Monday, 14 January 2013

The problem with siblings and small schools

When I was 11 we moved to a place I couldn't find on a map. My dad got a job in Laem Chabang, Thailand, and we packed our suitcases and one of our dogs (the other one got horrible motion sickness, poor thing, and couldn't come with us) and we left the States.

My brother and sister and I went to this tiny school way out in the middle of nowhere that had about 20 kids per grade. Everybody knew everything about everybody else. I want to say I was smack in the middle of my awkward phase, but the fact is, my whole life is one big awkward phase, so in reality I was really just somewhere in the beginning of it. Anyways, I was the most awkward girl in my middle school (there were about 15 of us, it wasn't a hard title to win) and I knew enough to know I didn't fit in but not quite enough to be able to change.

Every now and then, thought, something would happen and it would somehow slip under the vicious middle school radar, and I would take it as a sign that there was a God and He was on my awkward 12-year-old side.

Gotta love little brothers
I was a good student, but science wasn't my best subject. I'd love to lie and tell you that we were studying something specific and important, but that's not really the case. It was seventh grade. We were mostly studying how to make time in class speed up and time outside with our friends slow down. This was usually accomplished by staring longingly out the window and wishing you were anywhere but school. One day that I remember in particular, there was a lot of noise in the hallway. The elementary school was having their field day, and the kids were running and screaming all over the place. I was looking out the window, probably day dreaming either about Kevin, the hottest guy in the 6th grade, or wondering when I could read my book. That's when it happened.

While the teacher was lecturing about...something little brother ran down the hallway behind my classroom, butt naked, followed by the principal, his teacher, and most of his class. My dear, sweet seven year old brother had apparently forgotten to put his underwear with his change of clothes, so when his swimsuit got wet and he realized his mistake, he decided to streak through the school, 7-year-old dangly bits swinging, and get them from his classroom. And luckily for me, the most direct route there went right past my classroom.

Luckily God was kind and nobody but the teacher saw my family's own little nudist on parade. (It didn't save me from being teased and bullied and ostracized, but at least that was my own damn fault.)





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