Answers? They vary.

Not surprisingly, I was the teacher’s pet in the second grade. I was forced by my own nature to endear myself to Mrs. N. She was a terrifying figure. She’s been around for a while, and would occasionally resort to the corporal punishment ways of her youth. Back when it was ok to hit children. She would have the kids trade quiz papers with the person across the way, so they could grade each others’ work. She once hit my sister Lisa hard on the head when she saw she got eight wrong. But she didn’t get eight wrong, it was the girl across the way. She said, “Oh, sorry hon,” and ran around the desks to hit the proper kid. Lisa and her friend Elaine, the one with eight wrong, took the time to tell the story and to demonstrate for me, several times, just how hard Mrs. N could hit. So going in, I knew two things. If she hit me, it would hurt, one, and B), 50% of the time it would be totally unjustified. I had to not only be good, but be the best possible child. I would hug her hello in the morning, that’s how bad it got. I don’t remember what I did to achieve this status, but it must have been hard to watch. A kiss-ass that young…it couldn’t have been very pretty.

Anyway, being the suck-butt that I was, I would naturally finish my assignments early in the day. So I was allowed to take Mrs. Naumann’s teacher’s edition and check my work. This was all well and good, but one day I thought, what the hey. I’ll just check the next day’s assignment and get all the answers. Brilliant. I might have been chafing at the Perfect Child bonds that I had tied myself up in, but I had never done anything this devious. (Well, not quite true. There was a period when I would ingest my parents’ prescription medication from the cabinet in the bathroom. Oh, don’t worry, I would just take one pill, and only every once in a while. I have perfect memories of me perched on the bathroom sink, choosing that night’s pharmaceutical. It only lasted till I asked my mother what bloating was and had no answer for where I’d heard that word.) But my point is I had a streak of secret badness. Not Bad Seed bad, but pretty bad. Who knew where this would lead?

So the next day, we’re in social studies and the group is discussing the answers and well, I KNOW mine are right, right? I mean, I got them out of the Teachers’ Edition, after all. So we get to number one, and I’m all, “Oooh, oooh! Pick me!” like an idiot, so of course she calls on me, her little darling. And I say -- and I swear I didn’t really grasp what it meant till it was out of my mouth -- but I say, with pride:

“Answers may vary.”

Get it? Like the answers may vary. Like we won’t put the answer in the Teacher’s Edition because THE ANSWERS MAY VARY. It was pretty much the end of my life of crime.

But I like to take these little mortifying moments and learn from them. What was a humiliating experience, is really a pretty good life lesson. Answers may vary. Heck, they will vary, nothing you can do about it.

Check plus, everyone. Check plus.

Jenny