A/N: Okay, I got this insane idea today to randomly write some one shots featuring DAMY-verse characters all little. We're talking about first grade. And this story was the first one to come to mind.

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"How's we gonna do our Thanksgiving project, Mark?" Jansen Perry Palanski who everyone simply referred to as 'Dutchy' asked as he and his best friend Mark Goldstein walked back from school.

"I dunno," Mark, aptly nicknamed Specs, replied. "I don't wanna just show people eating Thanksgiving 'cause that's what everyone's gonna do."

Dutchy nodded his agreement and chewed on a Red Vine he pulled from the pocket of his denim shorts. Specs wrinkled his nose when he noticed that there was pocket lint sticking to the sticky, red, Twizzler-knockoff.

"It's not like Thanksgiving affects us," Dutchy said after swallowing. "'Cause none of our family was at the first Thanksgiving."

Specs nodded his agreement. "Yeah but we have to do the project or else we'll get bad marks."

Dutchy shoved the rest of the candy into his mouth and nodded while he chewed.

"Plus," he said with a full mouth. "My dad'll get angry if I bring home another note from Mr. Snyder 'cause I'm a bad student."

Specs snapped his fingers before clapping his hands excitedly. "That's it, Dutchy! We'll ask your dad. He teaches History, doesn't he?"

Dutchy's blue eyes lit up. "Yeah! He'll probably know loads about the first Thanksgiving. We hafta ask him. Come on!"

Satisfied with their decision to consult Mr. Palanski, the two boys hurried to Dutchy's apartment complex.

--

"Very interesting," Mr. Snyder deadpanned, probably dreaming of the promotion to vice principal at PS 112 that he so desired. "But Mr. DeLancey, I don't think that the Indians clubbed the turkeys to death."

Oscar paused his senseless beating of the turkey puppet. "They didn't? Well that's stupid."

Mr. Snyder rubbed his temples and sighed, hating these annoying seven-year-olds more and more. "Take your seat. Next!"

Specs jiggled excitedly in his seat. "That's us, Dutchy."

They went to the front of the room, dressed like the majority of their classmates, in construction paper. Dutchy wore a wraparound headband with a pigeon feather hot-glued to it and Specs sported a construction paper, big-buckled belt and Pilgrim hat.

"Okay," Dutchy smiled. "The first Thanksgiving was super important 'cause it showed our, uh, unity with the Indians."

Specs nodded. "Yeah. The Puritans didn't want their children to be Dutch so they came to America and was helped by Squanto."

Dutchy giggled into his palm at the mention of 'Squanto.'

"And at a harvest feast, we exchanged great gifts."

Dutchy reached into a paper bag. "The Indians gave the Pilgrims gifts like corn which they called maize."

He held up a crudely cut piece of yellow construction paper with the word 'maze' scrawled on it in crayon and handed it to Specs.

"And bread which they grew here."

He pulled out an oval of brown construction paper similar to the corn with the word 'bred' written on it before, once again, handing it to Specs.

"And the Pilgrims repaid them by giving them blankets of smallpox," Specs pulled a square of blue construction paper with a skull drawn on it and the word 'smallpocks' scratched under it.

He handed it to Dutchy who promptly fell over, dead. It was just how Mr. Palanski explained it to them. The rest of the class looked on in amazement.

"Is he dead?" Dean Meyers asked. "Like, really dead?"

Dutchy popped back up.

"The end!" they said together.

No one said anything for a minute until Francis Sullivan thrust his arms up into the air. "Whoo! Go Specs'n'Dutchy!"

And, per usual, the rest of the class joined in. Mr. Snyder just took another drink from his coffee mug and dreamed of promotion. They bowed.

"Wow," Dutchy said as they took their seats. "I think I like Thanksgiving."