By: Jessica Griggs ~Campus News Editor~
While brainstorming an embarrassing story to share with the Newswire readership, I asked my best friend if she had any ideas. The list she responded with ranged from the bowl cut I got in fifth grade to every single one of my relationships.
Anyway, the summer before sixth grade wasn’t pretty. My hair was short (see bowl cut) and parted down the middle, I didn’t know how to use a straightener and I pretty much spent that whole summer in my basement listening to My Chemical Romance and watching for production updates on the Twilight movie. I was entering the stage in life that some scientists refer to as puberty but adolescents just call “Hell.”
Starting sixth grade meant leaving elementary school and entering middle school with all of the kids from the other schools. That was scary for my awkward, antisocial self, so when I had to go to the open house to meet my teacher, I was a nervous wreck.
I was self-conscious about literally everything as I walked up to the school with my parents, and they were definitely aware. At some point, I snapped at my dad for being embarrassing. I don’t even remember what he originally did, but what followed had a scarring effect.
In response to my “’tude,” my dad made a big show of hiking his pants up to his nipples and proceeded to fling his legs out in all directions as he continued on his path to the door. This may be distorted in my memory by my colossal mortification, but literally every single person within a mile radius turned and stared at my dad, which also meant that they stared at me. I don’t think I said another word that night, and ever since then, my parents have used that story to threaten me whenever I regress to that angsty time in my life.
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