Two of My Most Embarrassing Moments

For some reason I have decided to document two of my most embarrassing childhood memories in this post. Now, there are definitely some embarrassing stories that I will never be telling, but these are the two stories I always offer up when people want embarrassing stories.

The first one happened in third grade. Every year our class put on a Christmas musical. That particular year we were performing a humorous play about Gabriel that was basically his perspective of the Christmas story. I played a random angel, and at the beginning of the play I was supposed to be helping the other angels clean up heaven (while singing about it of course) in order to prepare for Jesus. This involved me picking up this broom that was laying at my feet before sweeping with it. I did this countless times during rehearsals, but I only did it once in the angel robes before we performed for our parents.

Sure enough, during the performance I bent down to get the broom and tripped over my robes right on stage. Of course that was embarrassing enough for me at nine, but it didn't help that my crush at the time had been standing right beside me when it happened. I just picked up the broom and kept going. My teacher mentioned later that she was impressed because for a minute she thought I was going to freak out and not know what to do, but as if I was going to call more attention to myself. Luckily, I don't think the majority of people noticed, and this little incident has no doubt been forgotten by everyone in the world except me, who thinks about it sometimes when I have to get up in front of crowds.

The second story happened two years later in fifth grade. In order to fully appreciate this story, you need to understand how quiet of a kid I was, especially in elementary school. I didn't talk unless directly spoken to or it was one of my small group of closest friends. I especially didn't call attention to my self during class. It's also important to know that my best friend Summer and I fought in elementary school. A lot. Everyone knew it, and it wasn't a week of school if Summer and I didn't end up in tears and screaming at each other on the playground at least twice. It was accepted by everyone, and if the teachers saw one of us in tears or angry, they knew it was time to talk to us both and get us to reconcile. I can still remember them sighing every time they realized they had to deal with us again. (It was so bad that for second through fourth grade we weren't allowed near each other at any time except recess. You may be asking why we were even friends, but that's just how Summer and I were. We both really wanted to be in control, and almost every single fight was about what game we were going to play at recess. I'm serious. I can't remember one fight about anything else.)

Anyway, our teacher had arranged our desks in groups, and we'd gotten to choose where to sit. (Remember this was the first year Summer and I were actually allowed around each other during class.) Obviously we all chose to sit with our friends, which was great. That was the same school year that we went through more post-it notes than I can count passing notes. Except it wasn't so great when Summer and I had just been arguing at recess and were now sitting in social studies class without having made up.

I was crying as the class took turns reading out of our social studies book. This was so common that no one in the class was particularly concerned. (I've cried in a classroom far more times than anyone should have, but at least I managed to cut that number down to just once in high school.) Summer, on the other hand, was paying attention, and she was still mad at me. (Like I said, most of our arguments were about what to play at recess, but of course by now it had become more than that. I have no idea what we were actually mad about now.) She was whispering things to me about how I was crying. I think she said I was doing it because I wanted attention, but I honestly don't remember. What I do remember was finally getting so angry that I screamed. Just flat out screamed.

Needless to say, the entire class stopped what they were doing when the girl who rarely talked screamed. I remember it being quiet for a bit before the teacher asked me if I needed to get a drink of water. I told him no, and after he asked if I was sure, the subject was dropped. He told the student who had been reading to keep going, and the rest of the class let it go except for Summer who I remember was laughing.

That was another one of those times where I thought everyone but me had managed to forget about it, but two years later one of the boys in my class (who was a bit of a bully) actually brought it up and was laughing about it. Thankfully by that time it really didn't bother me, and I was just slightly annoyed with him. But still, I would have rather lived under the impression that everyone had forgotten (which is totally why I'm documenting it here).

And there you have it: two of my most embarrassing moments. Of course these are both from elementary school, so it's a lot easier for me to actually talk about them. I was only nine and eleven after all. Who knows if you'll ever get the later in life ones. I think I still need some time before I'm willing to hand those out.