But I won't leave you empty handed. I've decided to write what I call The Twelve Days of Festivus (TTDOF). TTDOF will feature a daily "mini post" about a humourous, dark, or sad point in my past. I thought about whether or not to do TTDOF as having random stories or having a theme and opted for the latter. Since there's twelve days in TTDOF and twelve years in school, I decided I will share a story of my life from each year in grade school (some school related and some that just occurred that year). I couldn't pick twelve of the thirteen years (thirteen when you include kindergarten), so I'm throwing you a thirteenth bonus story one of these upcoming days. So complicated. Anyway, without further adieu, I present to you:
THE TWELVE DAYS OF FESTIVUS
Day One: Kindergarten
Ah, Kindergarten. The prep school of grade school. A great way to ease kids into the rough waters that is school. A half day of toys, singing, and learning. School seemed so awesome to me then. What the hell did I know?
I remember my first day was something of a shock as my mum dropped me off at R.J. Hawkey school in Airdrie and then fucked off without me. What? In hindsight, she was wise to give me a hug and a kiss and then leave. No turning back as that would delay the lesson I had to learn sooner or later...independence.
Anyway, about half the way through my kindergarten year, I had still not been able to play in the sandbox. The sandbox was a play station in the kindergarten classroom...one of several such stations that each had their own theme. The teacher would separate students into small groups, and each group would be assigned a different play station to play at for the day. If a child had a birthday on the particular day, they were given choice as to what station they got to attend that day, but sadly my birthday fell during Christmas break. I was fucked. Anyway, for some reason, likely just coincidence and a thoughtless teacher, I never ever got in a group that went to the sandbox station. Every day I lost out and I admit it was really frustrating. Sure, it was just a stupid tiny sandbox in the classroom, but it was way more fun that the toy station or the book station or the colouring station. It even seemed more fun than the Play Doh station (which I don't remember ever attending either...was this teacher out to get me?). I wanted to play in that sand!
On the day in question, my brilliant four or five year old mind went into overdrive and I came up with a plan. Once we were separated in groups to play, I snuck away from my group and into the sandbox group. I FINALLY got to play! But my victory was short-lived. Maybe a minute or two after I started playing, Mrs. Millen (I think that was the name of the teacher) approached our group and asked which of us wasn't supposed to be there. I kept my cool, but a couple of other kids said I wasn't supposed to be there. Ms. Millen told me that I had to play in my own group and escorted me away.
Oh man I was mad! Tattlers, unfair teacher, and NO SANDBOX? #%$&#*(&@@*&$*)(^&T%^(#@!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I ran over to the sandbox again, but this time it wasn't to play. One of the kids said I couldn't play in the sandbox because it wasn't my turn. I said I didn't want to. The kids then returned to playing with the sand while I watched. When I felt they were suitably distracted, I whipped down my sweatpants. I was wearing underwear, but I preemptively released the mouse from the house before walking to the sandbox. I took my preschool peter and aimed it right at the sandbox. OPEN FIRE!!!
I let loose a stream of the most vengeful pee you've ever seen! A perfect arc, it sprayed out like a fountain and landed in the sand. The children ran away, all of them screaming. As I drained my bladder and ruined the sand, Ms. Millen came up to me and pulled up my sweats before nearly dragging me away to "the corner." "The corner" was where the bad kids had to sit and think about what they did. I had done very little thinking in "the corner" because I was usually very good. Even while I was sitting there after wetting the sandbox, I was filled with so much satisfaction. If I wasn't going to use the sandbox, neither was anyone else. I regretted nothing.
I don't remember if I got in shit with my parents that night. But I do remember coming in to class the next day and the sandbox was gone. In fact, it was gone for the rest of my time in kindergarten. I wonder if it was removed just while I was attending or if it was removed permanently. Either way, it was my first real sense of victory. And perhaps my first stand against authority that wasn't my parents. It was an important day for so many reasons.
Whenever I think of this story, a thought always crosses my mind. Wouldn't it be fantastic if my actions scarred one or more of those kids at the sandbox when I took a leak in it? For life? Imagine one of those kids, grown up and in their 30s, waking up screaming and sweaty from a nightmare involving being in a sandbox filling with piss or sinking slowly into urine soaked quicksand while trying to no avail to escape. Imagine them having a lifetime of torture all because of me.
If that is the case, all I can say is...they shouldn't have tattled. Let that be a lesson to all of you. Tattle on me and I'll piss in your sandbox. Every. Single. Time.
See you all tomorrow for Grade One.