Everyone has been in trouble before.
When I think back in my memory, I think when I punched my younger cousin.
It was a cold night at my house. I was in my younger cousin’s room and she was crying because she did not want to go to sleep. She just was being annoying. Then I just got so mad at her I punched her. She started to cry. I ran out of the room. She went out behind me. I told my mom I did not do it. Then she said, “Yeah, right!”
I had to go to my room for the rest of the night. I was so bored. My mom finally came to my room and she said, with an angry voice, “Go say sorry. After you say sorry, go to bed.” I grumbled and groaned down the stairs and said sorry. Then I went to sleep. I was angry that I had to go to sleep.
I punched my cousin and I got in really big trouble. Whenever I see someone hit someone else, I think of the time I punched my younger cousin.
[This story literally dropped out of the sky, where is was blowing in a circular breeze near our house in windy San Juan Bautista, California, on August 4, 2021. It was nicely printed in pencil, with very heavy period dots and only a few spelling corrections on a slightly dog-eared sheet of 8-1/2 by 14 inch lined school paper, complete with dried water wrinkles, food spots and two flattened-out folds. We have no idea from what kid’s backpack it may have fallen. But something about the telling of the tale, its authenticity, and the tenacity of the kid’s memory imparts value beyond what was planned by the teacher who assigned the writing task and what was likely assumed by the youngster who executed that plan.]