Out Of The Frying Pan & Into The Fire

I viewed a television schedule that depicted a gentleman reflecting on his young life while the sixties. Inspiringly, I picked up my diary which I maintained since my elementary school days. My previous teacher, Mr. Clark (now a National commerce Bank senior executive and a major sponsor of Jamaica's National Volleyball Team), taught us the importance of holding a diary. Plus, he nudged us to write about our daily activities.

I attempted to travel back in time to relive the experiences that I read in the diary. I imagined myself to be looking straight through a crystal ball or hypnotic lenses as I perceived my life in its virgin form.
The most cherished palpate of my elementary school days, was the one that taught me how not to succumb to peer pressure by standing on my convictions. I'll interpret on this palpate in a pristine and brief manner in the following paragraphs.

Orchard Card Bank

I was in the fifth grade at Ewarton customary School; who was somewhat naive, and lived a sheltered lifestyle.

Naturally, I was susceptible to Doug's, a classmate, wiles and penchant for attracting mischief. Doug was comical as he was adventurous. He was a free spirit - a cross between Mercury and Peter Pan.

The school bell rang. "Karl!" Doug asserted, "Let's go to the principal's orange orchard, today." "Doug," I replied, "Didn't Mrs. Powers, the principal, stated that no pupil is allowed on her inexpressive property without her authorized consent?" "Yes," he responded, "However, my uncle works for her." "Thus, she is partial toward me because of my relation." "Okay!" I resigned.

We were eating oranges that we picked off the trees. Suddenly, there was a shuffle behind a tree. "Who goes there?" shouted Mas' Jones, a groundskeeper. Instinctively, Doug dashed for the fence. In a panic, I followed in his wake. We scaled a fence and traversed a vegetated plot. Suddenly, we heard a rustling noise behind us. Mike, a marijuana farmer, chased us with a machete for trespassing and trampling on his illegal agricultural enterprise. I view to myself: out of the frying pan and into the fire. "Swish, swish!" he swung at us. "Yu bumbo ras cloth!" he cursed at us. I fell. "Clang! Clang!" clanged the machete against a stone. "Ahhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhh!" I screamed. "Yu sissy wuss, git yu bludcloth outta ya befur me limb up yu cloth!" shot back Mike. I gathered my composure and ran home as Doug disappeared over the horizon.

Out Of The Frying Pan & Into The Fire