During the time, some action seems to be a good idea. However, when adults get involved upon hearing the action but not the context, there seems to become a problem. Solely for you. It always seemed as though "probable cause" was out of the question -- the act itself was punishable enough. In fact, I always got the impression that reason was seen as an excuse but not taken seriously.
Now, while my actions in general made me far from being a troublemaker, there were two thoughts of overreactions in my past that I thought about this morning. The first took place in second grade and the second took place in third. For some reason, these memories have stuck with me despite how much I might try to shake them.
On a bus trip home once, this girl in my grade level sat across the aisle from me. We didn't get along very well. I don't remember who started the drawing of the stick figure, but Heather added boobs to this stick figure. Thinking that I would one-up her, I drew a phallus on it -- a transexual, x-rated stick figure. For one reason or other, the drawing made its way to the back of the bus and in the hands of my older sister. Marie didn't know who drew the picture, but showed it to my mom. This stick figure, created purely out of spite, for some reason became a spectacle.
Phone calls were made about the picture, and the principal became involved. I had previously denied the drawing of the picture to my mother and sister, but my mother was present during my visit to the principal. Shy, easily frightened, young, pathetic Trevor denied drawing the image to the principal with his serious expression. Perhaps because of my academic standing and clean record, my word was taken as the truth. I'm curious as to what the incident dealt to Heather, and I'm also curious as to what would have happened had I come clean. I didn't think what I did was wrong at the time, and I still feel that way. Perhaps if I had felt positively towards Heather, the context being some twisted form of love rather than hate, then there would have been cause for concern. I had been deathly afraid at the time and just didn't want to get punished for something so trivial.
Anyway, the second incident was not nearly as involved, but stays with me just the same. I suppose this is entirely different as well, involving what I considered an overreaction from everyone in the room. Simply put, I had found out my third grade teacher's first name and used it during class. I never considered myself a teacher's pet, but I had always viewed my teachers as friends. This idea of mine is most enforced by my relationship with my English instructor I had during my senior year of high school, as we started as friends my junior year before I'd even had him as an instructor -- we talked almost every day before school started about virtually everything.
The class reaction to my "fib" was one of shock and disgust. I asked for an explanation then for why we had to call her "Mrs. Simon," but the answer was something I don't remember. I just remember being dissatisfied by the answer. Still, I never made that mistake again. Until UAT, where it's the norm to refer to everyone by their first name -- something I felt very comfortable with.
Sometimes, I believe some things are done solely for tradition -- because it was done when these people were younger, and they're just keeping a memory alive. There are some who don't seem intent on holding the tradition, but they do just because everyone else does. I know there was a certain relief after high school graduation when I met Clark Fair, shook his hand, and he told me "you can call me Clark now." The tradition of calling him Mr. Fair makes it seem strange, but the option is there and freely available.
Yes, so those were just two memories with a common theme that have been on my mind lately, and I just wanted to write them down to hopefully subdue them. The lessons from them were more of "how to fit in" than actual life lessons -- reactions of others. But who knows? Pathetic younger Trevor might have been affected by the first event to not become an artist -- some sort of subconscious thing. I never was that into art, though I am a lot better than those who say they can't draw at all and can't. I say I can't draw. I can, I'm just nowhere near as refined as either of my two sisters.
