Today my mind kicked into gear long before I even got to school. For the last several weeks I have been contemplating one of the great mysteries of life. There is a long chain of events that started this thought process, so I will try to explain it in an effort to help you understand my perspective.
The first link on the chain dates back about 6 months to when my wife discovered the thrills of extreme coupon shopping. Since that time she has been coming home with various bargains that quite often cost her nothing. About a month ago, she announced that I was no longer allowed to use the bar of soap in the shower because she had gotten a lifetime supply of men's body wash for next to nothing. So now, despite the fact that my bar of soap still sits in the shower, I dutifully use the complimentary, yet highly scented, men's body wash.
Every morning as I enjoy the excessively warm water in my shower, I contemplate the vast array of smells that gets poured onto me each day. Let's start with the shave. Why do I need smells mixed with my shaving cream? It really doesn't matter since the men's body wash covers up the smell anyway. Then I get out of the shower and apply a liberal dose of deodorant which is designed to overpower the body wash. Later, I add a small pile of gel to my hair that mixes with the deodorant and body wash that still lingers to create a potpourri of olfactory sensation.
Just when I think I can't stand being around myself anymore, I reach for the toothpaste to add just a hit of mint to mix. What the product developers in product-land don't realize is that all men really want to smell like is a mesquite grill or fried bacon. What kind of man wakes up each morning and says to himself, "What kind of chemically induced, societally mandated, artificial smells can I mix together today to make me smell like things I don't even like?" Perhaps the man in skinny jeans, but not me.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Day 18 - Wednesday
There are two things that I miss the most about my position as a classroom teacher. And they both have to do with wearing good old fashioned blue jeans. Jeans are the most versatile article of clothing available to mankind. They can be used to make you look clean, rugged, strong, or even weak if they are of the skinny persuasion.
For me, the beauty of jeans lies at my feet. When I was a teacher in jeans, I would wake up in the morning and open the top drawer of my dresser and pull out one pair of white socks. It didn’t matter what color my shirt was or if I was wearing a brown belt or a black belt. My shoes made no difference either. The socks were my one constant in life. (Except for the occasional day when I would wear running shoes and the short ankle socks that are ohhh sooo comfortable, but that’s another story.) Now that I am slacks-wearing fake administrator, I have go to my closet first, before I make the trip to the sock drawer. Under this altered routine I now have to pick a shirt, then determine if it will be a pleats-day or a no-pleats-day, and then pretend I know what I am doing when I try to figure out which of the 12 colors of socks that are hidden deep in the wells of the bottom drawer will match the shirt and/or pleated or non-pleated pants. (Today: No pleats, blue shirt, khaki socks.) How I long for the simplicity that my stack of identical blue jeans has to offer.
The other benefit of jeans is that they are tough. Now that I am a slacks guy, I can’t even feed my own dogs. Under my old routine, I would feed the dogs just before I headed out the door in the morning. As one of the faux suits on campus, now I don’t dare risk getting dog hair or a muddy paw on my pants as I head out the door. In jeans, who cares about hair and paws? But in slacks, I have to look sharp and dogs and sharp just don’t mix. Now my wife oversees the feeding, but she already has a long list of things on her to-do list for the day. Maybe the good thing about this is that the kids are now helping Mom with the morning feeding. Perhaps once the jeans come back, I won’t have to worry about the dogs or Mom’s busy schedule anymore.
The best news, though, is that it should only be another day or two (or twelve) before I am back in the classroom full time and my jeans can come out of retirement. I think that when that day comes, I’ll start things off with the running shoes and ankle socks just to maximize the comfort.
For me, the beauty of jeans lies at my feet. When I was a teacher in jeans, I would wake up in the morning and open the top drawer of my dresser and pull out one pair of white socks. It didn’t matter what color my shirt was or if I was wearing a brown belt or a black belt. My shoes made no difference either. The socks were my one constant in life. (Except for the occasional day when I would wear running shoes and the short ankle socks that are ohhh sooo comfortable, but that’s another story.) Now that I am slacks-wearing fake administrator, I have go to my closet first, before I make the trip to the sock drawer. Under this altered routine I now have to pick a shirt, then determine if it will be a pleats-day or a no-pleats-day, and then pretend I know what I am doing when I try to figure out which of the 12 colors of socks that are hidden deep in the wells of the bottom drawer will match the shirt and/or pleated or non-pleated pants. (Today: No pleats, blue shirt, khaki socks.) How I long for the simplicity that my stack of identical blue jeans has to offer.
