The Spark of Rebellion in the Mind of a 3rd Grader
by Vegan Dropout
Let me tell you a heroic story from when I was in third grade: an inspirational tale of battle, revolution, and glory. I was 9 years old, and it was my last year at my elementary school before going to Westridge. This was my year to make my mark.
There was a new computer science teacher that year. I can’t remember his name, but I will never forget the effect he had on me, or rather, the effect I had on him. It was me, I, who fearlessly, and boldly, changed his life forever.
I had a really good friend named Jared, and his mom would always pack him wet wipes in his lunchbox. I would like to thank Michelle, Jared’s mom, who gave me the resources and the opportunity to change lives in the way I did. My now decade-long impact wouldn’t have been possible if not for her. Jared never used the wet wipes Michelle gave him, so one day he gave a pack to me. I took it, and, being the heroic, future thinker that I was, I walked up to the computer science teacher. I think he was having a conversation with somebody, but I didn’t care in the slightest. This was the moment the revolution, led by me, began, his conversation be damned.
I bravely and spontaneously approached the computer science teacher, took out the wet wipe, and started wiping it on his arm, stroking it, completely unprompted.
He looked at me, and he was like.
wtf.
I mean, he didn't say that because he was a teacher, but you could see it in his eyes. He was completely baffled. As someone who has been a camp counselor – there are moments with kids when you're like, “This is weird, but you're also young, and I signed up for this experience, so this is fine actually,” and then there are those moments when you're just not even slightly prepared in the least for what is going on. I think this was one of those moments for him. It was entirely and completely distant from anything he could ever have imagined.
So I'm wiping his arm, and I think it's really hilarious, and he's probably pretty weirded out, but he was a good teacher, so he went with it. He definitely – as Ms. McGregor would say – “leaned in” to the ridiculousness. I was having a great time, and I thought, “I'm going to do this again tomorrow,” and so I did it again the next day…
and the next day…
and the next day, until I created a routine. All my classmates and I had fun with it. Day by day, the joke never got old. It was just as funny every single day as it was the first. Sometimes, on very special days, my other friends would also get Wet Ones in their lunch boxes. It must have been a big thing that year for parents to pack Wet Ones in the lunch boxes, and I am eternally grateful to all of those brave mothers and fathers, fueling the revolt from the sidelines. I would save the extra wipes in this little side pocket of my lunch box just in case I needed them one day – a rainy day. Little did I know then, it would be the most glorious day in 3rd grade history.
Remember – this was my last year at that school, my time to leave behind a legacy. I wiped a Wet One on the arm of the computer science teacher every day for the rest of the school year, and eventually, we got to around the last week of school. By then, dozens of wet wipes were hiding out in my lunch box, waiting for their moment of glory. I thought, “There aren’t dozens of days left of school, so what am I to do? I have to make my mark here, and I would hate for all of these wet wipes to go to waste.” So, on the last day, I took out all of the wet wipes that I had garnered over the weeks. I took two, put them in each of my hands, but I only had two hands, so I had to call in reinforcements. The strength of my peers stood behind me as I geared up for battle one last time. I handed a wet wipe to each of my classmates, and we all started chasing the computer science teacher with reckless abandon. As my army of 9-year-olds took off, I stood on the lunch tables, and screamed, “I have an army! I have an army!” All the fifth graders were looking at me like, “Who the hell does she think she is? ” I was unstoppable.
United, we chased our computer science teacher around the entire lunch area. He was cornered in every direction. The growing rebellion had finally come to fruition. To this day, I think that man’s arms are incredibly clean because of it.
I can only imagine what was going through his head as a battalion of twenty 9-year-olds came running at him with wipes. It must have been a crazy faculty meeting that week.
Nevertheless, it was a very memorable moment of my life. I felt very powerful, and I felt very funny. This was my mark on the school, the lasting legacy I left behind. Some say the story of that historic day still circles the conversations of the 3rd graders, inspired, ready to unite for their own dance with rebellion.
There was a new computer science teacher that year. I can’t remember his name, but I will never forget the effect he had on me, or rather, the effect I had on him. It was me, I, who fearlessly, and boldly, changed his life forever.
I had a really good friend named Jared, and his mom would always pack him wet wipes in his lunchbox. I would like to thank Michelle, Jared’s mom, who gave me the resources and the opportunity to change lives in the way I did. My now decade-long impact wouldn’t have been possible if not for her. Jared never used the wet wipes Michelle gave him, so one day he gave a pack to me. I took it, and, being the heroic, future thinker that I was, I walked up to the computer science teacher. I think he was having a conversation with somebody, but I didn’t care in the slightest. This was the moment the revolution, led by me, began, his conversation be damned.
I bravely and spontaneously approached the computer science teacher, took out the wet wipe, and started wiping it on his arm, stroking it, completely unprompted.
He looked at me, and he was like.
wtf.
I mean, he didn't say that because he was a teacher, but you could see it in his eyes. He was completely baffled. As someone who has been a camp counselor – there are moments with kids when you're like, “This is weird, but you're also young, and I signed up for this experience, so this is fine actually,” and then there are those moments when you're just not even slightly prepared in the least for what is going on. I think this was one of those moments for him. It was entirely and completely distant from anything he could ever have imagined.
So I'm wiping his arm, and I think it's really hilarious, and he's probably pretty weirded out, but he was a good teacher, so he went with it. He definitely – as Ms. McGregor would say – “leaned in” to the ridiculousness. I was having a great time, and I thought, “I'm going to do this again tomorrow,” and so I did it again the next day…
and the next day…
and the next day, until I created a routine. All my classmates and I had fun with it. Day by day, the joke never got old. It was just as funny every single day as it was the first. Sometimes, on very special days, my other friends would also get Wet Ones in their lunch boxes. It must have been a big thing that year for parents to pack Wet Ones in the lunch boxes, and I am eternally grateful to all of those brave mothers and fathers, fueling the revolt from the sidelines. I would save the extra wipes in this little side pocket of my lunch box just in case I needed them one day – a rainy day. Little did I know then, it would be the most glorious day in 3rd grade history.
Remember – this was my last year at that school, my time to leave behind a legacy. I wiped a Wet One on the arm of the computer science teacher every day for the rest of the school year, and eventually, we got to around the last week of school. By then, dozens of wet wipes were hiding out in my lunch box, waiting for their moment of glory. I thought, “There aren’t dozens of days left of school, so what am I to do? I have to make my mark here, and I would hate for all of these wet wipes to go to waste.” So, on the last day, I took out all of the wet wipes that I had garnered over the weeks. I took two, put them in each of my hands, but I only had two hands, so I had to call in reinforcements. The strength of my peers stood behind me as I geared up for battle one last time. I handed a wet wipe to each of my classmates, and we all started chasing the computer science teacher with reckless abandon. As my army of 9-year-olds took off, I stood on the lunch tables, and screamed, “I have an army! I have an army!” All the fifth graders were looking at me like, “Who the hell does she think she is? ” I was unstoppable.
United, we chased our computer science teacher around the entire lunch area. He was cornered in every direction. The growing rebellion had finally come to fruition. To this day, I think that man’s arms are incredibly clean because of it.
I can only imagine what was going through his head as a battalion of twenty 9-year-olds came running at him with wipes. It must have been a crazy faculty meeting that week.
Nevertheless, it was a very memorable moment of my life. I felt very powerful, and I felt very funny. This was my mark on the school, the lasting legacy I left behind. Some say the story of that historic day still circles the conversations of the 3rd graders, inspired, ready to unite for their own dance with rebellion.
