People really do take animals for dim-witted runts. People think that just because we have hands, we are better than all other creations. But it’s wrong. It’s wrong. Do you hear me? I say, it’s wrong. And I can prove it wrong. Because today my mom is mad because raccoons got into her sliced carrots.

You’re probably thinking, “So?” Well, stop thinking that. Because it was wrapped in plastic wrap, buried under a layer of ice, and then put inside a cooler, which was then shoved underneath the picnic table seat, with three inches of clearance.

I don’t know what you’re thinking about right now, but I was thinking, “How’d they do it?” Continue reading →

In elementary school, every day, I wake up at 7:20 in the morning, which after countless tests, is the latest possible time I can wake up, and still make it to my school on my bike providing minimal traffic, AND I have a minute to spare, although I really only need forty seconds.

Entering the school needs to have precise timing. I have perfected the art of seeming to be walking while actually power-walking. With this, it takes forty seconds, with some extra time to get a drink of water.

There are two teachers that teach fifth grade, and I start with one teacher that teaches science, math, and health. They are all taught by one teacher.

Around 10:40, the teacher stops whatever we are doing and tells us to pack up our backpack. I never do a complete pack-up, because I have two hands, one elbow, and two arms that can have things squished between them. The trade-off is, obviously, frequent dropping of my items.

I enter the second classroom through a door that connects. A teacher in this classroom teaches reading, writing, and social studies. Now, the people who are in this class for the morning will enter my morning class. The process is as smooth as can be, with many bumping and shoving through the one-meter wide door as five people orderly try to squeeze through the door at the same time.

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Last year, Hurricane Katrina legendarily hit New Orleans, destroying thousands of homes. We were all watching on our television, seeing the hurricane hit Louisiana, being happy that it had not affected the Houston area (where I live), but at the same time, understanding that our happiness was New Orleans’s despair.

When Rita hit, we were of course scared that what had happened to New Orleans would happen to us. Once again, massive evacuation took place. We had three families and a dog living in our house. I went to swimming practice, the road south being a breeze. There was, of course, no practice. Silly me. The same could not be said on the way back. It took the same length of time the practice would have been had it not been canceled.

This year, Hurricane Gustav scared us all to our wits. We were all scared. We fueled up our cars, we packed up all the water. Strangely, this area did not evacuate, because once again, it hit New Orleans, and it was simply an ironic coincidence that it happened at the same time that Katrina did. Continue reading →

There is a cheerful girl that is in several of the same classes as me, and her name is Anne. She smiles whenever there is an opportunity for her to smile, and she loves to talk.

During social studies period, she was talking. About her friend. She happened to be explaining in a loud voice about her cousin.

“My cousin loves faking injuries! Last year she didn’t go to school because she said her foot had been run over by a car, but she had stayed home the entire time! And now she’s pretending that she fell out of her rocking chair and now she’s wearing crutches and everything, and she doesn’t even have a rocking chair!”

“What?” said the social studies teacher, forgetting to be grouchy at us for talking. “You need to tell the PE teacher.”

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This unfortunate story happens to be a true one, and it happened during science period. To protect the innocent (and the guilty), some names have been changed.

Our science teacher was a happy lady named Mrs. Rieder. She was happy most of the time, doing fun things with us, and sometimes she was funny. But then sometimes, she was just plain mad.

She had a happy voice that made here sound like she was holding her nose every time she said “Hi”. In fact, every dad when I stepped into her classroom, I would always say “Hi” to her, and wait for her to say “Hi” in her funny little stuffy-nose voice (of course, some times she said “Hello”, to my great disappointment).

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Allow me to set the scene: morning. Third period. Sitting in a small room on the second floor of our school. Anxious about whether this teacher was going to be nice. Cheery. Or mean. We were hoping the first option.

As it turned out, she was nice. She was cheery. But she was very very sarcastic. And picky.

“Hello, class.” she said, striding in. She was a woman who’s smile covered her face.

“Hello.” we all droned.

“Really now,” she snorted, “That sounded like my mother snoring.” She gave a passable imitation of my mother snoring. We all laughed.

“Now that sounded like a snort.”

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