At a recent class reunion, we clustered into small groups of conversation. As I passed within earshot of several, they predictably turned to shenanigans we pulled back when we were in school. Amusingly, there was also universal agreement that they wouldn't tell their kids about any of these misdeeds.
As a natural rule follower, my school record is, embarrassingly, squeaky clean. But still, 6 years in junior and senior high school is a long stretch without some issues.
I was busted for one fight. In 7th grade, horseplaying with a 9th grader got out of hand and I wound up dragging him across the ground by his leg. A strong hand then clapped me on the shoulder and a loud, stern voice boomed, "Let's go!"
I looked around and was very surprised a crowd had gathered. The voice came from Coach Snow and he hauled us two former combatants to the principal's office. There, we got a stern talking to by Dr. Whalen, but I think he actually cut us loose.
In a possible affront to millennial sensibilities, corporal punishment was a very real thing at Long Beach Junior High. Some of our male teachers walked the halls brandishing large wooden paddles during breaks between classes as a deterrent to teen tomfoolery. I managed to dodge this punitive action until 9th grade.
One of my favorite classes was Industrial Arts or "shop". To this day, I still have and use some of the projects I made during that class. A picnic table I made during the year was still in use until it literally fell apart a year or two ago. Near the end of our freshman year, Mr. Nations, our shop teacher, wanted to send us off to high school with a parting gift from him.
He lined up the entire class in the middle of the shop and "gifted" each of us with a single swing from his paddle. Technically I got one paddling in school, but there was no street cred attached to the act.
In high school, I got one Saturday detention. If you had your license, you could drive to school and park in the stadium parking lot a block away. There was limited parking at the school's main entrance for staff and teachers. If there were available slots, these were issued to students via a lottery.
I was running late one day and as I drove past the front entrance. I noticed a student slot was open, and, noting the time, I gambled that whoever was given that slot wasn't coming in that day.
I lost that bet and was called to the office later that morning. The owner of that space did show up later and found a yellow miscreant Mustang squatting in her assigned spot. The penalty for that offense was my only Saturday detention. There's really not much street cred there either.
The summer between my junior and senior year I had to attend summer school because I didn't have enough class slots during the year for all my required classes. That was a drag, but it had a silver lining. The class was American History with one of my favorite teachers, Mr. Burger. The classes were going OK until the morning I overslept.
For some reason I didn't respond to my alarm that particular morning, but I managed to answer the phone next to my bed when it rang. I groggily said, "Hello?" The voice on the other end was deep and gravelly.
"This is Dr. Jones. Son, isn't there somewhere you need to be?" I'd just gotten a wake up call from the high school principal. I very literally jumped out of bed.
"Yes, sir! Sorry, sir! On my way, sir!" I was dressed, teeth brushed, and out the door in three minutes flat.
That's the extent of my school disciplinary record. There's wasn't a lot of substance behind the penalties, and it didn't really foster the image of a "bad boy" that the girls found appealing....in the official record. For every documented infraction, there were other escapades that managed to fly under the radar. I was never busted for drag racing down the street behind the school, or bringing a hunting bow onto school property, or sabotaging a teacher's car, or handcuffing myself to a girl in the middle of the day. But those are stories for different posts.
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