Burning Desire For Attention

(One weekend my family and I are doing some grilling in the back yard; through a series of accidents I end up burning myself fairly badly on the wrist. It’s not serious enough to warrant a hospital stay, but the local EMO applied quite a bit of antiseptics and creams and wrapped it thoroughly. That Monday in school I get called to the guidance counselor’s office, and when I get there the counselor, the vice principal, and our Catholic school’s head priest are all waiting with anxious faces on.)

Me: “Um… I don’t know what I did, but it can’t possibly be this bad.”

Counselor: “You’re not in trouble, [My Name], but we do think we need to have a talk.”

Priest: “Have you been having troubles at home, son?”

Me: “Nnnnno?”

Vice-Principal: “What about at school? Your grades are fine; you’re not under too much pressure to maintain them are you? Or having trouble with other students?”

Me: “No more than average, I guess? What’s the deal here?”

Counselor: “Well, we’re not allowed to directly pry, but we just hoped to get some understanding why you would do something so… drastic.”

(I obviously must have looked as confused as I felt, when she nodded down towards my arm. At this point I burst out laughing and explained the situation, including pointing out that I had left the disinfectant cream and extra bandages with the nurse since it had to be kept cool and she had a mini-fridge for that. The vice-principal and the priest both breathed sighs of relief, but any time I passed the counselor in the halls or offices for the rest of the year she kept giving me looks.)