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conuly
I told it to Ana when she asked for yet another story about "you when you were a kid", but I don't think she got the point.
I was in the first grade. Gifted class, but that didn't matter, the first day of class I'd been put in my very own reading group until the other kids could catch up.
So when we did our reading tests at our desks - a daily or weekly occurrence, I'm not sure - I got all or nearly all of the answers right, without even trying.
The other kids... not quite. I don't think anybody did very badly, but they didn't do perfectly.
Now, the way these tests were done was that our teacher read out the questions, we filled in the answers, and then we switched tests with our neighbors while she read out the answers and, I guess, clarified anything. And then we told her our grade and she gave us a sticker.
It didn't take long for the entire class to realize that if our friends changed the answers for us while marking the tests, we'd always have perfect scores!
I didn't need my answers changed. And even if I had, I had this idea that maybe this wasn't a good idea. (I was, in many ways, a very rule-oriented child.)
But my seatmate asked me to change her answers for her... and everybody else was... and surely they didn't *all* have the same enormous lapse of judgment... and... and... I did.
Our teacher wasn't that slow, and it wasn't very long before she realized there was Something Wrong... and exactly what it was, too.
So, table by table she called us up, looked at our past tests... and ripped the stickers off!!!!!
You have to get into the mind of a six year old here. This was terrible. Horrible. Appalling. There was nothing worse than this.
Except... there was.
Because when it was my turn, and my seatmate's turn, the one whose papers I'd been fixing (I remember the girl clearly, though I can't remember her name), she looked at both of us and said, very clearly, "I know I don't need to check yours". Not just to me - but to her! And I'd been helping her cheat!
You have no idea how bad I felt. No idea. Bad enough to have your stickers ripped off - but to have them not ripped off with the rest of the class? Because she trusted you? And she shouldn't?
I should've fessed up.
I tried to explain this to Ana, but she didn't get it. But I tried to explain that, silly as it sounds, it's been twenty years and I still feel bad. I'm a grown-up now, and I still think I should've done something different. I should've told the truth then! I would have felt worse for a short time, but then it would be over. Probably wouldn't even remember.
Instead, I felt naggingly bad for a long time, and even now I still feel some residual guilt.
Never cheated again in my life.
(Well. Not counting the time I looked up right as the kid in front of me held up his test, and after agonizing about it for 15 minutes I decided since I'd *seen* the answer it would be silly not to write it down. But I was going to fail anyway, so I figured it didn't really matter in that case, you know?)
I was in the first grade. Gifted class, but that didn't matter, the first day of class I'd been put in my very own reading group until the other kids could catch up.
So when we did our reading tests at our desks - a daily or weekly occurrence, I'm not sure - I got all or nearly all of the answers right, without even trying.
The other kids... not quite. I don't think anybody did very badly, but they didn't do perfectly.
Now, the way these tests were done was that our teacher read out the questions, we filled in the answers, and then we switched tests with our neighbors while she read out the answers and, I guess, clarified anything. And then we told her our grade and she gave us a sticker.
It didn't take long for the entire class to realize that if our friends changed the answers for us while marking the tests, we'd always have perfect scores!
I didn't need my answers changed. And even if I had, I had this idea that maybe this wasn't a good idea. (I was, in many ways, a very rule-oriented child.)
But my seatmate asked me to change her answers for her... and everybody else was... and surely they didn't *all* have the same enormous lapse of judgment... and... and... I did.
Our teacher wasn't that slow, and it wasn't very long before she realized there was Something Wrong... and exactly what it was, too.
So, table by table she called us up, looked at our past tests... and ripped the stickers off!!!!!
You have to get into the mind of a six year old here. This was terrible. Horrible. Appalling. There was nothing worse than this.
Except... there was.
Because when it was my turn, and my seatmate's turn, the one whose papers I'd been fixing (I remember the girl clearly, though I can't remember her name), she looked at both of us and said, very clearly, "I know I don't need to check yours". Not just to me - but to her! And I'd been helping her cheat!
You have no idea how bad I felt. No idea. Bad enough to have your stickers ripped off - but to have them not ripped off with the rest of the class? Because she trusted you? And she shouldn't?
I should've fessed up.
I tried to explain this to Ana, but she didn't get it. But I tried to explain that, silly as it sounds, it's been twenty years and I still feel bad. I'm a grown-up now, and I still think I should've done something different. I should've told the truth then! I would have felt worse for a short time, but then it would be over. Probably wouldn't even remember.
Instead, I felt naggingly bad for a long time, and even now I still feel some residual guilt.
Never cheated again in my life.
(Well. Not counting the time I looked up right as the kid in front of me held up his test, and after agonizing about it for 15 minutes I decided since I'd *seen* the answer it would be silly not to write it down. But I was going to fail anyway, so I figured it didn't really matter in that case, you know?)
