Grade Three - You've heard me say I've always been the bright kid/teacher's pet/everybody's sweetheart, right? Well, this is a good example of both. In primary school, Teacher's pets get to pick out 'talkers' (i.e. make a list of the disruptive kids who move from their seats and talk loudly when the teacher is out of the classroom... basically be the informer/snitch/classmates worst nightmare, lol). I'm not too proud of it, but I was this (reprehensible) person. This one time, Teacher goes to staff meeting and, as usual, I get to pick out the 'talkers' while she's away. Weeelll, I finish my math work first (I usually do, cuz maybe I was reprehensible and what-not, but I was a li'l sparkie... just saying). So I allow some of the slower kids to copy the answers from my book. Teach comes back and catches them, starts chiding them, tells me to come get my book from them. I go over, pretend to be shocked and upset, take my book back and give it to the teacher for marking. After Teach leaves, I go back to the same kids and apologise. My little conscience was heavy that day, boy!! They didn't like me too much for a while after that either, but they eventually got over it (there are only so many kids in a class that will allow you to copy from their book)... I was a little punkette for doin' them like that, I know. But hey, I was 7! I'm groomed on congratulations, remember? Besmirching my spotless rep with Teach versus temporary hatred from classmates - that wasn't too tough a decision yo!
Grade Four: I remember the teacher beating (yes beating) another student I was sitting next to with a strap. When she moved her hand backward with the strap, it flashed across my face by mistake. Straight across my face: over my nose, under an eye, cross the mouth... the works. A nasty weal developed. Daddy showed up in school the next day (put work and alla that on hold) to find out how Teach made that error, and make sure she knew to be very-extra-uber-careful next time... (bap-bap!). Teach was extra-nice to me for the rest of that day, and maybe I used that to push the envelope a little. I was 8, and again, a little punkette, but obviously, I got it from my Daddy! *PoPs cOllAr*