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..: Mired by Baseless Accusations
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When I was in the 3rd grade, my mom signed me up to take accordion classes. The classes were at night, in Downey or somewhere, and the smell of the place reminded me of those old churches, and the white overpainted walls of the room us seven kids met in reminded me of those old Sunday school classes that went too long and smelled real bad with bad visuals that I wished I never had to be there for. I even had my own rental accordion , one that i took home and that had a very heavy velvet lined white case that preserved this powerful odor within. i never practiced it, and i couldn't follow along in class. i thought i didn't have the coordination. On my own at home, I couldn't remember what the teacher had shown us there in class. he'd always move too fast. so i'd go to class, feeling behind, and not knowing what questions i was supposed to ask, just knowing that i must look foolish, hoping nobody would notice that i wasn't playing correctly, if at all. as incentive to practice, the teacher would pass out candy to the kids that did their practice correctly. one evening, i was thrilled because i had somehow managed to fufill the requirement, not look so much like a fool, and win a candy prize. so i got in line with all the other kids, and chose my trophy, a Butterfinger bar. i was very happy. but when i showed it to my mom, she said "i don't think you were supposed to take that. i don't think you met the requirement." but it was too late, we were already driving home, and i couldn't defend myself because i couldn't remember what the requirements were. and so the next week i went to class, totally embarrased because i had taken a prize when i shouldn't have. i didn't deserve it, said my mom, and so i was the thief that took away from their glory. they had practiced correctly, after all, and i did not. they must have known what my mom knew. in the end, the Butterfinger was bigger than i had expected, and tasted pretty awful.
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