5 stories in 5 minutes

1) When I was in second grade, I had a friend who was Korean. Not knowing geography well but knowing that I had been born in Russia, I told her that I, too, was Asian.

2) In first grade I was put in a special reading group that met once a week in the hall due to limited classroom space. I thought I was in it because I needed extra help with my reading, but I wasn't too concerned about it. Only years later did my parents tell me that this was the advanced reading group.

3) When I was in fourth grade, my teacher told my parents all these wonderful things about me at the parent teacher conference; some of those comments they still bring up as signs of my impending genius. I was clearly the teachers pet. Towards the end of the year, she grew to dislike me. I'm not sure what caused this or whether it was something I did or not. One day while doing our work, the kids that sat at the same table as me began having a conversation about the fourth graders in the special ed class. I offered my opinion that one particular girl was not stupid or mentally deficient but shy. I didn't mean this maliciously and at that age I knew very little about learning disabilities. I had said this while there was a lull in the conversation, and the teacher had heard me. She announced to the entire class that the person who got the second lowest grade on the english test shouldn't judge anyone else. I have never felt shame like I did at that moment again.

4) The first day of third grade I sobbed the whole day and had to be sent to the nurse.

5) In eigth grade my honors social studies class was forced to participate in the National History Day competition. We each had to write a paper, construct a foamboard display or make a video about a historical migration. I chose to make a foamboard display on Angel Island, an island in San Francisco Bay that functioned much like Ellis Island but on a smaller scale. My presentation was photocopied photographs backed by black construction paper on red fiberboard (with captions.) The competition was held in a converted basketball court of a small local college. My foamboard display was placed on a cafeteria table between a presentation on the opium trade accessorized by black tulle and real opium pipes and an exhibit on the California gold rush done by a girl whose father was a Broadway set designer. My fellow students and I were shocked and dismayed by how much parental involvement some of the projects had obviously had. While discussing the competition the next day in class, one student brought up that some of the projects had been done by parents, but our teacher denied it and continued to praise those projects. At that moment I swore that I would always help my children with their projects when they were in school.