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THAT’S BARRIO: 3rd Grade Cheater

March 29, 2011

When I was little, I had to pass my 3rd grade math test or I was gonna flunk and get my a$$ whooped by my father because he always wanted me to do better than him.

My father got as far as the first grade so I was already better than him and felt I should’a been whoopin’ his a$$ every time he flunked his smog test.

It didn’t work that way so I wrote down all the plus and minus answers on my palms and walked in my classroom.

My teacher looked up, “Hey, Corona, you’re early.  Ready to ace my test?  High-five.”

He raised his hand.

I swallowed…hard, “High-fives are old.  Fist-bump.”

He agreed, we fist-bumped.

He suddenly lost his smile, “What’s that on the back of your hands?”

I shoved my hands in my pockets because I couldn’t fit all the answers on my little palms so I took the liberty to write the rest of the answers on the back of my hands.

“Uh, their tattoos.”

“Of what?”

“Of uh – test answers.  That’s my way of keeping it gangsta’.  It’s me telling authority figures to F-off.  Not you of course.”

My teacher scowled, “Lemme see.”

I slowly pulled out my hands and held them out.

He examined the answers all over my hands closely…really closely.

He lowered them, “They’re all wrong.  Sit down and take my test.”

I happily sat down and smiled for the rest of the day until I got home and my father asked me how my test went…then I lost my smile.


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