More confessions from the halls of Hillview Elementary School

Then there was the time that Miss Butcher’s fourth-grade class made abstract drawings. She chose a handful of kids to pin the pictures to the corkboard, handed them a sheaf of artwork and told them to consult the artists to make sure they were hung with the correct orientation. 


Candace got my drawing to hang. I started to fool around. “Not that way!” I said. “Turn it upside down.” Then “”No! Turn it to the right!” And so forth. It was the middle of a long, boring schoolday, and teasing her was fun. 


But then Miss Butcher noticed the protracted negotiation and steamed up like a locomotive, grabbed Candace’s arm and screamed at her for teasing me. She benched her for afternoon recess.


Did I go up to Miss Butcher and tell her that it was I and not Candace who was the wrongdoer? No, I did not. Did Candace out me? No, she did not. Did she cry? Yes, she did. Did I come to her aid then? Nope. I let a perfectly nice, helpful classmate take the punishment I had provoked.