The other benefit of jeans is that they are tough. Now that I am a slacks guy, I can’t even feed my own dogs. Under my old routine, I would feed the dogs just before I headed out the door in the morning. As one of the faux suits on campus, now I don’t dare risk getting dog hair or a muddy paw on my pants as I head out the door. In jeans, who cares about hair and paws? But in slacks, I have to look sharp and dogs and sharp just don’t mix. Now my wife oversees the feeding, but she already has a long list of things on her to-do list for the day. Maybe the good thing about this is that the kids are now helping Mom with the morning feeding. Perhaps once the jeans come back, I won’t have to worry about the dogs or Mom’s busy schedule anymore.
The best news, though, is that it should only be another day or two (or twelve) before I am back in the classroom full time and my jeans can come out of retirement. I think that when that day comes, I’ll start things off with the running shoes and ankle socks just to maximize the comfort.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Day 16 - Monday
Looks like we are not going to make it all the way to day 30. Things are winding down for this fake AP. My sub started the day by announcing that she was quitting. She had another opportunity to work at the high school and took it. (I think with a huge smile.) This is not bad. It's not like state testing is starting tomorrow. Oh, wait! It is! This is bad.
I have now decided to keep a pair of jeans in my car just in case I get sent back to the classroom at a moment's notice. The real AP is hoping to return sometime this week, although we won't actually know until he shows up. (Again, it is a complicated situation involving the government.) Until then, I am going to play double duty for a few days, spending my mornings in the classroom and the afternoons in the office.
As for knuckle-headed kids today - there were some. As a matter of fact, they were from my own class. It will be good to get back and get them straightened out. That's all for now, my battery is dying and my wife is sleeping in the room where my power cord is hiding.
I have now decided to keep a pair of jeans in my car just in case I get sent back to the classroom at a moment's notice. The real AP is hoping to return sometime this week, although we won't actually know until he shows up. (Again, it is a complicated situation involving the government.) Until then, I am going to play double duty for a few days, spending my mornings in the classroom and the afternoons in the office.
As for knuckle-headed kids today - there were some. As a matter of fact, they were from my own class. It will be good to get back and get them straightened out. That's all for now, my battery is dying and my wife is sleeping in the room where my power cord is hiding.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Day 14 - Thursday
Today was all about flying solo. The principal was subpoenaed to testify in a custody hearing regarding one of our students, so that left me to keep things running. It would have gone swimmingly if not for the 28 parent meetings that were on my schedule in 15 minute increments all day long.
You see, one of my duties as fake assistant principal is to help manage attendance issues. When kids accumulate an excessive number of absences or tardies we call mom and dad in to the office and give them a good talking to. If that doesn't work, we do it again, but talk louder because that's about all we can do. Today was round one of the the good talking to's, so I didn't have to do it too loudly. The theory behind the crazy schedule is that any parent who can't get their kid to school probably won't show up for the meeting. Fortunately, that proved to be true today, but it still tied me to within a stone's throw of the office most of the day.
Whenever one of those gaps occurred, I dove in to the stack of bus tickets that had been issued over the last two days. What struck me was that I talked to several kids who had gotten into fights on the bus. In one case a mom immediately went on the defensive when I told her that her son had planted his knee in another child's face on the way home. She blasted me for allowing her son to be bullied all year long by these kids and wanted me to believe that her son was the victim. This brought two issues to my mind.
Issue #1: Let's find out if this kid is a bully or a victim. The plan: Wait until after school and ask the bus driver what she had seen. The result: Little Johnny is indeed the bully and has been tossing around profanity and harassing and fighting with other kids on the bus on a regular basis. The verdict: Johnny gets to walk to school for a whole week. Maybe the exercise will help.
