Come on, get happy!

Way back in the ice age, when I was in 9^th grade, I had a big ol’ rotund teacher named Mr. Stone. I was one of the “new kids” in a pretty small school, so being loud, dramatic and the stereotypical blonde, it wasn’t hard to stand out. Our class only had 4 or 5 boys in it and a bunch of girls. Sheri, the other new girl, would later on become my sister-in-law, but we became very good friends that year. Jolene was one of my best buds – we couldn’t have been more opposite. I think her parents couldn’t stand me because I was so . . . well, all the stuff I listed above. I remember thinking that their home needed livening up. I don’t think they agreed or appreciated my efforts. Jolene and I were roommates off and on through our high school years at boarding academy. During 9^th grade, I also became good friends with Kelli. Kelli’s mom emails me occasionally and reminded me recently of the class trip to Seattle that year. As I remember, it was one shenanigan after another and,curiously, I was usually in the middle of it.

But back to Mr. Stone. One time I remember laying my head down on my desk during class. Headache? Tired eyes? I don’t remember. What I do remember is that Mr. Stone walked up to my desk and slammed a textbook down right next to my head. And when some guy in our class shoved me into the boy’s bathroom and down onto a toilet seat, Mr. Stone walked in, saw me, and accused me of walking in there on purpose. I don’t know if he disliked all girls or just me, but he did seem to always side with the boys. Like when someone chased me around the room with the class snake, I was the one who got in trouble because I was the one who screamed. Sheesh! I don’t know what ever became of Mr. Stone (I think he was 97 then,) but I can’t help but hope if he’s still alive, that the nursing home attendants don’t change his diaper very often. My memories of that school year aren’t terribly nice. Our English teacher was fired for being on drugs. Even in my very naïve nature, I thought he was an oddball. And one time he was mean to Jolene and I really disliked him for that. If I remember right, our band teacher left under the same pretense. Hey, it was the late 70’s. Didn’t everybody do drugs? Well, I didn’t either, but I guess in our church school, it was a super duper bad thing to do. I loved my bus driver (Kelli’s mom!)

My sister was in 5^th grade in the same school and she had a very unkind teacher, also. The principal’s wife was a teacher/busybody who I always thought reminded me of a hippopotamus. And hippopotami scare me! My parents had just gotten divorced before we started school that year. Divorce wasn’t so common back then and because this was a church school, I think that my sister and I were lepers whose parent’s divorce might rub off on someone.

One of the most profound remembrances of my year in that school was that with the one exception of Kelli’s mom, none of the faculty/staff there had a sense of humor. Maybe they were all miserable there. Maybe they were all close enough to retirement to be burned out. Maybe it was me. But, I think when someone works with children, they MUST have a sense of humor. Kids are hilarious! Well, mine are. And all their friends. And I have such an immature sense of humor, I still appreciate it.

When Stephen was a freshman, I was volunteering one day a week in the school office. One of the staff members (who isn’t real popular with some students) came in to ask the secretary to get the custodian to clean off some words written in the bathroom about her. “Mrs. **** is a hooker.” So, inappropriately as it was, I started laughing my fool head off. I thought it was funny! Here are some very young kids who want to call her the baddest name they can think of, and they probably don’t know what a “hooker” is, but they know it’s bad. I know she had to pretend in front of the kids to be offended, but come on! In the office with no children present, we had a good opportunity for a great belly laugh! Nope, not even a titter outta her. I know it's no "Clean Barn Award" but geez! Stephen didn’t make any points that year when he was looking at pictures of past graduates with his friends. He pointed to one young man from many years ago and said “He looks like a cross-dresser.” Unbeknownst to him, this same staff member had walked up behind him when she heard him and said “Hey, that’s my husband.”

So that day in detention, Stephen learned to put on lipstick with his cleavage.