I was 5 years old. Junior kindergarten. Surrounded by a herd of other ugly, not so bright children new to the catholic school system. The first week is the only week I can remember. Yes, it was that traumatizing. It was the third or fourth day in the Jesus institute when shit started to go down. I was sitting by myself. Minding my own business because at this age I was already well aware that I didn't want to be associated with these people. This blond hair blue eyed boy named Bobby (names have NOT been changed for privacy purposes) climbed up onto one of those miniature chairs. I always wondered why adults made us sit on mini plastic chairs. Did they think they were being clever? Anyway, after a few seconds a crowd gathered. I hurried over to see what the fuss was about. I thought maybe he had a new Cabbage Patch Kid or something. At this point my mind was still pure and my intentions were good. The incident that occurred in the next 2.5 seconds will forever be burned into my brain. Bobby whipped out his penis. His twig and berries. His junk. It was just chilling there. Mine didn't look like that. My little 5 year old mind was horrified yet confused. I prayed to Jesus who I assumed was the one in charge, the principal. "Pleeeeaaaase don't let mine grow to be like that!" I was disgusted. Both with Bobby and Jesus.
A few days later, my "teacher" decided it would be a nice treat to let the 22 rugrats in her care go outside for an early recess. I think this is where the buddy system came into play years later. She lined up all the kids, single file of course and led them out the door.... or at least that's what I imagine she did. I wouldn't know because there were only 21 kids in that line. Did my "teacher" check the washroom before turning off all the lights and locking the door? NOPE. That's right. Crazy bitch locked me in there. In the dark. Bobby should have been in my shoes. He was the one waving his magic stick around, not me. After what felt like an eternity of screaming, I met the real principal. She was a woman and she wasn't Jesus. She heard me crying from the hallway and came to my rescue.
Now we all know why my greatest fears involve penises and being left alone. Thank you, blog thingy for this therapy session.