Marshall is the Only Thing that Mathers: Lessons of Elementary School

When I was in third grade, I found religion.

Well. Kind of.

My older sis brought a CD home one day - "The Eminem Show" - and explained how cool - how popular, rather - it made her. This was news, as the both of us personified the textbook social pariah - we were weird, or something. And kids made sure we knew it.

"Eminem?" I wondered. "Who names themselves after candy?"

Slim Shady did, apparently. Cannibalism, at its prime.

"Duh, stupid idiot! It's spelled differently!" Scoffed my sister. She loved to remind me who was boss; she had a ball making me feel even smaller than she did (I'd assume). A talent amplified by her superior intellect, which isolates her to this day. Back then she could do as she pleased, and I'd readily adapt. She was many thing, but predominantly, she was there. And I adored her for it.

She told me everyone had or knew this music. This Eminem band.

I listened till I could recite every track, verbatim. Captivated instantly.

The very next day, I came to school, ratty and grimy looking as ever (my mother hadn't taught me any different - for, I suppose, she had looked my way but saw only herself. Thus, I frequented the principal's office those days, teacher sent me from class every morning for disrespecting the environment.

Apparently, looking homeless isn't  acceptable - even if you're 9.

Anyways. At least I got to miss class.

Nobody would play with me those days. I had just one friend for all those years. They'd kick me and spit on me, lock me out in the snow, call me Spider.

Typical grade school semantics.

However, that CD was a game changer, I anticipated. Things were different. I knew about Eminem, and since my sister's peers were obsessed, mine would soon be, too. Thus, they'd finally play with me, wouldn't they?

Those were my expectations.

But. Conclusions drawn by a 9-year-old aren't exactly conclusive, it turns out. I approached a handful of children during recess. And promptly, terrified them.

Estatic, I exclaimed, "I'm going to hell! Who's coming with me?!"

I was beaming. For a couple seconds. And then Everyone ran, screaming and crying, yelling back at me with the appropriate intonations for a sewer rat.

I didn't understand why. Baffled nobody percieved my announcement as hysterical. And brilliant.

Yet, I got what I wanted, I suppose. Invisibility negated by taboos and vulnerability; I, the Satan freak, finally became interesting. Interesting enough to be picked on, and bullied.

It was an upgrade at the time.

Though, I had yet to understand why it'd occurred; the quote was hilarious to me. God meant nothing to me - "insulting" the lord, what did that even mean?

How would I know?

Alone, again, I snuck behind a tree and wrote all the lyrics I could recall - it was all okay, cause soon, I'd be home.

And home meant Eminem. Someone I could count on to be there. No matter what.

Funny how those same kids arrived at high school, and learned what a real bully can do. Bullies who never messed with me once, and never would. It's unwise to provoke a bee, you see - especially the queen of the hive. ;)

And laugh it up, but Shady is forever my religion.