Sarah Kishpaugh


I lived one block from the elementary school. Josh knew my parents were gone in the morning. Once, he stormed my house with a gang of other pimply 6th grade boys from the neighborhood. My best friend Erin and I were just hanging out watching cartoons when they busted in the door and went straight for my room. They rummaged through my drawers until they found my underwear drawer. Josh pulled out a pair of red Jockeys, size large for my butt. He stuffed them in his backpack and ran out the door. I chased him but he was faster than me.

The next morning before school, I saw my underwear strung up the top of the flagpole. The principal called all the parents and the boys and Erin and me were busted big-time. My teacher, a man named Dwight Coil, pulled me aside and said, “You know, this never would have happened if you hadn’t egged those boys on.” Something ignited inside. A layer of early-onset puberty sensitivity was peeled from my skin and I no longer cared if Josh thought I was the prettiest or coolest girl. At recess I tried to take him down, pulling at his pants leg until he fell into a puddle. When one of his lackeys read a report in front of class, I nudged everyone that the kid had a hard on and we all laughed.

Selected Works

Chicken Soup for the Soul
Bitch Magazine
Guest Blogs
Feminist Wednesday
The Writer in the World

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