she who laughs last

When I was in the second grade (more on that here) my class put on a play of Beatrix Potter's The Tale of Peter Rabbit. I was given a part not originally in the script, made up because there were too many kids and not enough parts; it was unnamed, I had one line that was supposed to be muttered so I didn't speak into a microphone, and the only time I was on stage, I was walking across it. Five seconds, at the most. Definitely no chances to see if my mom, or anyone, even noticed I was there.

It's not like my teacher did this because she hated me (I think), or because I was bad at acting or couldn't speak coherent english or anything like that. But that play has stuck with me. It's one of those things that changed the way I saw myself as a kid. I wasn't good enough, cool enough, smart enough, _______ enough to get a real part in the class play.

So today while I was perusing the Armitt Museum's exhibit on Beatrix Potter, I stopped in front of a case of porceline figurines and realized I am probably the only kid from my second grade class, possibly the only kid from that grade or even the entire school in Longview, that has been to the village that inspired Peter Rabbit and where Beatrix Potter retired to after the stories were published. And the only reason I have been to that village is because I got this internship in Grasmere, and I know I'm the only kid from my greater East Texas generation that has ever worked here.

So suck it, Pinetree Elementary. You definitely didn't help me get here, but the tragic memories I have of my second grade education make my life now all the more sweeter.

#smug