Today at work I was thinking about how glad I am that I have top notch ethic. It sparked a trail of thoughts about my upbringing that brought me to a specific time when my parent's taught me honesty in the work place.
I was just barely 12 years old. I was new in my elementary school. Well, everyone was because it was a brand new school. But I was REAAAALLLY new. I had been home schooled all through elementary. My mom was so selfish, wanted me all to herself. But she finally caved and let me go through the grind of real life social drama. I loved it.
Because this was my first year to experience the mass population of students, I had a lot of catching up to do. Not as far as the material, in fact I was a little genius... no, I'm talking about little things like having assigned seating at lunch, finding the pencil sharpener, and so on and so on. It was fun, though. I caught on quickly. I even joined the student government and helped with the morning announcements every once in a while. I was just livin' the dream.
In the social studies hour we had lots of assignments. One of those assignments was to have our parent's sign our homework log. My mom has a lot of kids, and those logs can be overwhelming. She started out signing her full name, which then turned to her first initial and last name after a while. It's pretty easy to copy. So, one day I had forgotten to get my log signed... So I thought, what's the harm, right?... I signed that sucker and turned it in for FULL credit. Hahahahahaha
A few months passed, and my mom was cleaning out my backpack. Thanks, Mom! She found my homework folder and was glancing at it, and of course happened to see the signature log, and of course happened to see the very line that I had signed, and of course happened to know it was not her writing. I don't get it... I did a PERFECT job! She confronted me. I was ashamed. *sigh* I explained the situation, and told her how there was absolutely no alternative to signing it myself, and then she was very kind to actually show me the several other alternatives. I was 12, perspective was still growing. My mom explained that in order for me to right this wrong I needed to confess to my teacher. BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!! How could this be the ONLY way to fix this? At this point an authority figure knew I had cheated, why couldn't I have worked it out with her? Come on Mom!!!!
The next day during reading time, I took my shakin' chicken legs to my teacher's desk where I produced the phony signature and held back all of the tears as I explained what I had done, why I had done it, and how awful I subsequently felt through the worry that I'd get caught... to that worry coming true. She was nice, but firm when she told me that she appreciated me coming to her. She then explained that I had lost her trust, and in order for me to gain it back I would need to work very hard to show her that I was someone she could be proud of. I went back to my seat and sank as deep into my own world as possible so I couldn't be found until we were released by that lovely bell.
When my mom heard the details of the confession she was so proud, but felt sad that the teacher had told me she could not trust me. I think her reaction was escalated by the rush of tears that came with me telling her my story. She told me I was amazing for doing the right thing. I felt better until the next morning when my mom handed me a sealed envelope to give to my teacher when I got to school. I asked what it said, but she told me it was a matter between my teacher and my parents. Poop. This can't be good. What if my mom was sending a written threat?!! Doesn't she know I'm the one who gets to deal with that? I'm the one who has to go to school every day and face the target of her malice. Poop.
"My mom said to give this to you." I didn't even give the teacher eye contact when I handed her the note. I went as fast as I could back to my seat and then did everything I could to pretend this didn't just happen. Like that would work, only a few seconds later she asked me to come back to her desk. This was it. I would have to be her slave as punishment. I'd have to scrub floors, sharpen all of the pencils, and maybe rub her nasty feet. I looked back at the class almost to say 'save me'. When I approached the teacher, she had a softened expression. Unexpected. The closer I got,I realized she was actually smiling. Not a sarky smirk. She looked kind. Was this a trick? I arrived. If I went any closer I would smell the remnant of the fig cookies she had just swallowed on her breath. She grabbed my arm gently and pulled me in for a hug. "Your parents must love you very much" she said as she released her grip. I'm sure I looked completely confused because she followed it up with an explanatory, "I'm very proud of you for telling me the truth about the mistake you made. Can we start new?"
Telling the truth rocks my socks off!
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