9th Graders Should Attend School on Pluto

There ought to be a constitutional amendment against allowing 9th graders to be apart of any high school. I only say this because, if you add up the total number of discipline referrals for grades 10-12 the number will still be less than those for your 9th grade. You can call it puberty, hormones, temporary insanity, a chemical imbalance, or just stupidity.

For example:


A group of 9th graders thought it would be funny to take a small container of liquid candy and replace the substance with a man made liquid ( I apologize in advance for another urine blog. It is noteworthy that the gentleman in "Who needs bathrooms?" was a 9th grader too). The students then searched for their prey. One dumb schmuck actually believed that 4 guys really wanted to watch him drink some sour candy. The result of all this stupidity was a day and a half of work.

I spent the rest of one day trying to figure out who peed in the container. I used the DNA analysis bluff to finally grab a confession (DNA and other bluffs only work on 9th graders). The victim's mother wanted a whole battery of test to be conducted on the urinator. I told her I would try my best. The victim's dad wasn't nearly as mad at the 4 students, although he seemed extremely disappointed that his son didn't clean somebody's clock. He asked me what would have happened if his son had beat one of them up. I told him that under the circumstances, nothing (stupid rookie mistake on my part).

The next day one of the watchers (the only one not suspended) got a fat lip from the victim. As I was suspending him, he told me that his dad told him not to come home unless he decked somebody for the incident. Dear old dad didn't argue the suspension. I told him retaliation for a most grievous offense did have a statute of limitations. Maybe, he ought to go to Pluto.

My Peoples! (Petey-Part I)

I have quickly learned that there is a reason for all the insanity in our schools. I hear my teachers frequently ask the question, "Why is this student the way they are?" I often retort, "Have you met dear old mom and dad?"

The classic case for this is one of my all time favorite students, whom I will simply call Petey (remember names are changed to protect the guilty). I put part 1 in the title because dear ole Petey litters my story collection. Petey is your atypical high school student. He might be 5 ft. tall, 80 pounds wet, and bears a striking resemblance to Beetle Juice from the Howard Stern show. Petey was a professional booty grabber and the only student I know who could log 3 office referrals in one day for sexual harassment. The sad thing about Petey is he really can't help himself. In fact, when he wasn't groping girls he was violating himself.

After about 2 days of school, I scheduled a conference with Petey's mom. She was about 6 ft. 240lbs., and I felt certain that she was going to kill Petey. Repeatedly throughout the meeting she would yell at Petey to kindly remove his hand from his package. I tried to lay out the problems we were having with Petey, but the meeting started down hill as she began talking to herself.

Petey then made his big mistake. He started to explain himself. Petey's mom quickly interrupted and yelled, "Oh Laud! My peoples almost came out." I am not sure who those people are, but thank God they stayed in her. The meeting ended shortly thereafter, and I haven't watched The Exorcist since. As for Petey, I understood him a little better after that day. It is a sad statement that most of the questions I have regarding a particular student can always be answered when I meet the parents.

Who needs bathrooms?

First, let me say that I like most men have whipped out the ole willy and made water. College and alcohol seem to come to mind, nevertheless I am guilty of yellowing the grass. I firmly contend that it is every mans God given right to urinate outdoors. That being said it is hard to justify this one. When a 15 year old walks past three different bathrooms, leaves the school building, and colors the side of the wall we seem to be pushing the inalienable rights we have worked hard to attain.

The poor kid. I don't know what was worse. The fact that I made him call his mother and explain to her why the side of the building was better than the toilet or the ribbing he received from all of his classmates. As I escorted him to our in-school correction, I could tell that he was extremely embarrassed. I tried my best to cheer him up, but nothing appropriate or funny came to mind. I made some reference to not needing to spray round-up and the use of a natural herbicide, but he didn't find it amusing. Oh well! Piss happens!

Dirk Diggler

You really can't call yourself a true administrator unless you have a porn story. Mr. Dirk had been receiving some ribbing from some young ladies and felt he had to defend his honor. This brain child went to the restroom, brought Mr. Winkie to full attention, and snapped a photo with his cellphone. Yes, his cellphone!

Naturally, the ladies told on him and the full monty was sent to my office. When I asked him why he did it he responded, "But Mr. >>> they were saying I was small and I told them I wasn't but they didn't believe me." As I picked up the phone to call Dirk's parents, I hoped upon all hopes that I got Mr. Dirk. No such luck. Let me just tell you that telling a mother that her little darling took a snap shot of his "package" isn't easy.

As I reflect back on that day, I can't get the snap shot out of my head, and I don't mean Dirk. Oh! That image has thankfully faded away. The image that stays with me to this day is the look on dear old ma's face when I showed her the picture. The conference that followed was rather embarassing, but the mother did offer this as she walked out my door. "Well I guess they won't call him small anymore."

First Day on the Job

New slacks, pressed shirt, new tie, shined shoes, and a Breathalyzer. My arrival into administration was a memorable one. 300 students, sleeping bags, and police. The future of America can come up with some interesting ideas. Rather than wait in line for the prime time senior parking spot, why don't we just camp outside the school. Better yet let's get drunk outside the school. My first day as an assistant principal was spent walking around introducing myself to students and giving them the fatherly smell test.

I knew my Master's degree would come in handy as I helped Barney Fife lecture a student who blew a .2. That's right twice the legal limit and hardly able to stand but I really think Barney got through to him. He must have, because the puke came shortly after he uttered the words, "You're going to jail." I remember making the comment to my principal, "Well it can't get any worse." His response, "Boy, you got a lot to learn!"

The Skinny

On the suggestion of friends and family, I thought I would start a blog and share some of the travails of the American Principal. It is noteworthy that every story I have to tell is absolutely true. I only offer this because if you don't work in a school than you will probably shake your head at some of these stories. Trust me. You can't make this shit up!

Also, I apologize for the lack of personal information, but I enjoy my job. All names have been changed to protect the guilty. I must admit that being an administrator does have its pitfalls. Since leaving the classroom for the big chair I have developed some strange behaviors. I don't sleep well, I cuss a lot more, my liver is deteriorating, and my personal favorite high blood pressure.

That's right I went to the doctor today and I have suddenly developed blood pressure. The doctor asked me if my job was stressful. I told him I was a principal to which I got the dreaded scribble on the tablet. I can only imagine that my chart now says, Dead Man Walking! The doctor told me I needed an outlet. I apologize for passing my dilemmas to you guys, but the alternatives were cold paddles or bypass surgery. I hope you enjoy my blog.