Issue #2: If I knew that my child was being bullied on the bus on a daily basis, there is no way in the world that I would send him into that environment over and over again. Would you put your terrier into a cage with vicious pit bulls every morning so that he could be educated? I think not. You would find a new way to solve the problem.
The real issue here is uninvolved parents who want to complain about a free education so that they don't have to deal with the hassle of raising their own kids. The solution is the opposite.
You see, one of my duties as fake assistant principal is to help manage attendance issues. When kids accumulate an excessive number of absences or tardies we call mom and dad in to the office and give them a good talking to. If that doesn't work, we do it again, but talk louder because that's about all we can do. Today was round one of the the good talking to's, so I didn't have to do it too loudly. The theory behind the crazy schedule is that any parent who can't get their kid to school probably won't show up for the meeting. Fortunately, that proved to be true today, but it still tied me to within a stone's throw of the office most of the day.
Whenever one of those gaps occurred, I dove in to the stack of bus tickets that had been issued over the last two days. What struck me was that I talked to several kids who had gotten into fights on the bus. In one case a mom immediately went on the defensive when I told her that her son had planted his knee in another child's face on the way home. She blasted me for allowing her son to be bullied all year long by these kids and wanted me to believe that her son was the victim. This brought two issues to my mind.
Issue #1: Let's find out if this kid is a bully or a victim. The plan: Wait until after school and ask the bus driver what she had seen. The result: Little Johnny is indeed the bully and has been tossing around profanity and harassing and fighting with other kids on the bus on a regular basis. The verdict: Johnny gets to walk to school for a whole week. Maybe the exercise will help.
Issue #2: If I knew that my child was being bullied on the bus on a daily basis, there is no way in the world that I would send him into that environment over and over again. Would you put your terrier into a cage with vicious pit bulls every morning so that he could be educated? I think not. You would find a new way to solve the problem.
The real issue here is uninvolved parents who want to complain about a free education so that they don't have to deal with the hassle of raising their own kids. The solution is the opposite.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Day 13 - Wednesday
It's been a long day. I know that because a) I'm tired and b) the first thing my wife said to me when I got home was, "If you could take the kids for just one hour all would be right in the world." I complied and this was the result: One dad, two dogs, one stroller, two bikes, and a tricycle. Now picture this: All four kids and the two dogs each have their own unique pace. Oh well, they all know where the park is. They'll probably make it.
I think I know why I am so tired today. It really has nothing to do with school. It has to do with that darn book. You know the one that I was almost finished with for three nights in a row and kept staying up later than I should trying to get it done. Well, it's done and the bad guy is dead. Now I have to resume the "Non Fiction, Make Myself a Better Person" book I started before I started the novel with the dead bad guy. For some reason dead bad guys are easier to read.
As for the school day, it started with a bang. First thing this morning I held a meeting with an eight-year-old, his mom, and his teacher to implement a behavior plan. The plan actually mentioned that the kid is not allowed to threaten to kill people anymore. He agreed and signed his name on the dotted line. He even upheld his end of the bargain... until lunch.
Next I called a parent and gave her the option of having her kid kicked off the bus for a week or serving a one day school suspension. Mom chose the suspension as long as we sent a huge pile of work so the kid wouldn't have time to play. Again, I complied. You should have seen his backpack.
More to come tomorrow. I get to meet with parents of the habitually truant. Should be fun.
I think I know why I am so tired today. It really has nothing to do with school. It has to do with that darn book. You know the one that I was almost finished with for three nights in a row and kept staying up later than I should trying to get it done. Well, it's done and the bad guy is dead. Now I have to resume the "Non Fiction, Make Myself a Better Person" book I started before I started the novel with the dead bad guy. For some reason dead bad guys are easier to read.
As for the school day, it started with a bang. First thing this morning I held a meeting with an eight-year-old, his mom, and his teacher to implement a behavior plan. The plan actually mentioned that the kid is not allowed to threaten to kill people anymore. He agreed and signed his name on the dotted line. He even upheld his end of the bargain... until lunch.
Next I called a parent and gave her the option of having her kid kicked off the bus for a week or serving a one day school suspension. Mom chose the suspension as long as we sent a huge pile of work so the kid wouldn't have time to play. Again, I complied. You should have seen his backpack.
