“Let’s call Mr. Horn, Mr. Horny,” 10-year-old me suggested to my best friend. We were in line, about to make the afternoon march to the cafeteria.

I cackled, I’m sure, the same way I do now when I’m feeling silly, but my laugh was cut short by a booming voice behind, and way above, me.

“That’s not funny, Rebekah,” Mr. Horn scolded, and the disappointment on his face pierced me. I reddened with embarrassment. I’d obviously pissed him off, but I wished he would lighten up.

It wasn’t for a few years that I finally understood exactly what I had insinuated by simply adding a Y to my teacher’s name. It’s that same innocence and utter ignorance of the world that both failed me, and redeemed me, throughout that year.

I’m not sure how grades were calculated back then, but I know my unintentionally clever nickname didn’t help my case. Before 5th grade I was, effortlessly, a B and above student, but suddenly Ds were speckled across my report card. It was the first time my mom had to push me to do better in school.

I remember not wanting to care. Why did it matter if memorized every state and its capital? The struggle was real… especially in history and geography.

Towards the end of the year we had to write an essay about our “dream house.” I didn’t have a dream house; I had never dreamt of having a house or any of the things that come along with it.

My dad had returned from diving trip around that time, and had been editing video footage from his adventures through shipwrecks turned underwater habitats. My head was swimming with fish, sea turtles, eels, sharks, and rays.

I never really dreamt of living under the sea, but it seemed like an underwater house might be the kind of home that would live in a “dream.” And that’s the dream house I described in my essay.

Later on, in front of the entire school, Mr. Horn told me my essay was the best he’d ever read, and he handed me an award to prove it. I’d like to think he forgave this writer her wordplay.

The scale-like reflections in this photo sent a fish swimming through my imagination, and this was the 1st memory I stumbled upon.

 

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Artsy Reflections started out as the Photo and 100 Words project back in 2014 – find out why I started it and how it evolved.

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