The Plastic Baby

So way back in my freshman year in high school I had a class called, Life Connections. My friends and I thought it was gonna be some easy class, so we all signed up for it in the same period, sixth period. The class ended up being really easy. The purpose of this class was to get us ready for the "real world" after high school. It didn't. They taught us some basic cooking techniques, tips for job interviews (they obviously didn't foresee this economic crisis we are in now, haha), and other random things.

It was about three quarters the way into to the year and got to the section of the class about raising a baby. We have all heard about the class where the students got to take home a plastic baby for a day or over the weekend if they wanted to gain some extra credit. This was that class. These plastic babies where programmed to start crying at random times to represent if it was hungry or had to have it's diaper changed. It came with a key to insert into it's back for a certain amount of time until it stopped crying. This was that class. I did not mind taking home a plastic baby for one night. I mean, how tough could it be?

Well the day had finally came for my turn to take home a plastic baby. I was pretty stoked on the idea because I had some friends do it in the day prior to mine and they said it was a piece of cake. The teacher called my name and I went up to her desk to get one of those plastic babies so she can program it and show me what I had to do if it starts to cry. She asked me what race did I want the plastic baby to be. So I decided to go with the mixed race baby, because my friend Latice, who is black, said she wanted to act like it was our baby for a joke. I was ok with that and got the mixed plastic baby.

The bell finally rings and I grab the plastic baby and the baby carrier that comes with it and head to the locker rooms. I was on the baseball team my freshman year and was required to bring to baby everywhere. So I brought it with me to the game. While I was on the field or at bat my teammates would through baseballs at it and that would make it cry. My coaches started to get very annoyed at it. I was having a shitty game and I stroke out a couple of times that game. It was about the fifth inning and my team was out on the field. I was playing first base and there was a simple ground ball hit to the third baseman. He fielded the with and attempted to throw the ball to me. It was a horrible throw and it hit the ground and went over my glove and hit me in my upper lip.

I was a bit stunned but managed to run to the ball and throw it back to the pitcher. Everyone was giving me this look of shock. I had know idea what they where looking at until I looked down at my jersey. It was covered and blood and I was forced to stop playing because of the blood on my jersey. I got really upset when they told me this because I was next up at bat the next time we went in. Just to remind you, the plastic baby I was supposed to be taking care of was still in the dugout. The sports doctor at my school told I needed to go to the hospital and get stitches for my lip. My mom drove across town and picked me and plastic baby up.

The bleeding was finally starting to slow about a block away from ER and the plastic baby was sitting peacefully in the back seat of the truck. We pull into a parking spot and get out. My mom asked me if I wanted to take the plastic baby into the hospital. I was like, "Are you kidding me? I'm not taking that thing in with us." So I just left it in the truck. Bad Idea.

I get done at the hospital and go back to the truck and see the plastic baby the way I left it when I went in. My mom and I go back home and I fall asleep on my parents couch. That damn plastic baby woke me up at two in the morning. I fumbled around in my bag and found the key to make it shut up the hell up. I fall back asleep. Only to woken up again at five to my parents squeezing the plastic baby's head to make it look like an alien. I just stopped caring at that point and wanted to take that fucking thing back to my class.

I get to school and go up to the class and explain what happened to my face. She seemed very sympathetic. I gave her the plastic baby and she pulled to little computer thing out of it's back and plugs it in the computer. She reads off the data. Apparently it cried for a total of four and half hours, or something along those lines, and had like eight head traumas. I thought my teacher was gonna me a break considering I was in the hospital for about four hours. She didn't give a fuck about my story. I told her that I was bleeding from my face and had to get stitches, so I left the plastic baby in my mom's truck. She asked me, "What if it was a "real" baby?" My jaw just fell to the ground. What if it was a "real" baby?! WHAT IF IT WAS A "REAL" BABY?!!!! FUCK YOU!!! I WAS BLEEDING IN THE FACE!!! I actually didn't say that, but i definitely thought it. I kept on begging her to give me another chance and she just kept on saying that I fail that assignment. I left that room that morning with my head down. Oh well I still got high that morning and went on with my day like nothing happened. Haha.

This was my experience with that fucking plastic baby.