Sam liked to impress the teacher. There’s nothing wrong with that, but in junior high it seemed to me to be a sin of the worst kind. Respecting the teacher was fine. Trying to be the teacher’s favorite crossed a dark line.
It was the first day of the semester. The teacher, whose name I’ve forgotten, was new. Sam’s desk was next to mine in the middle of the classroom. The teacher was explaining the rules. “You must raise your hand and wait to be called on before talking”, the teacher explained.
I looked at Sam, smiled and whispered, “I don’t have a hand.” Poor Sam took the bait. He blurted out in a loud voice, “Craig doesn’t have a hand.” The teacher was not amused. Her face burned with anger and disgust. Sam was chuckling at his success in using my little joke until he saw the teacher’s face. One look reduced him to silence.
Confession is good for the soul. I freely admit that I knew exactly what I was doing. Sam, if by some strange chance you’re reading this, please accept my apology.