I remember...

An anonymous person once said, "The man with a clear conscience probably has a poor memory." What the quote is referring to is how every person who can remember, remembers a time in the past where they did something wrong. I, too, am a victim of regret. Every now and then, I sit back to think about what I have done wrong which I could have fixed. I sometimes think of how stupid I am for what I did. Yet, when I sit down to write a blog, I can't think of a darn thing that I remember. So I start with the cliché  'childhood' start. Trust me, it is about as cliché as Brad Stanton using the word cliché. 

I grew up, for what felt like the longest time, as a little kid on the block. I was always younger, smaller, but wiser than others. Does this hold true today? Maybe 2 of the 3 do, but I can't help being tall. In school, I started out at a private Catholic school. I made the switch to my current public school, which was a little different. I tried so hard to barely remember the names of the kids in the class. There was only one certain kid whose name I could recall. I guess that's how we became friends. The funny thing is, to this day, he gets in trouble on a daily bases and smokes cigarettes under age. I'm glad I stopped being friends with him.

One of the most random things I remember that I did when I was in the younger years of education was when one of my teachers asks the class how penguins waddle. I volunteered (I still don't know why) and did the penguin walk all the way around the classroom with the whole class watching me. It must of been so embarrassing because I remember it to this day. At recess the same day, I fell face first on the sidewalk and got laughed at. The day was just terrible, so when I got home, I didn't feel good at all. 

I saw the cookies on the kitchen counter. I thought they would cheer me up, but nothing could after that laughing matter. I was glad I was safely in my home, without anybody to see me. I sat on the bar stool, staring down at my glass of milk with a little bit of those soggy pieces of cookie that got left in the milk. I could see my face in the reflection of the stilled liquid. I began to think deeply. I thought so deeply, no other 7 year old thought that deeply. It seemed like I was contemplating philosophy. Even though it was just about the stupid things I had done and how it made me look. I never let that down, I knew I wouldn't. I was so self-conscious. I thought about how everybody would look at me the next, even though they probably won't remember it. 

Then, I started crying. Thinking about what had just happened. I tried to pick up the pieces. I just couldn't bring myself to it. I was a wreck. I had made such a mess. It didn't feel right. I didn't want anyone to help me. I knew, don't cry over spilled milk. But that's exactly what I did. My mom came in and yelled, "Why did you pour milk all over my counters!?"

"Sorry Mom, I had just bumped the cup."