Lesson no. 11: Do not decide to make a spectacle of yourself and others over some easily resolved incident. Just recall that time when you were 7 and …
During the second grade, I attended Caribou’s Sincock School for the first part of the year before returning to High Street School. While at Sincock, I became fascinated with writing paper and of course, the act of writing itself. My mother bought me a very thick, blue lined yellow tablet with a garish pink binding. I kept this glorious pad of paper by my side always; carefully printing my innermost thoughts and secrets.
I left it in my desk one afternoon and upon returning to school the next morning, the tablet was nowhere to be found. When class was called to order, my attention was focused on finding that sacred tablet, despite the teacher’s wishes and at the expense of the other students who had to sit by helplessly while I rummaged through my desk.
In the midst of my tirade, I noticed that the rather passive, tow-headed little boy who sat directly to my left, was staring at me. I turned toward him, my hands furiously searching within the contents of my desk, and watched as his blank stare transformed itself into a copious grin. His own desk was open slightly and I could see the Holy Grail of Tablets — my tablet — peeking out at me. I was instantly enraged.
Slamming my desk top shut, I got to my feet. Now standing over him, I slid my left hand under his desktop. I pulled my tablet from his desk and proceeded to tell him that he was evil and he would certainly do his time in you-know-where for stealing. I examined the tablet further and discovered that his own doodles and musings were intertwined with mine. I tore the soiled pages from the pink spine and ripped them into tiny pieces, which I then threw right on top of his amply blonde head.
By this time, the teacher was pulling me gently away from the thief’s desk and was in the process of escorting me to the office. I did not resist. Clutching what was left of the tablet to my side, I turned back once again toward the criminal and saw that his face was smeared with tears and his shoulders were trembling. That grin was replaced by a look of exhausted remorse and his gray eyes were locked with mine. I felt childish anger drain from me as the teacher and I proceeded to the office.
As a child, I did not have the wisdom to appreciate the little boy’s mischievous side. Rather than savor his breakthrough, I had shamed him and myself with behavior that was a far bigger crime than the snatching of the tablet.
These days, when I am about to say or do something I know I will regret, I take myself back to that classroom. I do not recall what happened to that lovely, pink bound writing pad from the moment I reclaimed it, but I will forever remember the heartbreak in that little boy’s eyes.
Editor’s Note: Belinda Wilcox Ouellette has lived in the Caribou area for all of her 56 years. She presently lives in Connor TWP. with her husband Dale and their Goldendoodle Barney. They are currently working on building a home in Caribou. You may contact Belinda online at: dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