More to come tomorrow. I get to meet with parents of the habitually truant. Should be fun.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Day 12 - Tuesday
It’s not everyday that I have a really good idea, but today one of those brilliant notions came to me. Actually, it all started several years ago when a fellow teacher started running her class like a junior ROTC program. The students learn to march in formation and there is a heavy emphasis placed on leadership skills. During my current absence from the classroom, my substitute has used her military background to institute a regimented theme and the students have responded well.
When I received an e-mail from a parent who was concerned that her son was being bullied, I thought long and hard how to handle it. Of course, the bullies were from my own class, so I had dealt with this situation before. This time a new approach was needed. Since I had noticed these particular students thriving in a rigid military setting, I decided to speak their language.
I found the offending bullies on the playground during recess and, in a very precise military tone, ordered them to report to my office at once. Upon arrival, I handed each of them a notice entitled “Official Orders - Anonymous Elementary Military Corps.” The noticed included all of their names, preceded by their title: PFC. The memo also indicated that it had been drafted by General “The Office” himself.
Included in their orders was the duty to treat the bullied student with respect and to model for the other members of their platoon how to show respect. They were also instructed to report any incidents of disrespect toward the specified student in a timely manner.
By the end of the day, three additional students had volunteered to sign up for protection duty, bringing the total to six. I printed off additional copies of the orders and had the new recruits sign them as well.
For your reading pleasure (and in case you want to use it on a kid of your own), a copy of the order is included below:
---
Official Orders
Anonymous Elementary Military Corps
The following orders are issued to you by your commanding officer. You are to comply with the terms of these orders. Failure to comply will result in the disciplinary action including, but not limited to, loss of rank and dishonorable discharge.
Orders: Effective today, you are ordered to protect the livelihood and spirit of Les Picking, a member of your platoon. This includes refraining from physical or verbal threats or intimidation and refraining from teasing, mocking, or humiliating said person.
Your duty is to support and encourage the specified person by offering assistance as needed and by demonstrating an accepting attitude toward him, thereby showing others how to treat members of their platoon.
It is your further duty to confront those who violate Les Picking's well-being. Any confrontation with an offender must be limited to a verbal conversation intended to show the offender the worth of the subject. Should further offenses occur, it is your duty to report the offender to your commanding officer in a timely manner.
You are to report on the status of these orders to General "The Office" during your recess break each day.
When I received an e-mail from a parent who was concerned that her son was being bullied, I thought long and hard how to handle it. Of course, the bullies were from my own class, so I had dealt with this situation before. This time a new approach was needed. Since I had noticed these particular students thriving in a rigid military setting, I decided to speak their language.
I found the offending bullies on the playground during recess and, in a very precise military tone, ordered them to report to my office at once. Upon arrival, I handed each of them a notice entitled “Official Orders - Anonymous Elementary Military Corps.” The noticed included all of their names, preceded by their title: PFC. The memo also indicated that it had been drafted by General “The Office” himself.
Included in their orders was the duty to treat the bullied student with respect and to model for the other members of their platoon how to show respect. They were also instructed to report any incidents of disrespect toward the specified student in a timely manner.
By the end of the day, three additional students had volunteered to sign up for protection duty, bringing the total to six. I printed off additional copies of the orders and had the new recruits sign them as well.
For your reading pleasure (and in case you want to use it on a kid of your own), a copy of the order is included below:
---
Official Orders
Anonymous Elementary Military Corps
The following orders are issued to you by your commanding officer. You are to comply with the terms of these orders. Failure to comply will result in the disciplinary action including, but not limited to, loss of rank and dishonorable discharge.
Orders: Effective today, you are ordered to protect the livelihood and spirit of Les Picking, a member of your platoon. This includes refraining from physical or verbal threats or intimidation and refraining from teasing, mocking, or humiliating said person.
Your duty is to support and encourage the specified person by offering assistance as needed and by demonstrating an accepting attitude toward him, thereby showing others how to treat members of their platoon.
It is your further duty to confront those who violate Les Picking's well-being. Any confrontation with an offender must be limited to a verbal conversation intended to show the offender the worth of the subject. Should further offenses occur, it is your duty to report the offender to your commanding officer in a timely manner.
