Don't Make Me Smile

One THERE ARE certain things that happen to you that you never forget. I'm not sure why that is. But I know it's true. For example, no matter how old I get, I'll never forget the first time I was in a school program. I was in the first-grade chorus. And since I was a very short first grader, I got to stand in the front row where everyone could see me. Boy, I really thought I was hot stuff, too. I stood up there and sang my guts out. I even used my hands the way the singers on television do. When it was all over, the audience started clapping like crazy. It made me feel great. I must have bowed about two hundred times. Even while we were walking back to the room, I was still bowing. I love going back to the room after a school program. You always get to horse around with the other kids until your parents come pick you up. The teacher tells you to calm down, but at night she doesn't really care. She only gets paid to keep you calm during the day. Pretty soon, I saw my mother hurrying in the door. She was walking so fast, my father couldn't keep up with her. I could tell she was pretty excited about my performance. Wow! I said to myself. I must have been even better than I thought. My mother looks like she wants my autograph or something! As soon as she spotted me, Mom ran over and bent down beside me. I closed my eyes and got ready for one of her big fat kisses. But instead, she leaned over and whispered, "Charles, your zipper was down." I looked down to see. And there, sticking out of my navy blue pants, was this big fat wad of underwear all bunched up in my zipper. All I could think of was how stupid I must have looked on stage in front of all those people! How can you look like a big singing star with a bunch of underwear hanging out of your pants? So I started to cry. Okay, I know that there are a lot of first graders who wouldn't have cared one bit. They would have just zipped up and forgotten all about it. But that's not the kind of kid I am. To me, underwear is real private stuff. I don't even like my cat to see me in it. After I fastened my zipper, I started yelling at my mother. Anytime you're upset, you're supposed to yell at your mother. They expect it. It's part of their job. "It's all your fault!" I said. "You're the one who made me so short." Mom tried to quiet me down. A couple of the other parents who had come in began to stare. Meanwhile, my father started looking around the room, pretending he didn't know me. "Shh!" said my mother. "You don't have to shout, Charlie. And besides, what in the world does being short have to do with your fly being down?" "Well, if you didn't make me so short, I would never have had to stand in the front row," I said. "And if I wasn't in the front row, no one would have seen that my zipper was down." I guess I shouldn't have been talking so loud. Benjamin Fowler's parents started to laugh. My father left the room and headed for the car. "Charles, please," said Mom as she hurried me out the door. "I'm sorry you're so upset about this. But I don't think it's fair to blame me just because you forgot to zip your fly." "And stop calling it my fly!" I yelled. Fly. Isn't that just about the stupidest name you've ever heard for a zipper? My parents finally took me home and put me to bed. Before my father turned out the light, he gave me a little talk on zippers. He told me that being caught with your zipper down is just part of wearing pants. He also told me I would get used to it. Well, he was wrong. I'm almost eleven years old now, and I'm still not used to it. My mother says it's because I'm too sensitive. Sensitive means that certain things bother you a lot more than they bother most people. For instance, whenever ouPark, Barbara is the author of 'Don't Make Me Smile' with ISBN 9780375815553 and ISBN 0375815554.