I remember when I was young, and the world held endless possibilities. When I could hold up a tree branch and feel Herculean. When I would ride a bicycle with no hands, and I would fly. When each new experience held for me wonder, and hope, and awe. And I remember thinking how good it could all be someday.

And then I remember the night it all shattered. Surely this was not the exact night. And certainly there is no single event that caused the hope and confidence to flee. But I vividly remember the night it dawned on me that maybe my childhood optimism was a hoax. A put on by some evil force...or maybe God.

It was Halloween my freshman year of high school. I sat in the office/study of my mother's house and watched the hopeful children, dressed as their heroes or their villains, approach our door. They would ring the doorbell. I would get up slowly, grab the bowl of candy, put on my best smile and tell them to take all the candy they desired. Their eyes lighting up only made me feel more dejected, more alone.

Why is it, when I am wallowing in a scared and lonely world, that I always pull out my best face costume? The costume with the charismatic smile and the witty laugh, and I try my best to make those around me feel important, loved and, most importantly, like they are getting away with something. There is nothing more satisfying than making someone feel like they are getting away with something. There exists in these eyes a certain sparkle of the harmless thief. The quick, dirty word. The stolen inappropriate glance. It is these times, when we are supposedly at our worst, that I think the best and most powerful sides of our personalities come out. It is not my good deeds that define me. My good deeds are shallow and self centered. It is, rather, my hidden longings, my too sharp tongue, my willingness to step to that line, the proverbial line, and then to step over it in a spirit of defiance. This is personality.

I am not speaking of evil. Instead I speak of the satisfaction of the harmless outburst of spirit, the naughtiness of the little boy and girl playing doctor, the insatiable curiosity of the young that drives them to do those things which push the line. These are the indiscretions I am speaking of. These are the moments I most enjoy. Because these moments, more than any other, offer up the limitless possibilities of human nature. They scream of the great creatures we have been made into. Any slightly wrong deed that can be immediately disarmed with a shy and cunning smile is, in my book, not a wrong deed at all, but an outpouring of the insatiable spirit of the creator in all of us. It is these deeds that keep me alive.

Watch a five year old child, convince them they're getting away with something small, and see the world of possibility light up in their eyes.

While bluebear's writeup describes something that is undescribable and very well written, my writeup will have no relation to it. This writeup, however, does have something to do with innappropriate glances.

I remember in grade 2, I had just switched schools and a big change had happened. A lot of things that my new school had taught, my old school hadn't even covered. After school, my teacher, Liselle (IIRC), had a little talk with me, because I wasn't performing well:

    Liselle: "As-tu appris l'addition et la soustraction?"
    Have you learned addition and subtraction?

    me (acting nervously): "Non, chu nouveau."
    No, I'm new.

    Since I was kept after class and was not doing well at school, I was very nervous and did not know where to look. My eyes wandered, but they stopped somewhere they shouldn't have: her cleavage.

    Liselle: "melo, il faut que tu travailles plus fort."
    melo, you must work harder (while slowly moving her hands to cover her cleavage).

    My trance broke off as soon as I saw her hands obstructing my inappropriate glance.

"melo, il faut que je travaille plus fort..."

"il faut que je travaille plus fort..."


It was extremely embarassing the following years when I'd see her in the hallway, at assemblies and in the school yard.

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