I searched ‘#odysseyonline’ the other day just to see what the twitterverse thought of this online publication that I currently write for, and that you are currently reading. One tweeter tweeted, “Every time a freshman girl writes an #odysseyonline article, a bunny dies.” Another I read, “I’m so over the open letters from #odysseyonline.” Third: “Hello the Odyssey Online is GARBAGE please misspell more words and give more irrelevant advice from unwise writers.” Well, Ann, please stop using comma splices. And the last negative one I’ll share read, “my only new years resolution is to become a hacker so I can destroy the odyssey online from the inside out. You’re welcome.” That one got 26 favorites and 3 retweets. It’s hard out there for a writer on Odyssey, it appears. Then I read positives. Such as, “My article made the front page of the odyssey online!” and “So excited to start writing for the odyssey online J” and lastly, “Your wcw writes for the Odyssey Online.” I’m guessing that’s from a frat god. (Side note, wcw stands for Woman Crush Wednesday, Mom.)

After reading these tweets, I noticed there were lots more negatives than positives. People seemed to be over “open letters” and “Top 10” lists and the publication as a whole. So, with that, I think it’s time to revamp the traditional “Odyssey Online” articles that those are used to. Here are the top 5 life lessons that I’ve learned in my 26 years. Surely, a bunny won’t die when you guys read these.

1.You always remember your firsts.

How ironic that that’s my first one, eh. But seriously, everyone remembers their firsts. Your first accident. Your first day of school wearing your new outfit and purposely breaking your pencil lead so you can get up and resharpen it, and show of your fly Aeropostale outfit off in front of Tom. That wasn’t directly related to me or anything. You remember your first kiss. Your first panic attack. Your first date. Your first speeding ticket. Your first night being away from home. You catch my drift. So, I’ll begin by sharing one of my firsts.

*insert another day-dreamy noise*

I was in 10^th grade. I had the best biology teacher, Mrs. Gatlin. She was the reason I loved biology. I remember after the first nine weeks of sophomore year, our progress reports were passed out, and she offered a bonus to the class. If we were to return them the following day signed by a parent, we would get five points of extra credit.

Now, five points might not seem like a lot; however, to a perfectionist always wanting to get a 100 in every class, this was striking gold. It would be a no-brainer not to get this signed and returned.

But y’all know me. Besides being an absolute perfectionist, I’m also scattered and absent minded. This resulted in forgetting to get mine signed. I left it in my backpack when I got home, so the next day when she asked us to pass ours forward, mine was lacking a signature.

I panicked. I needed those five points like a fish needs the water. I needed them like Katniss needed that bow and arrow. I needed them like Hillary needed Florida. I needed them like… Okay.. you get my point.

So, the girl sitting next to me offered the perfect solution. Forge it.

“Girl, I do it all the time. You’ll be okay,” she says.

With my always wanting to win mentality, I decided to listen to Kristina, and go for it. I never forged a day in my life. Forgers were bad people. That was my mindset. But instead of going with my gut, I thought, “Hmm. Which parent has the most illegible handwriting that I could copy?” And then I pulled out my pen, signed, “B Tarr” as sloppily as I could, and passed that progress report on its way, dreaming of a perfect 100 in biology.

The following day at the beginning of biology class, Mrs. Gatlin calmed the class down from just having lunch.

“I appreciate those who got signatures from their parents. You all got five points. However; I’m disappointed in some of you, because I know you signed for your parents. That’s not being very honest,” she says, then begins her lecture.

My neck felt warm, my face turned red, my pencil slipped out of my hand. I was caught red-handed, well sweaty-handed in this case.

The whole lecture, instead of thinking about the mitochondria processing ATP, I thought of how shitty of a person I was. And It’s not like my grade was bad in biology. It was a 99. I just honestly forgot to get it signed.

Now I feel like Mrs. Gatlin is singling me out. I just know she knows I forged. I just know it. All I can think about is how bad of a person I am. I start tearing up.

“Girl, what is wrong with you,” Kristina whispers.

“I know she knows it’s me. I feel terrible. I’m gonna talk to her after class,” I whisper back.

“No, don’t do that! We all forged, girl! You’re okay,” she reassures me.

One thing I know about myself, and you all should know by now is how little I listen to others. Once my mind is made up, it’s made up. I like making my own decisions. I knew right then, when my notepaper became blurry from the silent tears, that I was going to tell on myself. I was gonna do it.

And sure enough, I did. As lecture ended, I straggled behind. I was sweating through my too-tight Abercrombie shirt.

“Hey, Mrs. Gatlin, can I talk to you?” I start out.

“Sure, Lisa, what’s going on?” she replies.

“Well, I just wanted to let you know that I forged my dad’s signature on my progress report. I am very sorry, I just wanted the five extra points. I feel terrible so I wanted to let you know,” pours out.

She stares at me for a good five seconds.

I’m trembling. And sweating more through my Abercrombie shirt. That’s the day I vowed to never wear a tight grey shirt again.

“Lisa, I’m glad you shared that with me and felt compelled to be honest and own up to your mistake. However, I didn’t even know yours was forged. I wasn’t referring to you,” she tells me.

“Several of your classmates, and I know who, wrote their parents name themselves,” she adds in.

“Well, I’m sorry, Mrs. Gatlin, it won’t happen again,” I tell her, and throw my hot pink L.L.Bean backpack on my shoulders.

Now all I can think about is poor Kristina.

The point I’m trying to make here is remember these firsts for the future. And remember how you felt in your situation. Did you feel good? Did you feel bad? Did you feel shitty? Did you feel sweaty? Take your memory from your firsts and apply it to your seconds and thirds and one hundredths so that you can avoid any more of these situations, or if it was a positive experience, you can have more of them.

I know throughout my life several other instances have popped up where I could forge something. Sure, the second time around, you don’t feel as guilty, because it’s easier to do. You’ve done it before. But I have to remember my sweaty palms, warm neck and stained Abercrombie shirt. It helps me make the decision not to forge. It didn’t feel good. Moral of the story, don’t do something bad to try to get a good result. Because you’ll just feel bad and tell on yourself. Or maybe you won’t tell on yourself, but you’ll still feel bad.

No one remembers the second time they did something. No one remembers second place. This forgery can be substituted for everything. Deciding to eat that spicy taco bell chalupa that gave you diarrhea. Deciding to take your cheating ex back. Deciding to ride that rollercoaster even though it made you throw up. Or even deciding to go on a second date when the first one was a blast.

So, when there’s a fork in the road and a decision to make, think of your firsts, and the decision should be easy. I know mine was.

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