I have no clue why I just thought of this, other than the fact that I’m often involved in strange conversations at work.
I’ve participated in exactly one science fair. I don’t remember what my subject was, though I’m certain I didn’t plan it well and whatever “experiment” I did was crap. I’m not a science girl, never have been.
What I do remember, though, is my tri-fold board. For whatever reason, my parents didn’t want to buy me the tri-fold board that every other kid in the known universe was instructed to use, so my father made me one. Out of plywood. With metal hinges.
You know how some kids are bratty and spoiled and if they don’t have what all the other kids have then they feel all mistreated and abused?
I felt that way, but I think I was completely justified.
This thing was tall, and heavy, and had sharp jagged edges on it and it was a bitch to carry and I wanted to just die in a fire rather than carry that damn thing into school. It wasn’t sanded or painted or anything—just wood, with some sheets of paper tacked onto it.
So . . . that was the most random story ever.
UPDATE: In the 3rd grade I twisted my ankle. Instead of crutches or anything, Dad gave me a wooden cane. Let me tell you, 8-year-olds will MOCK a child hobbling around with a giant wooden cane.