Since I didn’t speak a lick of English as a newly-immigrated five-year-old, I ran into a few problems at school. One- I peed in my pants several times a week because I couldn’t remember the word “bathroom” all the time, although I did try to mime my desires by squatting and holding my crotch. And two- I couldn’t fight back when my shit got stolen.

After the first week of school, I told my parents school wasn’t really my thing, and I was just going to focus on being a professional big sister. Sure, the career choice seemed limiting, but it was better than being Pee Girl, a nickname I picked up after my second accident.

After a series of threats, my parents tried bribery. My mom rifled through her jewelry box and offered me a beautiful gold chain in exchange for another week of school. Who was I to turn down gold?

I returned to school the following Monday, sporting my pimp chain and making a big show of taking off my cable knit bunny sweater to show off the bling. Everyone oohed and aahed. The only drawback to the chain was that it was too big for me, and every time I jumped during morning recess, it hit me in the face.

I solved the problem by taking off the chain and placing it in the folds of my sweater. Life lesson: Keep your friends close and your jewelry closer. The chain disappeared during afternoon recess. I didn’t know enough English to question the other kids or tell the teacher. So I just went home.

On the last day of school, one of my classmates tapped me on the shoulder and placed the chain into my palm. It was dark and green and ugly. I had picked up enough English throughout the year to understand his confession. He stole the chain and put it in a glass of water to test if it was real. When it changed colors, he knew it was worthless. To make amends, he wanted to give it back. I kicked him in the shins, and we both got Time Out.

I was pissed about the theft, but mostly, I felt outrage. You mean my chain wasn’t real gold?! Well played, Ma, well played. 

Have you ever had anything stolen? Have you ever taken anything that wasn’t yours? Don’t worry, I won’t judge. Well, not that much.
image via perpetualkid.com

Every Monday, I’m picking from the List of Things to Do, Places to Go, Possible Acts that Help, and Possible Fun to Have. It’s a list I made before The Projectstarted, and I’m still adding to it. If you have suggestions, please feel free to throw them my way. I’m calling the list my Monday Dares, as I get overwhelmed just looking at the words “challenge” or “goal.”

This week: Learn to swim.

Once, while on a date, a man grabbed my hand and turned my palms upward. According to his palm reading, a skill he liked to hone during his free time, I was going to be dying soon. I wasn’t sure what to do.  Should I just say “Thanks” for the free reading? Or should I slip a five dollar bill into his pocket as a way of showing support for his burgeoning career?

He went on to predict that it was going to be a doozy, this death of mine. Then, he cleared his throat and asked if I was in the mood to get a little frisky. I politely declined. The thought of a painful demise really got my blood pumping, though probably not in the way he hoped. He seemed a little disappointed, but I knew things were okay when he let me test his inverted recliner from the Relax the Back store he purchased on a high-interest credit card.

I’m sure it wasn’t related, but he never called me again. He did, however, send me a friendly email reminding me to stay away from charred meats and bodies of water deeper than four inches. Based on a psychic dream he had, all bets were on cancer or drowning.

Had we not been so focused on his new career path, I might have had a chance to explain my reluctance to go near large bodies of water. And by large, I mean anything bigger than a bathtub. Not those fancy garden tubs with jets and shit, I just mean those standard apartment-ready bathtubs.

My hesitation isn’t so much a fear of the water, it has more to do with my inability to swim.

I took lessons at the local YMCA for nearly ten summers as a kid. Each year, my parents enticed me with different rewards. One year, it was a Jem and the Holograms watch. Another year, I had my eye on a Pillow People plush. If only I could just hold my head under the water for three seconds. If only I could just make it twenty feet doing the doggy paddle.

I’m pretty sure I’m going to be drinking a lot of chlorinated water this week. There might be some crying, but I’m learning to swim, even if it kills me. Wait, no, I take that back. You know what I mean.

Ever conquered a fear?
Is there a skill you’d love to learn?
image via knockknock.biz