5th Grade Reality

I felt like I should start of my posting career with not only a fitting post, but also a strange one. The events that happened here seem surreal (and you weren't even there), but let me make a disclaimer: Everything here has only been slightly twisted. 2nd Disclaimer: This is all true. Let's begin.
It was my third or fourth week volunteering at the local elementary where I, with little disregard for my pride or (as we learned the first week, due to indescribeable violence from 1st graders) person, volunteer on a weekly basis. The idea here is to help underpriviledged children gain a friend, comrade, brother in arms (what have you). It works, and not only that, but it gives you a chance to show off your incredible superpowers. Mine is Wisdom. It is always capitalized because it is different than the kind that you see Gandalf, Yoda, or your Uncle Jim use when they tell you to avoid Saruman, Vader, or your Aunt Sonja. My Wisdom is the kind that pierces all around it to the core, making some cry out of joy, others writhe in pain, and some simply turn into dust (usually red-heads, although I am suspicious that this is their hair colored people's own superpower. Weak, I know). Another part of my power is that I do not know when it is going to peek its glimmering white head of enlightenment out of the dark holes of ignorance. This story follows suit, and goes like this:
A young boy, of who's name I still am not sure of, runs up to me, and as 1st graders are want to do, slams his head on into my groin region, leaving me temporarily incapacitated. As I regain my feet and dignity, he screams at me in his loudest tone, (as young males are want to do) "HE STOLE MY PENCIL!!" IT'S MINE!!! --pointing to another young boy, who held in his hand a pencil victoriously.
A large and rather boistrous brawl ensued, with all of my 36 1st graders, and half of Brandon Trent's class of kindergartners hitting, kicking, biting, and fighting over which of the two boys pencil it was. I will give Boy 1 (the accuser) the title of Brutus, and Boy 2 (the one holding the pencil) the name Gerald, king of the Regals.
At first I wanted to treat this like I know we do now, as adults, and college students with little money: ask simply to borrow the pencil, wait until the boy forgets, and take it home with me, adding to my collection of "borrowed" pencils, mostly from physics class, which seems to take up about 30 led cartriges of 40 normal pencils each day, due to the cruel amount of writing we endure. I also, in my Wisdom, noted how silly of an argument this was. It was a mechanical pencil; fourty cents would cover the cost of 40 of them. However, I was bound and determined, in my wisdom, to find the true owner of said pencil, and thus begins the true display of my Wisdom.
I first had to endure each side's story: Brutus's, that his mother had bought him his pencil for school (filthy lies, or truth, from the mouth of a babe?) and Gerald, King of the Regals', that it was indeed his, and that the other kid's mother was "lame". There was another annoying child, who I will fondly refer to as "The Neusance", who backed up Gerald, King of the Regals, like the next 15 years of his lunch money depended on it.
Now, I want to say that anyone who, after perusing the next paragraph, disputes it (and anyone who has seen my Wisdom won't) can direct their questions to Brandon, who will, as true friends do(even though he's starting to sicken of me), tell you of the truthfulness of my account. Without thought, I asked for the pencil. They handed it over, and I said softly and thickly, much like Hugh Jackman does whenever he talks to his wife in an excellent movie, recommended by M.L. to the masses, "The Prestige", I said in the aforementioned tone, "I'll just snap this pencil in half and give you each a half."
--This might seem all too surreal for many of you to believe--"His WISDOM!" you are thinking. Please, continue to read--
Gerald, King of the Regals, kicked me in the groin, "Yes! Please do!", while Brutus proceeded to whimper, (much like Hugh Jackman's wife does when he speaks to her in a certain tone in an excellent movie, recommended by M.L. to the masses, "The Prestige"). I regained my composure, footing, and dignity, and handed Brutus his pencil. Gasping, "here, boy, take it. It is yours. Keep it safe, Keep it secret." He ran off happily, Gerald and his henchman took off after him, with a young, endearing malice in their eyes, and all lived happily ever after. I can't wait to return.
Those of you that haven't turned to dust, or who can see through their tears, check back next week for my story about meeting the alien, and more stories of Matt's Wisdom. And on an unrelated note, if you can write a theme song, I know someone who needs one written about Wisdom and superhero greatness.