In fifth grade, we return to Good Hair. Which is all that matters, after all.
Look how happy I am! How confident! Except for the funky teeth situation, I look pretty good--as if I might just avoid those weird-looking teen years after all. I mean, how wrong can THIS go?
(Spoiler: very, very wrong.)
My fifth grade teacher was Mr. Townsend (I KNOW, I know, so many male teachers! It wasn't my doing, I swear), and he was FINE. After Mr. Klein/Klyne/Himmler, it was a relief to have a teacher who liked me. Honestly I remember very little about his teaching. What I remember from fifth grade is limited to this: my classmate Barbara getting something or other published in Kidsday--which was, OF COURSE, the kids' section of Newsday, the Long Island paper of record-- and feeling sick with envy; Mr. Townsend admonishing us, on a particularly hot day, not to fan ourselves with paper, because the act of fanning would make us even hotter (I thought this was the most insane thing I had ever heard in all my days); and performing a one-woman (one-girl?) one-act play for the entire school, in which I was a witch. (There were other acts, performed by the rest of the class, but for whatever reason I was on my own. Either I was a formidable talent, or my ego was a danger to others.) Mr. Townsend stood right in front of the stage mouthing the lines to me, so anytime I got stuck I would merely pretend to be thoughtful and look down to receive my cue. This is called acting, kids. That's a little trick used in the theater.
Next up: sixth grade. Right before the steep descent into Awkward.
How was your fifth grade year? Did you Work Well with Others?
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