Have the old scars in your life completely healed? Still healing, or far from healing? Do you see yourself getting worked up when the thought of a particular incident rears its obnoxious head?

The truth is, unless you take action, there will always be a negative or positive reaction. Many times, it is therapeutic to delve into the archives of your life and excavate one or more torturous experiences for the purpose of re-examination and permanent closure. This is why, after more than 34 years, I am riding back to my high school days to open an incredible can of stinky worms.

In Form 4 (high school), I was the treasurer of my school’s Literary and Debating Society. Our annual party was held on a Saturday, and it was a huge success. I was scheduled to meet with the president, vice president, and secretary of the Literary and Debating Society the following Sunday to go over finances and other matters. It was supposed to be a brief meeting. A popular student, Gabriel E., was the president. Akindele was most likely the vice president, or the third guy, whose name and face I cannot recall. They were all senior male students.

The following Sunday at about 8pm, I climbed the staircase to their Upper Six classroom. I didn’t know I was climbing up to a life-changing event. There were students reading in the classroom, and one particular guy sat behind the teacher’s table with his eyes and ears supposedly buried in his books. In the corner of the classroom, a few feet from the teacher’s desk, was a small storage room called a cubicle. It existed in certain classrooms in the school. This particular one was transformed into a reading oasis with two desks and chairs. It was here that one of the officials ushered me for our meeting so we wouldn’t distract those who were reading. I sat on a chair by the door. The guys sat behind the desks. Our meeting was over in less than 20 minutes. I showed them the financial log, we discussed a thing or two, and it was time for me to go back to my hostel before lights out. I walked out of the cubicle into the classroom and caught the sneaky eyes of that same student behind the teacher’s desk. I dismissed his gaze and went my way.

Five days later, on a beautiful Friday morning, I was greeted by warnings from some students about my name gracing a very damaging headline on the Press Club notice board. (Back then, Press Club was a group of faceless students who wrote about disorderly students. They backed their tales with despicable caricatures and stories of their subject. Sometimes, they used their cowardly pens to fabricate and settle personal vendettas against other students. They didn’t report to a higher authority, hence the occasional abuse of their freedom of written expression.)

I was wondering what they were talking about until I stood face to face with the notice board and saw in bold letters: “Did Esohe Oyairo [my maiden name] taste the Forbidden Fruit? Check for full details on Monday morning.” I was frozen in shock. What? How? Who? Why? Is this a bad dream? What is going on? “Forbidden Fruit?” These questions kept echoing in my mind. I was dizzy with confusion. Unrestrained tears began flowing. I knew my life in school would never be the same again. Throughout that weekend, I begged the ground to open and swallow me. It declined. At the same time, I kept looking for anyone who knew at least one of the faceless members of the Press Club. My efforts proved futile.

- Continue reading at: http://www.mannaexpressonline.com/did-i-really-taste-the-forbidden-fruit-as-alleged-34-years-ago/#sthash.g2GyhQ3B.dpuf

So you sucked a dick 34 years ago

If I click the link make my hand twist 360 degrees