You are to report on the status of these orders to General "The Office" during your recess break each day.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Day 11 - Monday
Spring is not in the air. The first Monday back in the office after Spring Break got started with a soggy dose of rain. One of the usual side effects of rain is squirrelly children who are tired of being cooped up inside stuffy classrooms. Today, that effect was delayed. Perhaps it was due to the fact that the kids had been off school for a week and didn't mind the classrooms. Regardless of the reason, the morning was slow and the children somewhat angelic.
Since the morning was slow, I decided to go on the offensive. As recess rolled around, I sauntered onto the playground in an attempt to drum up some business. I scanned the scene and marveled to see that everyone seemed to be behaving. Oh well, there's always the first and second recess next. Then something caught my eye. Off to the west, I noticed three young men approaching me. Their hands were resting behind their backs and they stood straight and proud, their footsteps marching in a coordinated beat. These are the same fifth graders who had announced to me last week that their "days of misbehavior" were behind them. "Left, Left, Left, Right Left," one of them sang out. "Good morning, Mr. "The Office."
I returned their greeting, but eyed them with suspicion. I asked them if they were still interested in attending boot camp this summer. Based on their enthusiastic responses, I'd better see about finding a place that will take them. Given the rain, the kids were not aloud on the sand during recess, but it soon proved to great a temptation for my young recruits. Just a few feet away from me, the marching trio broke rank and, as if on cue, darted across the sand only to be busted by one of the playground supervisors on the other side. At least they are trying. This is an improvement.
Did I mention that the rain only served to delay the inevitable rather than eliminate it? By the time lunch was over, we were in full swing and kids were knocking on both the front and back doors of my office. The blissfully crazy afternoon was a welcome break from the monotony of the morning. Maybe tomorrow will start with a little more more enthusiasm.
Since the morning was slow, I decided to go on the offensive. As recess rolled around, I sauntered onto the playground in an attempt to drum up some business. I scanned the scene and marveled to see that everyone seemed to be behaving. Oh well, there's always the first and second recess next. Then something caught my eye. Off to the west, I noticed three young men approaching me. Their hands were resting behind their backs and they stood straight and proud, their footsteps marching in a coordinated beat. These are the same fifth graders who had announced to me last week that their "days of misbehavior" were behind them. "Left, Left, Left, Right Left," one of them sang out. "Good morning, Mr. "The Office."
I returned their greeting, but eyed them with suspicion. I asked them if they were still interested in attending boot camp this summer. Based on their enthusiastic responses, I'd better see about finding a place that will take them. Given the rain, the kids were not aloud on the sand during recess, but it soon proved to great a temptation for my young recruits. Just a few feet away from me, the marching trio broke rank and, as if on cue, darted across the sand only to be busted by one of the playground supervisors on the other side. At least they are trying. This is an improvement.
Did I mention that the rain only served to delay the inevitable rather than eliminate it? By the time lunch was over, we were in full swing and kids were knocking on both the front and back doors of my office. The blissfully crazy afternoon was a welcome break from the monotony of the morning. Maybe tomorrow will start with a little more more enthusiasm.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Day 10 - Friday
It is the Friday before spring break. How could it not be a good day? My wife sent the kids to play with Grandpa for the day so she could clean the house. While they were gone, we met for lunch. I'll write more when Day 11 rolls around after the break!
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Day 9 - Thursday
I had one of those moments today where I knew I should keep a straight face, but it was so doggone hard that I really had to work at it to keep from busting out in laughter. Over the last two weeks it has become apparent that my own class is going to take up the bulk of my time as an administrator. Part of that has to do with the fact that they are a squirrelly bunch. The other half of the equation has to do with the fact that they are going to test the sub as much as possible.
Right after the morning recess, I found myself walking into the office only to be greeted by two of my own students working on their math assignment. "Uhh, why are you guys up here?" I asked, although I already knew the answer.
"We were talking, so the teacher told us to do our math in the office."
"Why are you sharing a math book? If you were talking in class, you can't work together in the office."
