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October 09, 2007

My most shameful moment...

What I had to write for my class. Just a horrible moment in my life, happened when I was in 4th grade. WARNING THERE IS A SWEAR WORD IN THE FOLLOWING ESSAY, BECAUSE THERE WAS ONE IN THE ACTUAL EVENT.

We had just completed our third football game of the day. The sparkling 3-0 record made my flushed red face and sweat soaked outfit worth it. The jagged hole in my pants at the knee? I hoped mom would understand just how impressive 3 wins against zero losses was.

It was still early on the year, but already the early year role shuffling was coming to a close. We'd all had our chances, our short windows to make new impressions. Who we were in each others' eyes was setting like cement,

I'm going to seen as the guy who threw for 2 touchdowns and ran for another. This is very good. The annual reputation derby is ending with me in possession of the coveted "cool kid" status.

Oh no.

And what was that?


What was that? My face grows hotter, the flush more crimson. This time, not from victory, but from the...

I can barely breath. I try to subtly walk away from my friends. "where are you going?" I don't answer. I shuffle, an awkward gait that I strain to suppress...

Towards the Teacher's Aide ("ha ha the teachers have aids" I think, remembering the jokes we used to make, the cool kids... is this what I was going to lose?)

Does it stink? Dear lord, it does. It smells... bad. I have to get out of here. How could this happen, how here? Why now?

I'm barely able to talk as I beg for the bathroom. Recognizing desperation, the teacher's aide -- Mrs 'you can only go to the bathroom after snack and after lunch with no exceptions' Wade -- miraculously grants permission.

And I lurch towards the bathroom like a saddle sore cowboy. I have to get there. I was so close to the promised land, I strained through the everyday morning terror knowing I was one act away from losing all my friends. An act like this.

No one in the bathroom. There is a God. I've made it to the stall. Am I going to get away with this? Am I going to avoid the fate of Barry Dyneback and Ronny Syle, the Scab Eater and Pants Pee-er?

Now I'll just clean up and have to figure out an explanation of where I went so quickly. My departure and extended absence was sure to be the lead story in the 4th grade post recess rumor mill.

The cleanup is coming along, but goodness this isn't going to be fast. With every passing second, i know my excuse has to be more compelling, more remarkable. I've settled on telling people that I saw an open door in the neighborhood near the playground, and decided to conduct some espionage through the unlocked house. Dangerous, brave, and edgy... I would turn this into a chance to score more cool points.

The door. The door is squeeking open! And I'm no where near finished.

Maybe its just a kind-hearted grownup here to check on.... No, the footsteps tell me otherwise. Too light, too scurrying, too childish.


Oh no, it's Justin Borroughs.

I lift my feet, hoping to avoid detection with the sure to come "checking under the stall" technique. I hold my breath, try to still my heart. Can he hear my heart? It's so loud.

"You in here?"

Justin Burroughs! Justin Burroughs, the Stall Jumper. If there is a god, surely he and the devil are the same. Justin Burroughs, who likes to show off his athletic prowess by jumping up, grabbing hold, and looking down on whoever was going to the bathroom. The Stall Jumper jumps all over your privacy.

I try to remain silent, frantically working to clean up the evidence of my shame.

And then... the rapid two shot, the boom boom. The inevitable begins. He's jumped.

I look up in time to see his widening eyes magnified behind his thick blocky lenses.

"Oh shit, Jason!" I've never heard those words said infused with such glee. And he's off to spread the gospel, before I can say anything, before I can breath, before I can even cry.

Oh shit, indeed.

I consider not finishing the cleanup. Almost seems right, then at least my outsides and insides would match up.

But I do finish up, and stay hidden away as long as allowed by my teacher. And, predictably... she comes to get me. I slink behind her down the hallway. Back to class, back to my execution, my worst fears realized.

Posted by jason on October 9, 2007 02:15 PM


great story. so were you no longer in the cool kid group? hpw did it affect the rest of the year?

cowboys 5-0

Posted by: paul Odders on October 9, 2007 04:11 PM

Nah - from being there firsthand - this only vaulted Jason into position as the coolest kid in the class. It just showed everyone that Jason doesn't take shit from anyone but himself!

And actually I don't think Justin's story spread too far - it's the first time I've heard it in 21 years. And who knows - maybe this isolated incident was just a stroke of genius - because, after all, Jason threw and caught a ton more touchdowns that year . . . maybe it was the perfect offensive technique for those that did hear the story!

Posted by: Chris on October 11, 2007 09:39 PM

I absolutely cannot believe that Chris doesn't even remember it... this has been a dramatically memorable memory!

Posted by: jason on October 12, 2007 06:05 PM

it's one of the biggest moments of any latshaw!

Posted by: jonathan Latshaw on October 12, 2007 11:38 PM

The impact of music begins from a very early age. As babies, it is essential to begin to comprehend rhythm in order to anticipate future events, not only for our safety but for our mental development. This is where singing to children comes in. The child's response to music will be notably positive, particularly if they are involved in the singing. This makes them anticipate recurring parts of the song, determined through the rhythm of the music. Interestingly, there have also been links between music and the treatment of autism, with rhythm an essential ingredient in that process. By encouraging the anticipation of rhythm, music is making new connections in the brain to help those in need.

Posted by: Super Bowl on January 22, 2011 01:48 AM

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