One day I had a mini-box of Whoppers as part of my afternoon snack and I was so excited that I showed them to her. She, in turn, gave me and Mom Z (who happened to be there for a “bring your Mom to school” day) a tongue-lashing about how terrible they are, how un-nutritious, and how unbelievable it was that anyone would send their kid to school with such a terrible snack. It was one day after Halloween. And I was 5.
What. A. Bitch.
Fast forward to 5th grade.
Through some awful twist of fate, Mrs. Moyle had been moved from kindergarten to 5th grade, so I had her a SECOND time. And she made my life hell for a SECOND time. Seriously, I was adorable, how could she hate me?
To give you an idea what I was dealing with, my dad’s nickname for her is “Tammy Faye Moyle.”[see below: The real Tammy Faye] As an adult, I have to agree. Eerily similar.
In 5th grade I had to take a bus to/from school. With a limited amount of buses, one bus driver dropped off kids who lived closest to the school, then ran back and picked up my group who lived farthest from the school.
Being on the second bus 6 was great because the teachers would all gather in the gym for bus duty and leave us in the classroom to wait for the bus’ return. Unsupervised.
For example, one year Cory B. — who was really into WWF wrestling — made a “ring” in the back of the classroom on the floor made of masking tape and all the guys would take turns wrestling.
One day, as we all sat around, Aaron, Donny, and John dared me to go into the bottom drawer of Mrs. Moyle’s filing cabinet where she kept a 3 lb. bag of flavored Tootsie Rolls (lemon, lime, vanilla, orange, and cherry).
These were reserved specifically as classroom treats. So when a kid got a 100 on a test or the whole class behaved really well for a substitute (note: we did not get Tootsie Rolls in 7th grade when some kids glued a sub to her chair), we were rewarded with candy. While writing this post I just realized the irony that she yelled at me for the lack of nutrition in Whoppers, and yet 4 years later handed out Tootsie Rolls as prizes.
Not one to back down from a challenge, but one who always plays it safe, I interviewed each of the last bus 6ers to make sure that if I did steal the candy, no one would tattle. And honestly, it was six mini Tootsie Rolls. Not like we’re changing the scores on our SATs.
As I passed the bag around and each kid took one Tootsie Roll, there was one person who refrained, Melissa.
A quiet, nerdy girl with a love for horses and ocean life, I had befriended Melissa a few years earlier. As the youngest of 3 kids with a 5- and 8-year gap between my siblings and I, I was desperate for a playmate my own age. Bonus points that she was a girl. So even though Harve was my best friend by choice, Melissa was my friend due to geographic location.
I grilled Melissa and she swore she wouldn’t tell. I believed her, as I was her only friend and she wouldn’t tell on her only friend…would she?
The next day after taking attendance, Mrs. Moyle laid into us. She was fire-breathing furious. I only remember snippets of her diatribe, something about her “trust being broken,” and then she recounted the previous afternoon’s theft from the last bus 6 and how “as a result of one person’s actions” the entire class would suffer. She theatrically handed over the bag of candy to the other 5th grade class (Miss Basham’s 5th grade class, you’re welcome).
Mrs. Moyle ordered the last bus 6 into the hallway and while we waited, I interrogated Melissa, already knowing she ratted me out. Turns out, Melissa did have one other friend — her mom. After school, Melissa told her mom what I had done and asked for her advice. Her mom, trying to instill good moral values rather than the golden bonds of friendship, said she should tell the teacher.
Back in the hallway, Mrs. Moyle once again lit into us, demanding an apology from the unnamed, erroneous thief. As a 10-year-old getting yelled at by a teacher, I have no doubt my face was red. A guilty shade of red. Mrs. Moyle knew I did it. I knew I did it. The rest of bus 6 knew it. But I held fast and refused to confess.
As punishment for ratting me out, I embraced my Irish heritage, swore I’d never forgive Melissa and mentally severed my friendship with her. I ignored her. I passed worksheets around her. I announced loudly that I was moving my desk away from “my former friend.”
Melissa, suddenly realizing she cut off her only friendship, started crying and ran out of the classroom and ran right into who else, but Mrs. Moyle.
Mrs. Moyle called me into the hallway. Then, very loudly, so all of 5th and 6th grades could hear, berated me for treating Melissa — who had only been doing the right thing — so awful. Mrs. Moyle loudly demanded an apology for Melissa, so I relented and apologized. Then, even louder and high on the fumes of her own power trip, she demanded her own apology, and I meekly apologized to Mrs. Moyle.
Little known fact, I abhor getting yelled at. Because when I get yelled at, my natural response is to cry. Or to say the meanest thing I can think of and verbally crush my opponent. But in 5th grade, I hadn’t perfected this technique. So I cried. And I blubbered out apologies to Mrs. Moyle, Melissa, all my classmates, my teachers, kids in other schools, I would’ve blurted apologies for anyone if Mrs. Moyle would let me go.
She did, eventually. After she forced me to hug Melissa and make up.
20 years later, I asked my mom if she knew about the great “Tootsie Roll Incident.” She said she vaguely remembered hearing about it from Melissa’s mom (yes, seriously, I was tattled on by both my friend AND her mother) and asked my dad if he could recall it. My dad had no knowledge of it, so seeing that 20 years had passed and I wouldn’t get grounded for it, I retold the story.
Unbeknownst to me, my parents were not fans of Tammy Faye Moyle either. In fact, my dad said, “Heidi, if I had known, I would’ve told you to eat half the bag of Tootsie Rolls. I hated that woman.”
Sidenote: My friendship with Melissa fizzled and we eventually stopped hanging out. I still harbor a child-size pocket of animosity for what she did. However, I am still best friends with Harve, who NEVER would’ve tattled on me.
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