Wendigoon

One of my least favorite parts about being, and obviously everyone will be linked in the description.

If you want to support the artists, please do.

They deserve it.

One of my least favorite parts about being a middle school history teacher is the bullshit living history assignments we give at the end of every school year.

Kids are supposed to sit with their grandparents, videotape, voice record, or transcribe their oldest memories for posterity and for an easy way to bring up their GPA.

I've been doing this for 17 years, and when I collected the projects this time around, I assumed they would be as dull, if not duller than usual.

This had not been a particularly bright class.

So I went home, poured myself a glass of wine, and prepared for a long night of, I only owned two pairs of pants when I was your age, and my brother got beat with a newspaper for hitting a baseball into a neighbor's yard.

And of course, these projects were peppered with innocent, old person comments that were so horribly sexist and racist, you just had to laugh.

Now I had a girl in my class whom I will call Olivia.

She was pudgy, quiet, and proved herself a consistent B student.

I expected a man just dogging this kid.

I expected her project to be as unremarkable as her.

Would you consider that honest?

A little blow the bell.

Is that... How does... Why did both of you turn and look at the same time?

Look at what?

You looked up there, and then Nick spun around in his chair really quick.

Oh, I didn't look up there.

I was just looking at that light off the... It's from the deal.