I wonder if he remembers…
October 11, 2009
Every once in a while, I run into my 8th grade science teacher around town. And every time I see him, I am plagued by guilt. I wonder if he remembers…
I forgot to do my homework. This wasn’t something I usually did. I pulled the blank worksheet out of my book and stared at it.
Science has never been my thing. I usually agonized for at least an hour over every assignment. There was no way I was going to finish in five minutes. I considered just filling in the blanks, but I am not creative when it comes to science.
If this had been an assignment about princesses or Bon Jovi, I could have totally winged it. But this was science.
I scanned the rest of the class. No one noticed me or my sweaty armpits. Everyone was talking and laughing and poking at one another the way junior high kids do when left to their own devices. The bell had yet to ring, and the teacher was at the front of the class flipping through a textbook.
My friend sitting next to me was deeply absorbed in a conversation with the boys behind us. I nudged her, but she dismissed me with a wave of her hand. She didn’t want to break eye contact with the boy of her dreams. Her homework was still in her notebook, which she was clutching protectively to her chest.
I was starting to overheat. It was unimaginable to me that I would get a zero on an assignment. I wasn’t even sure what it meant to get a zero. Would I fail the class? Would I fail to pass 8th grade? Would I fail to graduate from high school? Be doomed to a life of desperate poverty?
The boy who held my friend’s enraptured gaze had his fully-completed assignment sitting on top of his textbook. Just sitting there, like Eve’s apple. He didn’t even notice when I took it.
I turned around and started scribbling feverishly. I was so engrossed in my task that it wasn’t until the teacher had ripped my paper in two, along with the boy’s, that I realized I was busted.
The teacher returned our shredded papers. The boy’s face turned red with righteous anger.
“Hey! I didn’t even know she had that!” he yelled.
The teacher looked back at me, his disappointment deepening. “Is this true, Sara?”
I burst into tears. “Yes,” was all I could manage.
“You will complete the assignment after school for no credit. Please get the tape and put your classmate’s work back together.”
I can’t remember what happened next. I must’ve repaired the boy’s assignment, mumbled an apology to the boy behind me (who never liked me ever again), stayed after school. Got that dreaded zero.
Some kids had a new respect for me. They didn’t think I had it in me. But I felt miserable about it. I still do. The funny thing about life is, this is how it works. You screw up. You feel miserable. And you learn.
It wasn’t the last time I forgot to finish an assignment. I may have even cheated on a few more science assignments to get through high school. But I still remember my 8th grade science teacher’s disappointment. And I’m still sorry.
This article first appeared in the Lewistown News-Argus and the Sidney (Mont.) Herald on October 11, 2009.
