BEDA: This was going to be about bad habits, but now it's called Abrasiveness

     When I was turning twelve, entering my first year of middle school, I remember I had this habit of twirling my hair.  The classic cliché, perfect for a young adolescent... Unless it's a nervous habit and she's not aware that she's doing it.  So, naturally, being the smooth twelve-year-old boy that he was, this lad behind me says, "Why are you doing that?"

     "What?" I asked.

     "That."  He mimicked me and pointed to my long hair.  "It's kind of disgusting."  Self-conscious as every young girl is, I proceeded with something along the lines of "Yeah, what of it, Bub?!?"  And so began the Train of Thought of Bad Habits... Choo choo...

I'm not going to say that I have a lot of habits, and I don't think they're that bad, but I became fully aware of how a quirk could be put into perspective at that moment.  Little did I know that another nervous habit was either being extremely shy and quiet, or rambling on in a sarcastic trill.  Even at the young age of eleven, my humor was dry.  A little too dry for one of my teachers, apparently.  The first week of sixth grade we're assigned seats at the lunch tables according to Homerooms, but it's also a first-come-first-serve kind of deal, and you're limited to the number of chairs, people, yadda, yadda, so on, and so forth.  Of course, I'm stuck at the loner table.  The.  Loner.  Table.  Four other boys, another girl, and a nice open seat (usually next to me) occupied by my ghost friend.  The kids at this table knew the one of the teachers from elementary school, so the kind sir came to chat with us (I say "us", but I actually mean everyone besides myself).  Mr. Teacher is using big words, we're rather young children, he's joking and laughing, so I take a shot at it.  What harm can it do to try and be social?  This is middle school now, and I can be a new-ish person, right?  

     "That's quite the impressive vocabulary you have, there," I slide in cooly (or what I think is pretty chill at the time.  *Keep in mind that I'm not exactly being talked to...*).   I'm eleven.  I'm still waiting for my Hogwarts letter to come in the mail.  He turns to me and smiles.

     

     "You know, you're kind of abrasive," he says matter-of-factly.  I look up at him politely, and he must he the inquiry in my eyes.  "Do you know what that means?"  I shake my head.  "Okay," he turns his torso toward me, so now I'm the center of attention.  Thanks.  "Picture sand paper on skin."

     "Raw?  Raw skin?" I'm a deer caught in the headlights.  

     "Yeah, just like that," he smiles down at me.  "That's what abrasive means."

I think it's safe to say he was not my favorite teacher.

Song of the day today is in response to this lovely memory:  

Forget You - Cee Lo Green

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bKxodgpyGec