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when i was in kindergarten first learning to count, we were learning the hundreds. the teacher pointed to a number at the board. that number? 104. As she pointed, she asked "how do you say this number?" my classmates, not yet in school long enough to understand raising their hands, shouted out "one hundred and four" "one oh four" "one four". The teacher hushes them and reminds them to raise their hands like a little flag. My class settles. She asks them to try again, one at a time this time. "who will go first? Mason?" little mason (that dick) loudly exclaims in a voice trying to mimic annoying orange "one four!" he cries. the teacher turns it down, asking who shall go next?
For this next part, I want to provide a little context. The "character" that shall be introduced here soon, and our brave narrator, were both on the playground. our ever lovable totally underserving narrator decided they wanted to go on the monkey bars. These werent just any monkey bars, it was the new spinny ones! None of us had ever seen these before. I patiently await my turn, standing in line with the other dumbasses i mean fellow five year olds. Finally it is my turn. I step up, grabbing the top of the first monkey bar. I know that in order to get to the next one, you had to go higher. As I start to turn down, this absolute jerkwad jumps up into the middle one, as I am going to reach for it. As this happens, we bump into each other. We both fall to the spikey mulch underneath. As we go to get up, he turns to me, exclaiming "you made me fall, stupid." This is the first time a boy had ever called me a name, and the first time I had ever been called stupid. This was a hurtful moment. This guy was a meanie. Plus he made me have to return to the back of the line to await my turn. As I was getting to the front of the line, the whistle blew. I, who was reaching for the bars, was a rule follower. That whistle meant that if I were seen using the bars to get down, I would get my bus turned from green down to yellow. That would mean a note to my parents, and I would mess up my perfect green streak. I withdrew my hand, moving to jump down. Jerkwad had lost me my turn to impress the pretty girl by making it across. And called me stupid.
back to the teacher asking who would go next. I raised my hand gently, hoping the teacher would call on me as anxiety started to curl up in my tummy. At the time I thought it was a tummy monster. Turns out I am mentally ill. Anyway, baby me was politely raising my hand. Jerkwad, known as Zackery (he was too cool for the name Zack) jumped up on his knees. He started waiving his hand, getting excited. Now, not to be mean, but Zack (I was too good too was was too cool to waist my precious air on saying "Zackery") was not the sharpest tool in the shed. In fact he might have been the dullest in that cabinet. The teacher, seeing Zack engaging in class and not blurting out the answer, called on him. Zack then blurted out "ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR!" The teacher exclaimed "OOOH you were so close Zackery! I'll come back to you to try again here in a second." The teacher then turned back to the class. At this point I was seething and seriously anxious. The jerkwad had jumped in front of me in line and in turn had given me time to dwell over whether or not what I was about to say was correct. My teacher turned to me, asking "Deadname, did you want to guess?" Little, almost diagnosed with selective mutism, young me shook my head, scared to speak. The tummy monster was roaring. The teacher, knowing that my team wanted me to try speaking in class more, decided to implore that I answer. Begrudgingly, I give my answer. "one hundred four." I softly exclaim. The teacher grins, saying "Yes! *Deadname* got it right. Say it again a bit louder. Deep breathe then speak." Me, on the edge of tears, squeak out "one hundred four." The teacher, turning back to the class, then states "they got it correct! It is one hundred four. The reason *jerkwad Zack* got it wrong was because he said "and" in between the number one hundred and the number four. "And" is not a number." My sweet, sweet, ignorant to bullying teacher turned towards me and gave me a grin. I felt a sense of joy rise up in my stomach. Yellow light danced in my vision.
This, my friends, was my first remembered taste of what later was referred to as karma. It was my first memory of feeling joy of getting a correct answer. It is also the birth bed for what later turned into a desperate longing to get a right answer, turned into a desperate longing to get praised.
This is my Chapter Five Origin Story.
#my origin story
#origin story
#my life
#me
#tumblr real story
#real story
#sorry this is so long
#I should be finishing my homework rn
#i have a praise kink
#who said that
#anyway keep scrolling nothing to see here
#if you want to compliment my writing please feel free
#yeah
#i have issues
#social anxiety
#praise kink
#sense of justice
#taste of karma
#karma
#karma is real
#frolickingintheforrest