We all have stories from our childhood that makes us want to bury ourselves deep in the sand. However, sometimes, these stories are what best defines our characters. When twitter user @chrelisem started a funny thread asking "What's a childhood anecdote that says a lot about you?" quite a few brave souls delivered their best stories. Scroll down below to read them and don't forget to share your defining moments in the comments
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Not mine, but something my Ama told me about my dad growing up: When he was in eighth grade, my dad was in swing choir. Around that time, he also refused to smile on command because, well, he was an obnoxious 14-year-old. But the swing choir teacher always told him to smile more, again and again and again, but he never did. One day she had had enough and snapped at him, "Why won't you smile? Is that too hard? Smile or get out." So he said okay, walked out, and never sung in choir ever again XD
When we were young, two sets of twins born a year apart, we too decided to run away from home. So all four of us decided we were going to live in the park, and drink from the fountain. We wrote a note and could not agree on who was going to deliver it, so we all went home, she didn't even notice all of her kids were gone.
Ok, ik what the birds and the bees talk is but how tf do birds and bees relate to it?!?
Another one my Ama told me about my obnoxious eighth-grade father: He was always the first one finished with tests, and he finished one in about half the class period, so he went back to his desk and sat down. He was sort of looking around, not really at anyone in particular, but his teacher snapped at him to "keep his eyes on his own paper." He told her that he was finished with the test and besides, he wasn't looking at anyone's exam. But the teacher said that he needed to "set a good example" to which my father replied, "Why is it my job to set a good example?" She locked him in the closet for the rest of the period. My father was a very testy eighth grader, apparently...
The first marking period of 3rd grade I got a D in reading - my mother couldn't figure out why because at home I was reading the Black Stallion and Nancy Drew series' Turns out when you are reading at the 7th grade level - you won't go back to reading at the 3rd. I got poor marks the rest of the year because I wouldn't read that "baby stuff".
I have 2 older sisters and when our middle sister was about 7/8 we were at a restaurant and she told the waitress she wanted a whiskey sour to drink. Mom almost died as that was her drink of choice. Needless to say we all ended up with Shirley Temples for our beverage that night out.
Well, at about 5 I found out there isn't a Santa Claus by pretending to go to sleep, and then after a while crawling back to the living room door and looking under the door at the tree, only to see my parents placing presents. I remember my reaction was "well, that makes more sense", and simply shrugged and went for bed for real. I didn't care for the supernatural stuff, I just wanted a logical explanation.
In your defense, she did not tell you to put the stamps on the bills for you drop them in the box.
In 1971-1972, when I was in 6th grade, girls weren’t allowed to wear pants to school, only skirts. Well, when it got cold, our legs got cold too—-this was the early 70s, and miniskirts were in fashion. Plus, the 6th grade boys were gross, and tried to look under our skirts (we started wearing our gym shorts under them as a result). When we went to the principal to ask if we could wear pants, we were told no. So we organized, and picked a day when we would ALL wear pants in protest. We figured they couldn’t send every 6th grade girl home to change. The day came, and we all showed up in pants. It was way warmer, more comfortable, and extremely liberating. The principal saw that the ground didn’t swallow us up, and the world didn’t come to an end, just because a bunch of 12 year old girls wore pants to school, and the dress code was broken. I learned the power of peaceful protest that day.
I found a report in the file cabinet from when I was in kindergarten. It detailed a test I'd taken to determine whether I was "gifted". I'd done extremely well on things like vocabulary, naming body parts, etc. But my scores on comprehension and listening were in the toilet. I've always been a little TOO eager to please, so I thought it was strange I'd do THAT badly on that part of the test. When I asked my mom about it, she explained: "They pulled you out of field day to give you those tests. You were PISSED."
When I was like 2 or 3 I liked to make books by stapling sheets of printer paper together. Back then I couldn't really read so I just slapped down random sequences of letters and pretended like they were coherent sentences. Then I wanted to "read" them to my siblings at bedtime. Also, I gave every single book the same title. I called them, "Everything I Do Is Perfect, Pictures By Dani, Words By Dani."
I always liked to take my finger on the edges of a cake and scoop up the extra icing that had smeared. My mom wasn't exactly the best cake decorator. Keep in mind I was always careful not to actually touch the cake. When I was 13-14, I did this to my sisters cake. She freaked out and said she didn't want any piece near where I had touched. I proceeded to take my finger and touch every possible piece of cake. She was not pleased...I, however, found it hysterical.
I found a report in the file cabinet from when I was in kindergarten. It detailed a test I'd taken to determine whether I was "gifted". I'd done extremely well on things like vocabulary, naming body parts, etc. But my scores on comprehension and listening were in the toilet. I've always been a little TOO eager to please, so I thought it was strange I'd do THAT badly on that part of the test. When I asked my mom about it, she explained: "They pulled you out of field day to give you those tests. You were PISSED."
When I was like 2 or 3 I liked to make books by stapling sheets of printer paper together. Back then I couldn't really read so I just slapped down random sequences of letters and pretended like they were coherent sentences. Then I wanted to "read" them to my siblings at bedtime. Also, I gave every single book the same title. I called them, "Everything I Do Is Perfect, Pictures By Dani, Words By Dani."
I always liked to take my finger on the edges of a cake and scoop up the extra icing that had smeared. My mom wasn't exactly the best cake decorator. Keep in mind I was always careful not to actually touch the cake. When I was 13-14, I did this to my sisters cake. She freaked out and said she didn't want any piece near where I had touched. I proceeded to take my finger and touch every possible piece of cake. She was not pleased...I, however, found it hysterical.