how to kill a 5th grader

It was the first day in my new school. It was my second school in a year in a half. We had to move again -- thanks to the trouble my parents got into with the police. The Ukrainian priest who owned the building didn't like my mom's tying to jump off the roof, or OD on pills. But when my dad took that gun and went out and shot her, well we pretty much had to move -- but we will save those details for another day.

We lived exactly 2 city streets and one alley away from school. It was an easy walk, but one that was not done alone. My sycophantic uncle had the task of walking me and my sister to school.

The brick building was dark and very institutional looking. It looked cold. The heavy metal chicken wire on the lower windows told you the kind of neighborhood you were in. The patrols on the playground were not your typical mom types, they were big white men in white button down shirts and polyester pants. This looked to be a dangerous place.

I walked into school with my second hand clothing. My bell bottomed jeans were just out of fashion - it was 1977. I had on a long sweater, white, with rainbow colors framing the hood and down where there should have been buttons -- but there were no buttons, just a tie for the waist. My hair was a bit greasy looking and not thick and black and sleek like the girls around me.

I took my seat in Mr. Tator's class. It was a 5th grade. I sat near the window, quietly. I had a pit in my stomach, I could feel there was something wrong. However, I had no way of knowing what would happen next. This was a dangerous place. My teacher had planned for my public execution on my first day of class.

Mr. Tator wrote on the board two number 3.9 and 5.6.
These are the averages of the IOWA standardized test for our class. This means that you kids are doing math and reading somewhere between a 3rd grade and 5th grade level.

He then wrote two other numbers on the board 10.2 an 11.1. These are the test scores for our new student. She is capable of doing math that a sophomore in high school would do and she can read at almost a college level.

I sunk low in my seat. sliding as much below the desk as the attached seat would allow. My life hand ended and it was only the first day of school.