Oh, The Humiliation!

Sometimes, an embarrassing or painful moment can be the richest source material for writers. This excerpt from Cody's memoir proves how true this is. The voice in this piece is exceptional; if you know Cody, you feel like you are listening to him tell it! OH, and by the way, the English class scene did not take place in English class, and I am not the teacher . . .


I poked my neck in the room and my English teacher shot a stern look back at me. That was quite the awkward moment. I walked in with my head hung low.

“You’re late.” The cold, harsh voice was one that always made me very nervous.

“I-I know” I stammered. “I slept through my alarm and I ran to try to get here in time.”

“I don’t need to hear your excuses. If you ran you would have been here on time. Have a seat.” I sat down and slowly sunk into my chair lower and lower. He spoke up again, “Today we will be learning grammar, and common mistakes that are made while trying to use it properly.”

He passed out worksheets to everybody and when he came to me he paused. He bent down and got closer to me. “You have a D- in my class Mr. Hutkin. Small things like being late are unacceptable.” I nodded.

As much as I would like to explain why I was late, apparently he didn’t want to hear my excuses. I didn’t like him. He was my least favorite teacher. So many words mixed in my head of what I wanted to reply. I filtered them and came out with; “Yes sir.” I somehow made it until the end of the day.

Later that night after I had finished my homework, I decided I needed to take my shower. It was about 9:00. I emptied my pockets and put the contents on my bed: a crumpled piece of paper, at least 7 pencils, and my phone. I pulled my pants down. But it’s okay, I had boxers on. I sat on my bed so I could get the pants off of my ankles when I felt a surging pain rush up to the right side of my butt. My legs sprung up and I saw blood all over them. I felt like I had mooned a javelin thrower. I turned around to see a pencil sticking straight out. Half of it was inside of my body. My mom walked past my door and did a double take. Who could blame her? She saw a thirteen year old boy, blood dripping down legs, in underwear, pants at ankles, and pencil in butt. She said something that blew my mind.

“Maybe if your room wasn’t so messy, that wouldn’t have happened.” I was expecting something like. “Are you okay?” or maybe, “Let me help you out.” Instead I get a comment on the style of my room.

Looking back I must admit it is humorous. Of course while it was happening it wasn’t. That same pencil is actually still on my nightstand. The nickname “princess” wore off after about a month. At night some people check for bugs, I check for pencils. I must say, that was one big splinter.