It was the third grade. I have no recollection of what class it was. The classrooms were quite large and painted uniformly in a pale green color.
The desks were arranged in neat rows facing the teachers desk. I was on one of the edge rows.
The desks were ‘new” models (probably 20 years old). There was a fiberglass seat attached to a desk with a gray plastic top. That gray top lifted up to reveal a space where we kept our books and belongings.
So in walks the teacher (a’ lay teacher’ (a/k/a non-nun. She kicks off class by announcing a pop quiz. The response to her announcement was an ovation of groans.
She quipped that this will be a fun pop quiz. A simple pop quiz. A game of sorts.
She read off a list of questions. We wrote the answers down on our blank sheets of paper with our No. 2 pencils.
I don’t recall much of this pop quiz. I only recall the third question.
That haunting third question was, “Write down how many brothers and sisters you have”.
My eight year old brain froze; I couldn’t come up with the answer to that question.
I stared blankly around the cavernous room.
I caught the eye of the lay teacher. I could tell she was already pissed off.
“David, Is there a problem?”
“Uh, no?”
“Then write down how many brothers and sisters you have!”
I froze solid. Why? Because I didn’t know if I was supposed to count all brothers and sisters or should I only count the ones who are still alive.
She strode up to my little gray topped desk, loomed above me and growled, “How many brothers and sisters do you have!”
I said, “Two. One of each.”
“Then write down two!”
I couldn’t bring my pencil to write that number.
I said, “Maybe I should write down four. There were originally five of us.”
I didn’t know whether she wanted me to count a dead brother and a dead sister.
That was apparently the wrong answer, because she went ape-shit.
“Do you expect me to believe that you have no idea how many kids are in your family! Two? Four? FIVE!”
Push your desk over that way and make sure you are facing the wall.
She took my paper away.
She turned to the rest of the class and continued the fun lesson.
I stared at the wall. The rest of the class had some snacks.
The lay teacher approached me at my wall facing desk. She bent over and put her face mere inches from my face. She then snarled, “DAVID – YOU’RE WASTING YOUR LIFE”.
She grabbed my shoulder and dragged me over to the cloak room. She reminded me that I’m wasting my life as she shoved me inside and shut the door.
To this very day, I don’t know whether or not to count dead siblings.