That’s nothing. In fourth grade I worked with the toughest kid in class to threaten everyone to vote for me for “citizen of the month” then split the $20 reward with him. Glorious.
In sixth grade, when we had a substitute teacher, I took the entire year’s supply of construction paper and tried to make the world’s largest paper airplane. It didn’t fly.
Also in sixth grade, my best friend and I convinced the younger kids we were Bo and Luke Duke from Dukes of Hazard. We gave autographs for money.
In fifth grade, my best friend stabbed me in the hand with his pencil to see if it would stick up straight like a knife. I said it wouldn’t. He said it would. He was right. That happened in math class. I still have the scar.
(By the way, I’m just getting the elementary school oppo out of the way now, in case I’m ever in public service.)
By the way, regardless of your views of Stephen Miller, can we agree that a teacher coming forward with no doubt hazy memories of your eight-year-old self is gross and pathetic?
