Daydreamer

Daydreaming has always been a hobby for me. I could spend endless hours deep in my own thoughts. Something as simple as a butterfly, bouncing around the backyard. It could have me miles away, watching it through the kitchen window while I'm washing dishes. I could be driving to work, wandering away in my own mind and before I know it, I’m parking my car in my work parking lot, not even remembering the drive and how I got there. Someone could be having a full conversation with me, and I can see their face, watch their lips move, hear some words, but I am somewhere else, daydreaming. 

Daydreaming was a huge part of my life when I was in the first grade. I would sit at my desk, my head resting on my hand, staring out the classroom window. I was gone. Off in a different world. Dreaming about everything and nothing. Minutes would pass by. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Half an hour. My teacher, Mrs. Kay, her voice would snap me out of my trance.

Back to my classroom. Back to my desk. Back to my blank piece of paper sitting in front of me. I hadn’t touched my morning work. All the other students were placing their finished work into their folders, then one by one, dropping their folders into a bin at the front of the classroom. There I was, again, for what my six year old mind felt was the millionth day in a row, placing my unfinished work into my folder and walking my folder up to the bin.

I could never finish my morning work. Daydreaming took up a good portion of my day. I longed for the day when I could complete my morning work and receive the same shiny star on my completed work that I had seen on many of my classmate’s papers.

As I went to drop my folder into the bin with the others, I pulled my folder back out. I held on tight to my folder and hurried back to my desk. I placed the folder onto my desk and just stared down at it. I reached out, touching the top of my folder. I slowly slid it to the side, revealing the other folder I had pulled out of the bin with mine.

A classmate’s folder. With my little heart beating a thousand beats per second, I slid out the morning work of my fellow classmate, erased their name and replaced it with mine. I put the completed work into my folder, my unfinished work in theirs. Then slowly walked back to the bin with both folders, and dropped them in. I could actually hear the plunge; the depths of that bin as both folders hit the bottom like boulders. 

A few days later, my teacher, Mrs. Kay, handed me back my folder. Inside was a completed, yet falsified, worksheet with a shiny star at the top of the page. It worked. I got away with it, and I finally got a shiny star. 

Falsifying morning work became a routine for me. Sometimes, I would get creative. I would take the folders, erase their name, replace it with mine, and I would erase some of the words to add a touch of my own handwriting. I was always careful at replacing the folders so I wouldn’t get caught. And I always looked forward to the shiny stars I would receive for all of my hard work. Looking back, it had been more work not doing my own work than just doing my own work, if that makes any sense. 

One day, I grabbed another stolen folder and took out my classmate’s morning work. We had to copy a paragraph from the chalk board then draw a picture to match the paragraph. My classmate drew a picture of a little boy flying a kite. The boy who drew the picture was well known in our class as the top artist. How I thought I could get away with stealing his work, I have no idea. But, I erased his name, replaced it with mine, changed a few words around, and there you had it. My morning work was complete. 

That afternoon, our class went to the library. Our class sat on the floor while the librarian read a book to us. My teacher sat off to the side grading papers. The librarian was captivating. We were really enjoying the book she was reading, and she had our full attention. I sat and listened and smiled and clapped and was happy with my day.

Truly loving life until…. I glanced over at my teacher, Mrs. Kay. She was staring at me and she was not smiling. Our eyes were locked onto each other’s. It was a long, hard stare. It was almost like she was talking to me with her eyes. And I remember not liking what her eyes were saying.

They were saying …. You are busted!! I knew right then and there, I should have never used that boy’s paper. There was no way I could get away with passing his drawing off as my own. Why did I do that? 

My principal was notified, my parents were notified. I was in big trouble. For the rest of that year, I had to sit next to my teacher’s desk so she could make sure I was doing my own work and earning my own shiny stars. 

Today, I think back and know what I did was wrong, very wrong. Not only for lying about completing my morning work, but I feel horrible that my classmates were, unknowingly, turning in my blank worksheets. But, as wrong as I know it was to do; lying, cheating, stealing….for being only six years old… It was kind of Genius!!

-Desiree