Justifiable Homicide

For the 9 years I spent in the classroom, I used to document all of the times I let some turd push my buttons. When I moved into administration, I felt confident that the position would shield me from direct stupidity. Boy was I naive'. As both a teacher and as a administrator, I was pretty much text book, meaning I handled discipline issues in a fair and predictable manner. All the while resisting the urge to behave in a manner more indicative of a human and less like a dutiful educator. With this in mind I have built two theories which I believe would instantly improve our schools.

Theory I- One free Bitch Slap a Year

In an average school year your typical high school/middle school teacher will fall victim to hand gestures, dirty looks, pranks, lies to parents, and the annual good cussing (female teachers are usually called bitches and male teachers are usually called dicks). Take in mind this is just your average year. Special years usually involve graffiti to personal property or the good ole rolled yard. I firmly believe that every teacher should receive one free bitch slap a year. Imagine one freebie to reign them in, just one smack to fix the idiot whose parents allow them to act like heathens at school. Better yet, why don't we allow for one free bitch slap that can be used on any student or their parents. Forget NCLB! Theory 1 would work.

Theory II-Justifiable Homicide

In lieu of theory 1, I can only come up with one possible solution. Start documenting all the instances of student/parent disrespect, rudeness, and downright evildom so that your defense attorney has a case for justifiable homicide.

Una-Bomber Part II

You know it is going to be a great day when you don't even get your bag out of the car.

"Mr. Principal! Hurry!"

I said, "Calm down and tell me what is going on"

"It's Ned, he is in Mr. Smith's classroom."

As I made my way up to the classroom, several visions passed through my mind of what I was about to see. I must confess that given the proclivities of Mr. Ned I prepared myself for anything.

When I entered the room I saw Ned sitting on top of the teacher's desk. He was sitting Indian style and had his eyes clothes with arms stretched to the side. If this wasn't strange enough, Ned had his shirt off and had a bloody nose with blood all over his torso.

I asked Ned "What in the hell is going on?"

He responded, "I got in a fight"

Normally, I might have replied, "No Shit," but I must confess that with Ned in his current predicament, it could have been some type of pagan ceremony.

When we finally got him cleaned up and properly clothed, Ned had a complete melt down. He referred to himself as the Holy Trinity and said he did not recognize my authority to suspend him for fighting. One principal, one special ed. coordinator, one school resource officer, one mother, and one straight jacket later Ned was taken to an undisclosed location. I checked job postings that evening and contemplated whether or not public school administration was really my cup of tea.

About a week later, I called to check on Ned. The nurse informed me that he might be out of school a little longer.

Her words, "Ned is still actively psychotic."

I wonder how one becomes inactively psychotic? I mean once you are found to be off the reservation, isn't that it? What am I supposed to do with this information.? So, I spent the rest of the day searching for jobs. Luckily, I found one. I love our country, but some people just don't belong in public schools. Ned definitely belongs in this category.

News Flash- Kids Lie

I offered my assistant principal a bet to begin the year. It was our standard bet (Snickers bar and a coke). We wagered on how long in the school year it would be until we had a parent utter these infamous words, "My child does not lie to me." We started school in mid-August and I placed the over/under in September. My foolish colleague chose the over.



I sure do love a good Snickers bar.



I would like to introduce you to the Clampetts (Remember the TV show The Beverly Hillbillies). Jethro, bless his heart, is your classic under-achiever. He is the first student I have come across for whom it was mathematically impossible to pass with 16 weeks to go in school. Dear old dad, Jed suffered from parent goggle syndrome and what I believe is strong evidence of Alzheimer's.



Here is my case:





September:

Jed stormed in my office demanding that I explain why Jethro got kicked off the school bus.



I said "Well sir, you see you can't threaten to beat up the bus driver."



Jed proceeded to tell me how Jethro was innocent and that he has never lied to dear old dad. I told him that normally I would just take his word for it, but golly gee I got it on video. He did the classic 180 as he watched the video. I felt a little bit like the guy on cheaters who reveals the infidelity. After they left I told my assistant that it was nice to bring another parent out of la la land.



November:

Jed stormed into my office and demanded to know why Jethro was assigned in-school suspension. I informed him that while the word bitch might mean female dog, we don't allow that term in school.



"Well Jethro didn't say that."



