Ohhhh Canada

    I went to preschool at Saint joseph's Church, and I'd give a shout out
to the teacher now if I could remember who she was. There were a few
things that happened at preschool that I would like to touch upon that
stick out in my mind. One time, we were having big wheel races down
the empty parking lot outside and everyone knew that the Spider Man
big wheel was not only the coolest but seemed to go the fastest. Two by
two, we would line up and make our way down the marked raceway. Well,
I had lined up in a way that allowed me to get the sought after Spidey
Mobile.
    As the kid in front of me walked the masked beauty with the three
wheels my way, some bitch girl cut in front of me and got on it. There are
several things you don't do to a man, and at that time I knew only one:
Do not touch my Spider Man big wheel! This girl clearly didn't know. I
figured the teacher lady would have my back and take this wench away.
Wrong! She just told me to get in the other one to take my turn. I looked
over and saw a creme-colored frame, purple wheels, and a giant Cabbage
Patch Kid head on the front of the handle bars. I knew at that early age
that this wasn't good at all.
    I could cry and scream and tell on her and get my Spider Man bike
back, or I could take this girlie ass CPK doll bike and somehow whip
h er ass down this track. I got myself all amped up go race and after

a quick pump-up talk I was ready to do this shit. I braced myself for
this showdown and was waiting for the word to go when I looked at my
opponent for a brief but intimidating stare down. Just as I did this, the
teacher yelled "Go!" The girl took off like we all knew Spider Man would
and caught a little plastic on the pavement. She kicked up a little bit of
gravel, and she was gone. I would love to say that I caught her on the
backstretch and pulled off the miracle at St. ] oes, but I cannot lie. She
whipped my ass down that hill, but I know to this day that she butted my
line and took my ride.
    Another incident happening at preschool was someone threw a
rock through the window of our classroom and got glass all over the
magic carpet. Upon this discovery, our teach er b egan crying. We weren't
afforded the customary naptime that day, so to whoever threw that rock,
you owe me some sleep bitch. We went on a field trip to go sled riding
later that winter and that's when I got in trouble at school for the first
of a lot of times. Apparently as the day was winding down, the teacher
began yelling for and herding us in, and I didn't hear her, so I kept on
sledding. I really didn't hear her, and she came up to me and dragged
me to the bus just as I got to the top of the hill for another go at it.
She scolded me in front of everyon e. I felt terrible and started crying,
because I was shy and wasn't yet the little shit head that I'd become.
    !-leading into Kindergarten, I was nervous as most kids are but also
wanted to go to school because my older brother Damien was already
in second grade and anything he did, I was all about that. Back in the
1980s in Oil City at least, you had the choice between morning nonnal
kindergarten and afternoon kindergarten. My mom sent me in the
afternoon. I have never asked why she didn't send me in the morning with
my older brother who was by now going full days, but it is my personal
belief that if I went in at ten or eleven or whatever time I had to be there,
that she would be rid of me for the afternoon, and thus freeing up time
for The Young and the R estless. Again that's only my personal assumption.
I enjoyed going to school, and in Oil City, there were only four main
elementary schools going from Kindergarten through fifth grade. They
were Lincoln Elementary, Seventh Street Elementary, Hasson Heights
Elementary, and Smedley Elementary. Since we moved around as often
as people did on America's Most Wanted Top Ten lists, I did a couple
tours of each school.
    Mter the first day or two of school, I began walking to school by
myself which was a few blocks away. This is true. I walked there alone and
home in the afternoon with Damien, who probably shouldn't have been

walking himself but nonetheless we forged on and made the best of it. I
do remember in first grade being in Miss. Scott's class, I accidentally shit
myself and absolutely could not bear to tell anyone. I vividly remember
thinking 'just get through the day and you'll be OK" Every time Miss.
Scott carne over to my side of the class, she made a face, and curled her
nose like she was sniffing the air. I knew I was busted now that this damn
basset h ound with the shit-seeking missile nose was on to me. "What is
that smell?" she would say with disgust. "It's terrible." All the kids around
me would immediately point at rne and say "It's him, Ms. Scott ... it's
him!" "No, it's not," I lied. Finally, she pulled me in the hall and did an
embarrassing check of the back of my pants revealing that indeed it was
me, with the turd, in the classroom as if I had cleverly devised a solo game
of Clue. Bodily Function Edition. I was sent to the office where surprisingly
they had extra clothes for the kids my age that may occasionally do their
thing in the privacy of a cramped desk as opposed to the privacy of a
bathroom stall or at the very least a kitty litter box. Unfortunately for
me, however, the ensemble of pants thrown down to 1ne to choose from
wasn't would one would consider for fashion week. I was very poor with
mismatched clothing as it were already, but this was a bit too much . The
pants were a white base (after Labor Day) with red, green, brown, and
black stripes all over them in a vertical pattern. This, along with my orange
shirt, did not look like something anyone should be wearing.