Complaints/Comments/Remarks: The red crepe skirt.

Age: 5; Grade: 1st

It was Class 1B with Mrs. Briganza as my class teacher. If I had a better analogy than Hitler, I would have probably used it for Mrs. Briganza to describe her, but alas Hitler is all what I have got. Mrs. Briganza sincerely hated me, and as luck would have it, she stayed in the same building as I did. How many sins did I have to commit to get that accomplished!?

I never comprehended Mrs. Briganza's sinister and ulterior motives behind making me the Class Monitor. Probably, as my dad always put it, the class monitor was the one who used to stay behind after class and shut the window panes, and be the first one in the morning to let the sunlight in. Other than possessing those window skills, I did not consider myself to be talented in anyway. In retrospect, I would like to say, may be she did notice my people skills even at the tender age of 5.

Parent's Day is what I thought it should be called, but they always tagged it as Parents Day, making the same grammatical error every year. I was amongst the 'chosen' ones to perform in a dance onstage on that important day. Parent's Day was the day when all the bright kids were felicitated, and it was rubbed into other not-so-bright kids how not-so-bright they were, by not permitting them to be there for that 'Day'. So there were the chosen bright ones, and there was me chosen to give my two left feet performance.

I had no qualms about the dancing on stage, as I loved participating in shows. Primarily, all the participants for shows always had to go for rehearsal, so I could legally skip classes; that explains my love for shows. That year the little guys were required to wear a white frilled shirt, black pant and red crepe paper bow tie. I never asked myself why did they not advise us to wear a cloth bow tie, probably because the little girls were required to wear a red crepe paper skirt. Some questions went unanswered.

During one of those rehearsal times, I was sitting quietly in the third row of the class benches, right behind Nikki. Nikki was a beautiful girl and was wearing the red crepe paper skirt and was also my 2 left feet partner in crime. Until this date, I sincerely pledge that I dropped my eraser and I had gone under the bench to retrieve the eraser. And in my efforts, I ended up ripping apart Nikki's crepe paper skirt leaving her in her panties and white shirt. Risky Business.

In school, we had a small blue book where teachers used to write down remarks and complaints which had to signed off by one of the parents, just to make sure that the parents of the felon-kid were aware how 'bad' their ward was at school.

Back home, I silently crept up to my dad, who is way more sensible and considerate than my mother, and showed him the little note in my blue book which I did not comprehend. My dad read the note twice and looked at me with an inquiring glance, and laughed out aloud. Hitler-at-home a.k.a mom was immediately called for an audience.

"Our son has got his first complaint in his book. You won't believe what his teacher has to say about him."

My mom gave me a stern glance, and inquired what did the teacher had to say about their darling son.

"Brad went under the bench and tore off a girl's skirt. Such behavior cannot be tolerated. Please meet up with me at the earliest possible." My dad chuckled and looked at mom.

I wasn't questioned, plausibly because the note was beyond comprehension.

Dad and Mom decided to meet up with Mrs. Briganza at school the very next day. I knew I was in trouble, but just didn't know how deep.

"Your son is a disgrace. He has spoiled the name of his teacher, the name of this school, and and the name of his parents." The diatribe went on for sometime, I believe, before I was condoned and let off.

My parents didn't know what to say, and apologized for their son's crime and came back home. I had to apologize to Nikki and kiss her on her cheek for some reason, as my gesture of friendship.

At home, I was given a warning not to get into trouble 'ever'; now I didn't try to convince them that I don't really try to get into situations like that. Ssshh...It just happens.













The wolf in the lambskin nodded his head in acknowledgement.