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One time, in fifth grade, I saw a glue stick. It was a classroom glue stick, and it was sitting in a little pot of pencils near the bathroom sign out sheet. I thought, "hey, I could use a glue stick." So I watched it. I watched that glue stick like it was a nice piece of ass crossing the street. About week after I had been watching this sexy glue stick, no one had claimed it so I decided to make my move. The time of the day had come when our class took the long journey to the library for library time. Right then I decided to jump the gun and do what my heat desired.  I don't remember much about how I ended up alone for those few seconds of blissful thievery; the exact moment is just a  blur now. Perhaps I had to place a lose item in a cubby or I had to "tie my Velcro shoe".  But all I do remember is everyone leaving and I being alone with that glue stick. It was glorious. I licked my lips and quickly smuggled the plastic tube filled with the sticky shit of childhood it into my pant pocket. "My overly trustworthy teacher will never suspect a thing" I thought as I caught up to my oblivious class in the hall. And she didn't. Because I was the master of innocence and glue stick stealing. No one would know of my crafty skill until I spilled the beans over a drunken campfire years later.

Just kidding. I'm 17 years sober, but the root beer was really getting to me that night as I sat around the fire with school mates. It was the Summer of seventh grade, two years after my crime. We sat around bullshitting and gossiping about the sluts and dip shits we knew. Ya know, middle school chatter. My two friends who were in the same fifth grade class as me were among the group. We were on the topic of elementary school; a world of innocent imagination all corrupted by a middle school life. I started to remember the day of my 'youth in revolt' action. I shared the details. Everyone laughed. I did as well because I'm fucking hilarious. Then my friends informed about the aftermath of my evil doings.

Apparently our teacher was really upset about the glue stick being gone. She just couldn't understand who would do such a thing. She had big plans for that glue stick and I shattered them with my greedy 10 year old ways. After hearing this, I felt some sort of sick pleasure in knowing I caused some chaos in my teachers world. Revisiting my past, I now know where it all went wrong.

It's been four years since that fire. Four years of shameful downhill spirals all because of the glue stick and the joy I felt in knowing I hurt another emotionally. I went back to that school and confessed my sins to the teacher. She didn't remember who I was. It makes sense that she would repress the memory of me and everyone in that class because she knew that one of us was the glue stick bandit.

This isn't the worst act ever committed by a child, but I do consider it one of the worst acts of my childhood next to that one time my green card was switched to yellow in the third grade. I don't remember what it was for, but I do remember the humiliation and guilt; two feelings I didn't have when I stole the glue stick. I'm worried that I am slowly losing my ability to see the difference between right and wrong. It's only a matter of time before I get the craving for helpless classroom office supplies once more. I just hope I can get help before then. Or do I?

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