My Visit To My Dad's (2002)

Hey :D

Look what I found from 2002.  Sorry that the scanned copy of it is so crappy... it certainly has nothing to do with the quality of the artwork.  Also, you may need a magnifying glass. Enjoy.

Dentists, For Realsies.

Today I went to the dentist.

This is what I expected going in:

This is real life:

The end.

Stephen Coppola

Every day in first grade my mother would lovingly pack juice, a diagonally-cut sandwich, and several snacks in a brown paper bag for me to take to school.  Around 10:00 each morning I would pull out one of my treats for snack-time and eat with my fellow classmates.

One day, I was particularly excited for snack-time because I knew that my mother had packed the hostess chocolate cupcakes which I had begged her to purchase for me the day before.  All morning I daydreamed of the moment when I would finally pull out the heavenly treats in all of their glory; I imagined the look on each of the faces of my less fortunate classmates when they realized that my snack was topped with choclate icing and filled with frosting and joy. 

When our teacher finally announced it was snack-time, I sprinted to my backpack to reveal my chocolate goodies.  Unfortunately, the journey from my house to the school had been rough that morning (I decided to drag my bag behind me rather than wear it on my back) and my precious cakes were slightly squished; frosting stuck to the wrapper, cream oozing out of the sides. 

Earlier that morning...

The state of the cakes was, of course, not going to stop me from enjoying every bit of them. Just as I began licking the wrapper; however, a very squeaky and high-pitched "EEEEEEWWWWW!!!" abruptly ended my enjoyment. I looked up to a young boy with his finger pointing directly at me and a look of disgust on his face. His name was Steven Coppola, and from then on, he would be my nemesis. 


"Look at Jaimie, she is so GROSS!!!" he continued, beckoning for others to stare and laugh at the scene until my teacher finally came over to quiet him down.  It was too late though, the damage had been done.  With my eyes welled up with tears and my face red with shame, I hung my head low and stared blankly down at my sticky fingers.  


Then I threw out my cupcake. 


When I went home that afternoon I told my mother I never wanted her to pack another cupcake for me again because I hated them and then I ran upstairs.  Once in the safety of my own bedroom, I grabbed my diary and poured my emotions out onto its rainbow-colored pages.  The humiliation felt earlier that day had turned into rage, and from that, a clever new nickname I had thought up for my newfound enemy: "Step-Hen the Hen."

See how I brilliantly split up the spelling of his name to make fun of him? Even as a six-year-old there was evidence of my ingenuity.

Now, I should point out that, up until then, I had been using all my wishes for two ferrets which I had planned to name Honky and Stinky. My uncle larry kept two of them illegally in his basement and, although I only caught a few glimpses of them (the lights never worked and I was always too afraid to go down there), I liked to listen to them from the top of the stairwell.  I imagined them as cuddly creatures who wanted to be my friends; playing freeze tag with me by day and cuddling with me at night. 

That Said, I owed it to myself to put that dream aside and get some serious revenge on Stephen Coppola.  After the cupcake incident, I took every opportunity to wish that  something horrible would happen to him.  It’s important to note, however, that I was humane enough to ask for something horrible, BUT NOT DEATH.  I had my limits.  

And then it happened.  In 5^th Grade, a teary-eyed Stephen Coppola announced to the class that his family was picking up and moving to North Carolina. His dad was being transferred and he had to leave all of his friends!  Four years of wishing had finally paid off.  

Now, I’d like to say that I was grown up enough to feel a little remorse for what I had done; that I hugged him good-bye and told him good luck on his last day.  However, this was not the case.  Instead, I ran home and celebrated that my wishing had paid off and was also pretty excited to start wishing for Honky and Stinky again.  Life was good.


Years have passed by and, with the invention of social networks, we’re now “friends” in cyberspace. I’ve cleared the air (he claims to have no idea how horrible he was as a child), and even accepted his apology (let’s face it, I got even when I wished him away to NC).  Although I cannot confirm, I imagine he eventually hit puberty and lost the squeaky, high-pitched voice that caused so much emotional turmoil during my childhood.  (Truth be told, it's still all I can hear when I view his 28-year-old Facebook picture.)

I never did adopt Honky and Stinky.  After finding out my younger sister was allergic to them, I was too afraid that my supernatural wishing powers would somehow kill her off in order for me to obtain the furry pets.  (You're welcome, Molly). Thanks to Stephen, I learned how to be more responsible with power.

The End.