A True Confession

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned; it’s been 27 years since my last confession.

Okay, so I’m not really Catholic (hence the lack of Reconciliation). However, I did go to Catholic school for six years and am therefore somewhat familiar with the sacraments.

And if I were Catholic, I would have made this confession long ago. But since I’m not, I’m going to make it right now. I’m comin’ clean.

When I was in first grade, my teacher, Mrs. Pucker (cutest name ever), noticed that I was able to do certain things that a lot of the other first graders (apparently) couldn’t do, like reading and telling time. So, it was decided that Little Candy would go to the second grade for a couple of hours each day for Reading and Math. (This was a small Catholic school, so they didn’t have an accelerated program. Also: I guess I was the only accelerated child, because I don’t remember anyone else coming with me.)

Naturally, the next year, when I was actually in second grade, I had to go to third grade for Reading and Math, and so on, until I reached sixth grade. (And let me just say that the kids in the grade above me were NEVER nice to me. I’m still pissed about it.) When I got to sixth grade, the sixth and seventh grade teachers decided that it was too much trouble to coordinate their schedules so that sixth and seventh grade Reading and Math were at the same time (because, without coordinated schedules, I would have run the risk of missing out on a real subject, like Gym). So…I guess I just repeated sixth grade Reading (because, really, by that point, I doubt I was ahead of the other students anymore), but the kicker was Math: I was asked to teach myself seventh grade Math.

Seriously. During Math, I would sit in a corner by myself and “do homework,” and then, when I was sufficiently satisfied that I had learned all of the material in a chapter, I would take the test. Which meant that I would carry the teacher’s manual down to the office and make a copy of the chapter test, and then I would bring it back to the classroom and take it. And then I would grade it.

And during that whole school year, there was not one test that I didn’t cheat on. Sure, I would honestly complete the test, but when it came time to grade it (which, by the way, who the hell gives an eleven-year-old this much freedom???), I would mark exactly two or three answers wrong every time (so it wouldn’t raise suspicion), and then I would proudly present my grade of 94 or 96 to my teacher and announce that I was ready to begin the next chapter.

I never told anyone what I was doing.

But, despite all that monkey business, I did actually learn some math that year. I know this because, when I transferred to public school in seventh grade (because we had moved across town, and my parents felt that I had gotten everything out of private school that I needed…in other words, they were sick of paying for it), I took a test (which I didn't also grade) and qualified for eighth grade (or, accelerated) Math. But I still felt pretty ashamed of all the cheating and lying I’d done.

So, sixteen years later, I’d just like to say: I’m sorry, Mrs. Jenkinson. If I were Catholic, I would certainly do penance for my sin.

There, I feel better now.