It was the end of the summer, beggining of the fall, 1991. I had been moved to PS 21 in Riverdale the year before and attended Kindergarden there. First grade, however, was to be completed at S.A.R, the local Yeshiva, also in Riverdale. I was a wee little Avi, playing with my X-Men action figures, picking my nose, collecting baseball cards even though all I could read was, perhaps, the players first name. Trivial things mattered then. Trivial things, I was taught, god cared about. God cared about whatever I cared about. If I was upset about not being picked for football during reases, god was upset. Trivial things mattered. The first day of first grade, again the end of the summer, the beggining of the fall, I remember, as vaguely as anyone remembers their childhood, talking to a girl outside of our school. She was in first grade too. I can't say I really remember this but I think I do. Anyway, upon entering my class room, I put my knapsack, backpack, whatever you call it, on the floor next to my chair. The very same girl who I had been talking to outside, tripped over my bag and blammed me. The first time, I doubt the teachers thought I did it intentionally. But when the same, swear by god, unintentional event occurd the very next day, and the day following, I was blamed, officially for this crime. Was it my fault this girl kept on tripping on my fucking bag? That year, I developed a crush on that girl. That crush lasted four years. Anyway...

That is my life.