HotAirBalogger is on deck.]
The following takes place in a small suburban city.
A young HotAirBalogger was sitting quietly in class, trying to get his "learn on". His 4th grade teacher, lets call her 'Mrs. Jackets', was out of the classroom, leaving her students to work on the problem of the day. Classmates of young HAB were being unruly as usual, preventing him from concentrating.
As hard as he tried, he just could not focus. In what he thought were moderate levels of communication, he began to converse with classmates in his surrounding area. He knew that trying to speak with his best friend on the other side of the room would not constitute a moderate level of communication.
Young HAB stood up, most likely to stretch his legs in anticipation of the afternoon game of kickball. He was such of fan of kick ball. So much so, that he asked his mother to buy him a pair of "Dingo" boots with the pointy toes, to give a little extra 'umph in his kick. He did not realize (nor did he care) how country his husky ass looked. A black kid walking around with cowboy boots. But more on that another time.
Little did young HAB know, but Mrs. Jackets was on her way back to the room. Apparently, this particular day Mrs. Jackets was not in the greatest of moods. When she walked in the room, she saw several of her students acting in a behavior that was not conducive to learning. The chastisement seemed to never end. She singled out 10 classmates, who, in her opinion, were the 'ring leaders'...
One of them being Young HotAirBalogger!!!!
A ring leader???
Say it aint so.
As punishment, she told the delinquents that they had to write the following sentence:
Don't trouble trouble till trouble troubles you because if you trouble trouble, trouble will surely trouble you
Not three times a lady....but
She said this had to be turned in by Monday.
It was Friday.
HAB had to get this done over the weekend. But how could he do so with out alerting the parental unit? He could never get this done under her watchful eye.
Should HAB notify his mother?
This Latch-key Kid would write as much as possible that afternoon prior to his mother's arrival from work.
I wrote it 32 times....
....and had a wonderful 'kid fun' filled weekend
FAST FORWARD TO MONDAY
Back at school...
HAB nervously walked past Mrs. Jackets desk. He asked other wrongdoers if they finished the writing, all of them replied in the affirmative. Sweat began to bead up on his head. Maybe Mrs. Jackets would forget about it. Maybe she would ask for it at the end of the day. That way, HAB could 'discretely' work on it.
"Before we get started, I need some paperwork from those of you who failed to follow instructions on Friday"
HAB watched as the 9 other miscreants turned in their assignments. HAB was last in line. As he handed Mrs. Jackets 32 poorly written sentences, he managed to utter the following:
"I didn't get a chance to finish"
"I told you to write this 100 times. I gave you all weekend to do it. Why is this not completed, HAB!?!?"
"I don't know"
"Since you failed to follow instructions for a second time, instead of 100 times, I want you to write it 200 times......
I could have sworn she said "beeotch" at the end
HOLY SHIT ....i thought
How in the f**k am I gonna write that shit 200 times in 8 hours (cuz I ain't losing sleep over this)
That evening I stayed in my room. Writing...Writing...Writing.
By the time I went to bed, I had a total of 67 (that's a long ass sentence).
When I woke up the next morning, 133 sentences shy of my goal, I knew what I had to do. I had avoided it for 4 days, but I was left with no other option. I tried to find an alternate solution, but aside from suicide, there was only one reasonable thing left to do...
"Boy!! Didn't I tell you to get ready for school!!! Have you brushed your teeth?"
"Yes Ma'am. I need to tell you something."
I proceeded to explain to my mom how, even though I DID NT DO ANYTHING, I was grouped together with the other derelicts in the class.
There was a long pause.
I looked at my mother's face.
I had seen that look before.
It always proceeded the words, "Go get me your belt!!!"
But not this time.
She walked past me and picked up the phone. She called her boss and said she would be in late that morning.
Be in late??!?!
I went back to my room...and waited.
I envisioned my mother chopping my 9yr old chubby torso up into pieces small enough to be scattered in the woods, unnoticeable to passer-bys.
Maybe this would be the whoopin's of all whoopins. One that would last several hours. Maybe she needed to build up her strength to administer this beating.
What was she gonna do?
10 min later, my mother appeared at my door, dressed a tad bit better than her normal office attire. Not quite church worthy, but a little nicer than what she normally wears.
