It was the mid 70’s. I was in second grade. On this warm autumn morning I stood from my desk and made my way to the back of the class room where the combination sink with faucet and drinking fountain waited. The teacher had given us an assignment that the class busily worked on in silence.
Arriving at the back of the room I found that a nice girl was already getting a drink. There I stood waiting for my turn wearing brightly colored plaid pants double patched in the knees, both in side and out, with a coffee colored sweater and blue large collared shirt. My hair, still white blonde from the summer, was cut like the Dutch paint boy.
When my classmate finished at the fountain she rose, in slow motion, tossing her long flowing brown hair back to the side. She licked the few remaining droplets of water from her upper lip. Our eyes met and locked. She was very pretty in a white turtle neck and blue sweater. A flash of a smile came across her face when she looked at me. Her eyes fell in a shy state.
Being a gentleman, I noticed that there was a small string or something on her forehead, and looked to be hanging from her hair. I reached out to kindly remove it for her, but it didn’t easily move. So I gave it a small tug.
Her scream broke the silence of the studious room. I learned that day “stitches should be removed by professionals.” It’s an important life lesson I still abide by to this day.
*Not actual class picture, but looks strangely close