When I was in first grade I was selected as one kid out of my class to have a shot at skipping up to the second grade. I thought that was pretty neat, being able to hang with the older kids. Unfortunately, I remember that I didn’t adapt very well to entering a room full of kids that were strangers to me. It only lasted a couple weeks. A lot of the time I would ask the teacher (ask, maybe beg) if I could do my work over in the test taking cubicles, the ones with walls around the three sides so I could bury myself in my work and not be disturbed.
If I ever have enough funds to afford a psychologist, and if he asks me about my childhood, I’d probably begin with the story of how I was too afraid to raise my hand and speak up in front of a class full of strangers and how I ended up wetting my pants as I sat in my seat, having been too scared to ask to go to the bathroom.
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