Today I am starting a new Blogger Challenge.
Because all of us bloggers need ideas.
Because all of us readers want great content.
Because it will be FUN.
And because I really want to read what you guys have to write.
Each Monday I will be writing about a First. I will choose the First (first kiss? first drink? first fight? first phobia?)
I will post the topic here and write my own little piece about it. And I will invite YOU to write about your own First (Insert Topic Here) on your blogs anytime during the week. If you have never done that particular first, write about why not. And how you feel about that.
Then link to your piece in the comments below, or on my Facebook page.
Also tweet it under the hashtag #MyFirst.
Ready? Let's begin.
Today's First is
MY FIRST ACT OF REBELLION
I was always a conservative child. I did the right thing and came home on time and studied for exams and wore my skirts at an appropriate length. (Then again, it was the 80's. We wore our skirts down to our mid calves. It wasn't fashion at its most provocative.)
I was anxious, and so I was careful to do the right thing; less, I suspect, from a sense of moral obligation, than from a sense of terror at what might happen if I didn't.
But one day it all changed. One day, I pushed through the wall of fear and embraced my inner rebel. And it was Good, I tell you.
It was very, very good.
I was in Year 11 at school, and I was hot, and bored. It was a Hebrew class. I didn't like Hebrew. I had no intention of moving to Israel and I didn't think that Hebrew would be particularly useful for my future career as an actress. But I went to a Jewish school, and Hebrew was compulsory right up until Year 12. Recently, however, the school had relented and agreed not to make us study Hebrew for one of our HSC subjects. We were, however, required to study Non-Hebrew - an absurd, non-assessable class for a couple of periods per week for those not taking the subject formally.
Well, you can imagine the motivation of the students in Non-Hebrew. A bunch of pubescent girls in short (okay, mid length) skirts, a bunch of pimply boys in short (okay, mid length) shorts, a teacher from Israel who could barely speak a word of English, and zero interest in the subject.
It wasn't pretty.
I kept talking to my friend D throughout the class (no doubt about Josh Goldenbum, who I had pined for unrequitedly for the past two years) when finally the poor teacher snapped.
Something in Hebrew! she cried. I didn't understand her. I didn't speak Hebrew. Still, even I could interpret the intonation, and I figured from her vigorous pointing at the door that she wanted D and I to exit the room.
But that was not the act of rebellion.
You see, as we stood in the corridor outside the classroom, I noticed a gap above the door - a space of about five inches between the top of the frame and the ceiling.
And an idea came to me. A horrible, brilliant idea.
"Let's get some paper," I told my friend D. Several lockers in the hallway were open, and we pulled various bits of paper out and began scrunching them into balls.
"Here goes!" I cried, and I lobbed the first ball over the door frame.
I heard a titter from inside the classroom. Adrenalin surged through my body. This is what it feels like to be bad, I thought. D and I threw ball after ball of paper over the door. The laughter grew stronger. The Hebrew teacher kept teaching.
And then suddenly, it came. The sweetest sound I had yet heard in my short life.
I had hit the teacher on the head with one of my missiles.
It was a moment to cherish.
What happened after is irrelevant now. What matters is that I faced my inner demons and learned to be at one with my own darker urges.
For the record, though, I got put on detention. It was even more hot and boring than the stupid Hebrew class.