By REBECCA SPARROW
Primary school is brutal.
Sometimes I still wake up in a cold sweat remembering how in grade four a rumour swirled around that I lived in a Boystown Prize Home and that there was a plastic pathway running from room to room to protect the carpet.
Then there was the time the boys in my grade three class scared me stupid, telling me that if I ever went to see KISS in concert, to be aware the band spat blood at you and would step on your fingers on stage.
And who can forget the time word spread that when I’d been away from school for a week in grade two that I’d actually been in Hollywood making a movie. Actually, I think I spread that last rumour myself. Whatever. The point is – primary school is hard, y’all.
And at no time is this more true than when it comes to the politics of the primary school birthday party. How many of us, at one time or another, watched in tortured anguish as invitations were given out around us. Just not TO us?
I’m having flash backs even now of not being invited to Susie Cornerstone’s grade 6 party that was the talk of the year (mostly because her mother was spotted naked in the morning watering the garden). But I digress. Being made to feel like a social outcast bites. But it’s part of school life along with faking your own notes to get out of sport. Isn’t it?