A Pound of Flesh

I liked Fridays in grade school. We had specials like PE and Music and Art and often did funner things in regular classes.

One Friday in 1st grade, we had a competition. It was the great showdown of 1991, a chance for academic prowess to reign supreme. The class was divided into two teams: one was comprised of the boys and the other the girls.

We had a variety of fields, with questions ranging from 10 to 50 points. Titan that I was, I was confident in team XY's chances. We were lined up in single file and each side alternated taking choosing questions and values to answer. Whoever was at the front got to pick and had to answer alone, so teamwork wasn't an issue. When it got to my turn, I asked for a 50 point math question.

"Which weighs more: a pound of feathers or a pound of bricks?"

"Uh ... bricks?"

I walked back to the end of the line in shame, mostly at having failed myself, really. The next girl took my question and answered, "Bricks?"

The next few girls answered, "Bricks?" as well. Then a few of them answered, "Feathers?" I snickered since I had figured it out after a few more seconds of rational thought and here they were still tossing out bricks and feathers. I got my chance at redemption and finally answered correctly.

It was a good feeling this redemption. It beat the Hell out of being wrong; that's for damn sure.