Why did she need to dress up to beat me? Why did she take off from work? Why am I still sitting here? Why haven't I made my way to Mexico, or joined the circus?
"Get in the car"
"Don't 'huh' me boy. I said get your ass in the car!!!"
This was it.
I was being driven to the murder scene. I slowly got in the car holding back the tears. Not yet smart enough to try to beg for a reprieve, forgiveness...mercy. I just accepted my fate.
As we drove away from home, I began to reflect upon my life. My friends who I would never see again, my new little brother, my bike, my Star Wars toys. I thought about that last Cub Scout badge was trying to get.
I was too late.
Dammit, I just didn't have enough time!!!
My mother's voice jarred me from my thoughts.
I looked out and discovered that we were not in the woods, or at a lake, or any other location used in the movies for murder/death/kills.
We were at my school.
Whats going on.
Was she gonna kill me at school? I knew my mom was a bad-ass, but to commit murder in front of others?
I almost felt proud of her boldness.
We went straight to my class.
Mrs. Jackets greeted her at the door and told me to take my seat. They stepped out in the hall for what seemed like an eternity. The whole time, my classmates were inquiring about why my mother was there, and if I had finished my writing.
The next thing I know, I saw my mom walking away from the classroom.
Mrs. Jackets began the day's lesson plan.
When my mom got home that evening, she told me that over the next couple of weeks (during the Christmas break)I would be writing. Any spare moment I got would be spent writing. I was gonna write that sentence 200 times, before I was able to enjoy any portion of the holiday break from school. And it took just about the whole time to do it.
I developed a system, a pattern if you will, of writing it. So it wouldn't seem like I was writing it over and over.
I would write "Don't" all the way down (every 3 lines..it took 3 lines to write it once), then "trouble"...etc.
My hand hurt so bad. I went through so many pencils.
Finally, 3 days before school started back, I finished. I looked at the thesis size amount of paper I had compiled. I felt like I had just reached the apex of Mt. Everest.
I did it.
The first day back to school, I proudly walked up to Mrs. Jackets desk to had her the 37 pages it took to write it. I stood back and with a slight grin on my face. I was bold...cocky...as if to say, "what else you got?"
She thumbed through about the first 3 pages and then....
THREW THE WHOLE LOT IN THE TRASH...
RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY FACE!!!!
At that point in life, I never contemplated bitch-slapping someone, but that what immediately went through my head. It was like she had thrown money in the toilet and flushed.
Being the type of kid I was, and knowing the crazy lady I called "Ma", I resisted the urge to commit a crime of passion on Mrs. Jackets. I took my seat and began to cry
That evening at the dinner table, my mother asked me what happened. I told her how Mrs. Jackets had basically insulted me by throwing my life's work in the trash, in front of me.
I expected my mom to take another day off from work. Drive up to the school and give that hussy a piece of her mind. But instead...
Immediately, I felt betrayed.
She then explained to me that on the morning she took me to school, she talked with Mrs. Jackets. Mrs. Jackets told my mother that I didn't have to write that. She was surprised that I had behaved in such a manner to begin with. She knew I was a good kid and felt like the lesson had been learned. There was no need for me to write any further. But being the type of mother that expects you to take responsibility for your own actions, my mom told Mrs. Jackets that I WOULD write it...ALL OF IT. And if it took me until high school graduation, I was gonna turn in 200 well written sentences.
To this day, I have never forgotten that sentence, nor how I ended up writing it 200 times. Mrs. Jackets later left the teaching business, to pursue a career in Insurance. And guess who was one of her first (and 27 years later, still) customers?
Frequently, my mom tells me that she had to go by the insurance office to take care of something, and Mrs. Jackets ALWAYS asks about me. She ended up being one of the best teachers I had. I will never forget her.
And I will never forget:
Don't trouble trouble till trouble troubles you because if you trouble trouble, trouble will surely trouble you!!!
Question: For those of you old to experience punishment at school, what sticks out in your memory as borderline abuse at the hands of educators? At what age/era did “time out” come around and why wasn’t it used in the 80’s? Who in the HELL thought of that long ass sentence!?!?