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One Time, in Second Grade
The day I learned to not believe everything someone tells me
It was the nineties. A time where we didn’t understand the news. I’d like to think we didn’t cringe every time the president opened their mouth, too, but I was too young to understand politics. So we’ll leave that one up for debate.
I was around seven at the time with my brother and my sister. Somehow, we started talking about eggs and where they came from. My sister hates eggs. She can’t stand the smell of them. If my dad makes something he doesn’t want her to eat, he’ll crack an egg over it before he starts eating.
“You know it’s a melted bird, right?” my sister said. I looked at my eggs, horrified. Probably cried too. I was a crier when I was a kid. But I don’t remember. Let’s say I did for dramatic effect.
I don’t remember how old I was when my sister said that. I do remember that fateful day in second grade where we talked about birds and eggs though.
That day in Mrs. Sedore’s class
It was after lunch. Second grade. We just finished getting those little mini-brushes to clean our teeth after recess. Mrs. Sedore called us all to the rug at the end of the classroom to talk about birds and eggs. She brings up a fake egg.
