I hate those kind of memories. Hopefully my little experience can put some sugar on top:
Third grade; Early May; Project: clay vase for mother's day;
My entire class was thrilled about getting their Mother's vase back from the kiln, they were all so colorful with our names proudly displayed on the bottom with the date our little hands molded it. We spent the end of the day making our own wrapping paper and carefully wrapping it before we took it home. The bell rang. Mrs. W. carefully counted heads as we made our way out the door. As I rounded the corner I threw my mother's day gift into the trash. She stopped me and I had to explain to her that my mom would throw it away because it is for Mother's day. "May I keep it ?" Mrs. W. asked. "Yeah, you can have it".
Fast forward 9 years. I was graduating that week and I wanted to see my own elementary school one more time. When I walked past a room that was down the hall from my old classroom, there was Mrs. W. sitting at her desk. "Remember me?" peeking inside the doorway. She didn't know who I was, but she asked me to come in. As I approached her desk, it was neat and tidy as she always kept it with a small clay vase that could only hold three pencils. I picked it up, turned it over, "This is who I am". She smiled, "How could I forget you!"