Of course, I sarcastically thought. I called Jethro in and asked him why he told his dad he didn't say the ugly word. Jethro's response, "I didn't want to get in trouble." As he left, I looked at the AP and said "Deja Vu!"



January:

Jethro got in a fight. Same basic storyline.

Jethro lies to Jed.

Jed believes him.

Jed shows his ass.

We calm Jed down and tell him the truth.

Jed does 180.

Leaves the school fine.



March:

Second verse same as the first



Today:

Jethro pushes someone in the back and dares them to fight. I tell him to call his Dad, and that I will see him next year. Jed is irate. Tells me that I have picked on poor Jethro all year, and that he is innocent.



To which I said, "Sir, I am sorry that Jethro has you fooled. You have been up here on 5 occassions and all 5 he has lied to you about what has happened. On every single occassion, it has been proven that he has lied. Kids lie, I am sorry. We all want to believe our kids, but they lie."



I looked at the AP as they walked off and said, "I bet you a Snickers bar and a coke by September of next year Jed has forgotten that Jethro is a liar."

Facebook and MySpace Suck--A Rant

I often wonder if parents today actually realize what their kids are doing on the internet. You can buy all the web control software you want, but if you allow your children to get on facebook and myspace you obviously don't like privacy.

The last two years, I have spent a lot of student conferences trying to prevent fights due to what someone supposedly said on myspace or facebook. I just love when dear ole mom and dad show up wanting me to police the internet.

TRY TURNING IT OFF!

I have also attended legal seminars, which outline the scope of a schools authority to discipline based on these websites.

Which brings me to this one:

Luckily, I formerly worked with a mother who has access to her daughter's facebook account. I am sad to say that we were almost voyueristic in watching pictures go up of weekend festivities. I mean you see them walk the halls, but do you really know them?

Wow! There is the captain of the basketball team doing a keg stand. (No wonder we suck)

That cheerleader sure is a good funneler.

Look at Miss Prim an proper puking on an ant bed. Her parents must be so proud.

It makes me want to scream 2 things: 1. Do your parents know about this? (yes, most of the time) and 2. Why did you let someone take your picture? (stupidity)

One day I called in a very popular cheerleader to my office. I told her that we needed to discuss something on her facebook page.

She retorted, "I don't think that is any of your business."

I asked, "Do your parents know about those pictures?"

"Sure they do. Now that I am 18 they let me do what I want. I don't think you have any right to control what pictures I put up on my facebook. "

(Parenting tip of the day and note to self: Cut them loose at 18; got to remember that one)

I said, "Look! I don't care what you do on the weekend, but when the picture has the school and its logo in the background. I can get involved. You have until tomorrow morning to take my school off facebook or you are suspended. Have a nice day!"

Maybe facebook and myspace don't suck. Parents do!

Hit and Run (Petey Part II)

If you missed the introduction to Petey you might want to CLICK HERE for Part I to get a feel for what we are dealing with. I think I compared him to Beetle Juice from the Howard Stern show, but you can also make a strong case for Earnest T. Bass.

News spread quickly that Friday night how Petey had fell victim to a hit and run. The students were extremely upset. I mean Petey was a perennial nuisance, sexual harasser, and destroyer of any order in the school but he didn't deserve this. In talking to some of his friends, the word was spreading that two students in a maroon Ford Explorer had rammed Petey into a fence. This story was verified by the police who took Petey's statement at the hospital where he was treated and released with a small bump to the head.

We were all thankful for Petey's fortunate escape and eager to catch the students responsible. Petey's mama called and demanded justice. I gave her my word that I would try my best. 2 reasons I would be trying my best: #1 - a need to know and #2 - fear of her "peoples" might come out.

I remember talking with one of the police officers about possible suspects. I surmised that it was probably a boyfriend of one of Petey's many cop-a-feel episodes, so I pulled the file (not quite as long as War and Peace but close). I then called in every male who associates with any girl who was a victim of Petey's wandering hands. Nothing! Zilch! Nada! Strikeout!

Undeterred and vigilant in my quest for justice, I combed the parking lot for a Maroon explorer. I found 4 which fit the description, and we ran tags to locate possible culprits. The 2nd student I called in for questioning admitted to giving Petey a ride home that Friday. Bingo! Hooray! Paydirt! I picked up the phone and called the police. Gotcha!

