU.

S+ to all the teachers on the DonorsChoose website, on the other hand, for their passion and enthusiasm. Please pitch in!

Tomorrow: first grade. In which I am toothless.

I am good at some things but not others

Oh, you guys said some lovely things about my sketch-paintings. Thank you! My heart is warmed. Now I have Hot Heart Syndrome. The doctor said I'll be okay, as long as I'm not startled or upset, ever.

So listen, I would love to illustrate whatever, but I can't draw anything that isn't right in front of me. This is my terrible secret. Seriously, I have no visual memory. I can't even really picture what an elephant looks like right now, much less draw it. (It's gray! And…and looks like a briefcase! Wait, no, that's wrong. Four Ionic columns and a cloud?!) If I were to illustrate, I'd need to see everything I needed to represent. This could get tricky for, say, a children's book. "Listen, I'm glad you want me to illustrate Mr. Wubs and the Tricky Mubbles, but unless you get them all to my apartment and force them to stand still, I really can't do business with you. Yes, the Mubbles too. I understand they're tricky. Not my problem."

The End.

Changing the subject awkwardly: On Christmas day, my parents gave me a pair of warm mittens. They are adorable, in addition to being warm. (It was not the only gift from them. My parents are nothing if not overly generous.)

ANYWAY, after we were done gifting, my mom said, "By the way, the mittens came with a hat, but I think there's something wrong with it." She showed me the hat, which appeared to be perfectly acceptable and something I would happily place on my head.

But then I tried it on:

"You see?" she said. "I don't know why it looks so goofy."
"I can't see," I said. "I'm so confused. Everything is dark. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME." I stumbled around and my mom laughed a whole lot. I suspect this was a Christmas gift to her.

And then my sister walked in and said, "Yeah, you have it on backwards. Also, don't tie it, oh my god."

RIGHT.

This reminded me of this one summer in college when I worked as a bank teller, and I was terrible at it, just awful, and a fellow teller said to me, helpfully, "There are different kinds of smarts. You have book smarts. You just don't have…life smarts."

It took me this long to discover that I also don't have hat smarts. At least in this case I can blame my mom.