The Who, What, When, Where, and How Paper

When I was in the second grade, my class was assigned a paper to write . . yes, this will lead somewhere, but I have to arrive at it through traveling back into the past.

As I said, when I was in the second grade, my class was assigned a paper to write.  The purpose of the paper assignment was to choose a future career and write a paper answering those five questions--who, what, when, where, and how.  The day papers were to be turned in we were required to dress in the uniform or clothing of our profession and read our paper aloud to the class.

I wanted to be a veterinarian.  I went around the house picking up clothing and accessories for my uniform.  I had a Fisher Price stethoscope, a white lab coat (or a white jacket that passed for one), and a giant stuffed Beagle puppy.  With that one step complete, I moved to the paper or what I thought a paper was.  I remember that I felt like I knew what the objectives of the paper were.  In my mind, they were just answering the questions, and this is, my friends, the pivotal moment when the writing process went horribly wrong.

I took out my Trapper Keeper, got out a loose leaf sheet of lined, notebook paper, and wrote with no. 2 pencil:

1.  Who?
2.  What?
3   When?
4.  Where?
5.  How?

Then, I answered those questions:

1.  Who?  Veterinarian. . .
2.  What?  Animal doctor. . .
3.  When?  When I'm grown. .  .
4.  Where?  Florence, SC. . .
5.  How?  With doctor stuff. . .

Paper done!

I'm taking a poetic license with the answers, but my memory is still pretty fresh to the point I think I'm spot on.

The day our presentations came I was dressed up in character with my dog in arms, stethoscope around my neck, and lab coat buttoned all the way up.  I was proud of my costume.  I felt good.

Then, each student was called up to the front of the classroom to read their paper aloud.  Mrs. Starks went in alphabetical order, which meant I would go after John Ulmer.  The first student went to the front of the classroom and began reading a paper that had full sentences that were fully developed.  I realized right then and there that my paper was no paper at all!  It was one word or, at most, three word fragments.  For Pete's sake, I had numbered my questions and answers.  I realized I had gotten it all wrong.  All the blood rushed into my hot face and I heard a noise in my ears that sounded like I was holding a conch shell to them.  As the students went one after the other, I felt sicker and sicker, more and more desperate for some sort of escape from it all.  A rock to crawl under, a bed to pull the covers over my head, a hole to fall down. 

So far everyone else had followed the assignment.  I was the only one who had messed up.  My last hope was that John Ulmer had messed up like me, and we could share in the humiliation.

Then, John Ulmer went up, and he, of course, had written a paper, too.  He had, unfortunately for me, followed the assignment.  I was next.  My heart was beating so hard it could've broken a rib.  The conch shell sound was still whirring. I heard my name, and I had to get up and get it over with.  The students who were listening wrinkled their brows and looked from one to the other.  I had to suffer through the humiliation.  At seven, I felt humiliation, I felt dumb, and slow. 

I didn't know how to write a paper.  I clearly didn't even know what a paper was.

Now, I arrive at my point in sharing this story of childhood humiliation.  Today, at my internship, I felt that same feeling.  I was second grade me or reduced to second grade me.  I wished for a rock, a bed, or a hole.