The innocent-looking boy kept looking at me like I was crazy. I can remember with shame putting my finger in his face and saying, "Why did you do it?"

"Do what," he asked.

"Hit Petey"

He started to laugh and replied, "I didn't hit him. He flagged my friend and me down and asked for a ride. I kept asking him where to go, but he kept stalling. When I slowed down in the Rec. Center parking lot, he tried to steal my bookbag and jumped out of the car. He ran into a telephone pole. I got out, grabbed my backpack and left him there. "

After I confirmed the story with the friend, apologized to the student, dispatched the police, called Petey's mom, and removed the egg from my face I sat in my office and had a huge laugh. Petey got me, he got us all. Earnest T strikes again!

NED A.K.A The Unabomber (Part I)

Why is it that some of the biggest disciplinary problems in schools are extremely intelligent. Ned (sorry about the name choice) was a classic example of someone far smarter than I will ever be. In addition to his stirling IQ Ned was also a loony bird. To say that Ned "ain't right" is an understatement. In fact Ned was so crazy, that I secretly called him the Unabomber.

I first met the Unabomber, when a disgruntled bus driver barged into my office waving a videotape. I started to ask, "Is that the Paris Hilton sex tape?" but decided that might be insensitive. He informed me that Ned had shot him the bird and that he had video evidence of the Class I felony. I assured the bus driver that I would rain down with vengeance on Mr. Ned and proceeded to call him to the office.

Ned entered with a laugh and a chuckle followed by, "Well! Well! The walls of oppression have raised to suppress my constitutional rights!" (I told you he had a few screws loose). When I told Ned, that he couldn't go around shooting bus drivers the bird he took a rather unconventional approach.

Ned raised his bird finger and began to explain how the middle finger had received a bad reputation. Then he raised his other middle finger and explained that the interpretation of his two fingers could mean the number two, or the number eleven, and if you turn them forward they mean love. Ned informed me that in some Haitian cultures the middle finger means peace. Ned had the gift of spin and the longer he talked the more plausible his rationale was.

Personally, I think he just wanted to shoot me the bird and bait me into getting angry. I just smiled and said, "Well Ned on Bus 95-5 the bird gets you a peaceful week off the bus." Ned shook my hand and went on his way. I think I confused him with my response, but I vowed from that day forward to always be calm and cordial in dealing with Ned. I just hope he remembers my kindness when the final bolt becomes unhinged.

Get a Room (Please!)

I can remember watching Happy Days and listening to Richie Cunningham sing about finding his thrill on Blueberry Hill. Of course we all know that the reference is to high school students driving to a discreet location and making out. Fast forward to today's sex charged (crazed, more like it) adolescents.

One of my menial tasks when I was an assistant principal was to walk the parking lot during basketball games. The purpose of this insane Barney Fife like behavior is to try and catch youngsters smoking or drinking. I am ashamed to say that you almost hope to catch someone, so that this meaningless walk actually serves a purpose. Unfortunately 9 times out of 10 you basically burn 10 calories and return to the game.

Ah, but there is always that one time.

One night as I was counting the number of ford trucks in the parking lot, I happened upon a black pontiac. I was walking behind the car, and I gave it the once over. I did a double take, and then I noticed something strange. A FOOT! That's right, a foot and not on the floor, but up in the air. Well, my initial urge was to yell CITIZEN's ARREST but I composed my self quickly and approached the driver's side window.

I knocked on the window and opened the door. The young lady in the passenger seat thankfully lowered her foot. Johnny-on-the-spot had his undies around his ankles and was fumbling to pull them up. I turned around and told them to kindly get dressed and step out of the vehicle. It took about a minute or two, but the love birds eventually emerged from the vehicle. I told the cheerleader (yes, it was one of our cheerleaders) she probably needed to call her mom. She just couldn't understand why I wasn't going to let her cheer?

Two phone calls, two mothers, and two doughnuts out of the parking lot left me all alone again.

As I entered the gym, I just couldn't resist singing a bar or two of "I found my thrill, on Blueberry Hill."

A teacher heard me and laughed, she said "Happy Days, right?"

I said, "Yep, and I wish this town had a Blueberry Hill instead of a parking lot!"

She looked all puzzled and asked, "What do you mean?"

I said, "Nothing! just thinking out loud. Hey, what's the score."