It All Started with Scissors.

  I'm getting ready to start a new job that involves teaching kids. Adults too, but a lot of levels involving kids. I've never taught kids before and I'm nervous about it, so I've been doing what I always do when I'm nervous which is talk to my parents. They have great insight, my Mom and Dad. And they've been telling me stories about when my sisters and me were young and learning to read. I'm teaching reading, so you know that it's germane. And my Mom just told me a story about the time when I was in kindergarten and the teacher requested I learn to use scissors. I was able to enter school at the age of 4 because I could read and write but I couldn't use scissors apparently. I guess I was busy doing other things, like learning to swim and tie a shoelace, dancing, playing soccer, learning to sew, but I never did pick up a pair of scissors on my own.

  And it was only a few short years later, when I was in third grade, that I would be falsely accused of cutting the hair of a classmate and made to stay in for detention during recess. And it all started with a kindergarten teacher. If she'd left me alone, I wouldn't have this black mark on my record. I swear, I'll lose all my memories when I'm 99 and remember this incident. The scissor incident. Or I'll turn to a life of crime and we'll be able to trace it back to kindergarten, and they'll say, "it all started with scissors." "It all started with that kindergarten teacher who couldn't be bothered to teach a 4 year old to work with scissors."

  That bitch.

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