May 10 2005

Tales Of A High Scool Rebel

So, with the tales of the high school student who got in trouble for his cell phone call (post #1 and post #2) I mentioned that I had some bad history of my own with public schools, specifically Kirksville Senior High. For chuckles, here is the first one. (it is longish)

In my Senior year I was in the marching band and played the tuba. Yes boys and girls, the giant white beast was my burden to bear. On the day of our homecoming game I had band practice in the morning, homecoming parade in the afternoon and the game that night. The next morning was a parade for the local medical school (Kirksville College of Osteopathic Medicine), so I was spending a lot of time with my instrument.

Now, here is the thing about the tuba, when marching I used the traditional large white kind that?s made of fiberglass. While fiberglass is a lot lighter than the old brass ones, that is still a lot of instrument to carry around for an extended period of time. By the end of half-time at the game, I was ready to call it a night, and needed to take my tuba home for use the next morning.

Here is where the saga started, as I walked with some friends behind the high school, I turned to one of them and said “Ain’t the tuba f***** great?” Meaning that I was tired of carrying the blasted thing.

From my right I heard a voice of an older woman saying something to me.

I said “Excuse me, what did you say?”

Her reply was “I told you to watch your language young man!”

I turned back to my friend and asked “Who the hell is that b****?”, and walked on to my car.

Flash forward to the next morning and my band teacher walks up to me angry as all get out. Now mind you, he and I had a very friendly relationship, so he had never been mad at me before. “Mr. Aune! You need to see Mr. Smith 1st hour Monday morning about your language last night!” (Mr. Smith being our vice-principal)

I began laughing, which my teacher did not find amusing “I don’t find this very funny Mr. Aune!”

“Oh, I do!” was my flippant reply.

So come Monday morning I go to see Mr. Smith. He asks for me to tell my side of the story, which I did. He told me that he would like to know my exact words, so I tell him with out the colorful words edited out.

He grins at me and informs me that the woman was the wife of the football team coach, and that she had reported a much more vibrant version of the story where I had cursed about my teacher, the entire band and several other people.

I laughed out loud at this. She was just being pissy because I had questioned who she was is my belief.

Mr. Smith wasn’t sure what to do and decided to let me off with a warning. If I was caught cursing again on school grounds, I would be tossed out of band.

I continued to laugh and walked out.

I went back to the band room. 2nd hour I was the teaching assistant for Mr. Schwarz, the band teacher, so I waited until it was just him and explained what had really happened. He told me the version he had heard was the one where I included him in my verbal attack. He believed me once I explained it and he also laughed it off.

So a couple days later I was walking out of the band room and said some sentence including the word “hell” (which I do not consider cussing, sorry folks). I was greeted by a hand on my shoulder and the wagging finger of Mr. Smith in my face. I laughed at him and told him to get over himself and walked on.

So the moral of the story?  freedom of speech boys and girls.  I am a curser, I have been for as long as I can remember. I am sorry, but when I enter a school, as a student, I do not feel I all of a sudden surrender my civil rights. I cursed, who cares? My shoulder hurt, I was in a bad mood, and I had to be up early to do it again, so I cursed, such is life get over it.

This was the first of a couple run in’s with Mr. Smith, someday I will tell the rest.

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General Rants

  • Old High School Friend

    I have one. I had the misfortune of dating Mr. Smith’s youngest son, Matt, while I was a sophomore. This immediately put my on Smith’s s***-list, since he liked the girl Matt was dating before me so much. Flashforward, 1991 graduation, a classmate and I have decided that it would be fun to spray Silly String following the graduation ceremony. Unfortunately, this information got out prior to graduation and all of the students were questioned about whether or not they were going to spray Silly String. My friend and I were, of course, established as the instigators. Mr. Smith came up to me and told me to open my ceremonial gown, a request that I responded to with the perfect combination of confusion and indignation (all the while, my can of Silly String was tucked comfortably in my cleavage), enough so that he was extremely uncomfortable during his little “pat-down”. He told me that if any Silly String was sprayed after or during the ceremony… well, his exact words were, “You don’t have that diploma in your hands yet, young lady”. He also said that I would be sweeping up the auditorium if any Silly String was sprayed. Sadly for him, I was the second in my class to graduate and right before I shook our pricipal’s hand (Mr. Davidson), I opened the folder to make sure that the diploma was enclosed. It was! I glanced sideways at Mr. Smith and offered him a tight smile. He offered me one in return and I proceeded to my seat. After all 172 students in my graduating class had been called, all HELL broke loose!! Silly String everywhere, people spraying fellow students, on-lookers in the audience, some students even walked into the stands to spray their family members and friends! It was beautiful!! The local paper snapped a shot of it and put it on the front page – in color! That’s a big deal in K-ville. The best part of this story, I was later told is, while I ventured to the nearest graduation party, my parents had accidentally left their headlights on and had to go back into the auditorium to make a phone call for a jump. My mother (a teacher and fellow hater) found Mr. Smith with a big gym floor broom, sweeping up the rapidly drying Silly String. How great is that?! People who talk big have to be prepared to live small, right?

  • I had forgotten about the crazy string incident. Craziness. Sometime I will relate the story of when I drove you over there one night to see his son and I got my sweet, sweet revenge fun on Smith. (I still think that wasn’t his real last name!)

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