When I was very young I tried to kill
someone. No, it wasn't an accident; it
was entirely on purpose and, dare I say, premeditated. It also got my family thrown out of church.
I was attending Sunday School, which for
toddlers actually means Babysitting Services, and I desperately wanted to ride
the black plastic train engine with the wheels and the plastic stick steering
device. However, another little boy was
riding it. I politely asked him if I
could have a turn, and he basically told me to fuck off.
My next plan of attack was to ask the
teacher/adult. She very calmly explained
to the little boy that he could have one more turn around the room but then it
was my turn. I waited and watched while
he continued to go around and around, sticking his tongue out at me the whole
time. I looked to the adult. She paid no attention.
I approached the boy, explained it was my turn, like the teacher said, and he
dared me to take the train from him. I
tried the teacher one more time because everyone deserves to be saved if there
really is an opportunity to do so, right?
I mean, this is church, right?
She told me to find something else to play with and leave her alone.
I had
found something else to play with: the
train.
Well, God and the adults left me no choice,
and really, people, I may be a small girl, but I will totally kick your stupid
ass if you give me an opening. I stomped
over to the boy, stood in front of him so he couldn't get past me, grabbed him
by the shirt collar (which I am sure my dad must've taught me by laying victim
to this move multiple times myself), hauled him to the very large very open
unscreened window, and had him halfway out of it before the screaming teacher
demanded to know what in the hell I thought I was doing.
"It was my turn," I said reasonably, "and he wouldn't give me my turn."
At that point the little boy was crying and
had wet his pants. The train got put
away, and I was given a huge glass of apple juice. But I still
didn't get to ride that damn train. And
I still hate that little boy to the
core of my being.