"I can't find mine," one of the squirrels replied. Now that is an easy problem to solve. So off I marched to library to get the kid a loaner book so he could work on his math in the office. Problem solved.
Just before I handed the book over, I added one final bit of wisdom. "Finish the assignment and get back to class. If I see you in here again, I am going to call home." What I didn't tell them is what I would say when I made the phone call and apparently they were dying to know.
Fast forward to after lunch. "What are you two doing in the office again?" I inquired.
"We were talking."
As man of my word, I contacted both mothers, but before doing so, I called the teacher to verify the specific offenses, which were numerous and severe. Here's where it gets good. "I can't have you guys in the office all day. I called your parents and you are going home right now," I said to them.
Squirrel 1's mom came to get him, but Squirrel 2's mom doesn't have a car, so she couldn't leave home. "I'll drop him off," I told her. And now it gets really good. This is the part that I wanted to laugh about, but I resisted (sort of). Once he was strapped safely in the back seat and we were on the way to the Squirrel's den, I thought about what would be the most tortuous thing I could do. I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the gangster wannabe and came up with a plan. This kid idolizes gang life and the horrific music that accompanies it.
I smirked as the plan formed and flipped on the radio to a country music station and cranked up the volume. I stopped short of singing along with it, mostly because I couldn't do it with a straight face. I have never enjoyed a drive in my car as I did this one.
Winning is nice. It feels good to win.
Right after the morning recess, I found myself walking into the office only to be greeted by two of my own students working on their math assignment. "Uhh, why are you guys up here?" I asked, although I already knew the answer.
"We were talking, so the teacher told us to do our math in the office."
"Why are you sharing a math book? If you were talking in class, you can't work together in the office."
"I can't find mine," one of the squirrels replied. Now that is an easy problem to solve. So off I marched to library to get the kid a loaner book so he could work on his math in the office. Problem solved.
Just before I handed the book over, I added one final bit of wisdom. "Finish the assignment and get back to class. If I see you in here again, I am going to call home." What I didn't tell them is what I would say when I made the phone call and apparently they were dying to know.
Fast forward to after lunch. "What are you two doing in the office again?" I inquired.
"We were talking."
As man of my word, I contacted both mothers, but before doing so, I called the teacher to verify the specific offenses, which were numerous and severe. Here's where it gets good. "I can't have you guys in the office all day. I called your parents and you are going home right now," I said to them.
Squirrel 1's mom came to get him, but Squirrel 2's mom doesn't have a car, so she couldn't leave home. "I'll drop him off," I told her. And now it gets really good. This is the part that I wanted to laugh about, but I resisted (sort of). Once he was strapped safely in the back seat and we were on the way to the Squirrel's den, I thought about what would be the most tortuous thing I could do. I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the gangster wannabe and came up with a plan. This kid idolizes gang life and the horrific music that accompanies it.
I smirked as the plan formed and flipped on the radio to a country music station and cranked up the volume. I stopped short of singing along with it, mostly because I couldn't do it with a straight face. I have never enjoyed a drive in my car as I did this one.
Winning is nice. It feels good to win.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Day 8 - Wednesday
"Do you want to go pick up a kid and bring him in?" My principal was standing at the door to my temporary office. I glanced up and quickly agreed, not even sure what the situation was. He went on to inform me that a student had refused to get ready for school this morning and as a result had missed the bus. The parent didn't have a car, so there was no way for her to get him to school.
After my morning ritual of giving the daily announcements over the PA system, I hopped in my car to track down the troubled kid. There was no way we were going to let this little guy cheat us out of the money we collect from the state each day a child is present. When I arrived at the apartment, I was thankful not to have been invited inside. The smell of the smoke so permeated the building that my eyes began to water. You have to understand that I have never met this child or his mom before. All she knew was that I was a representative of the school and that I was taking her son with me. I was actually shocked by her willingness to send her seven-year-old boy with a complete stranger. I guess there are some who blindly trust any governmental agency.
With a big smile of victory, the boy cheerfully headed out to my car. Once he was safely strapped in, he was amazed at the moonroof. Apparently he had never seen such a thing before. Not wanting to make him think this was a fun ride, I refused to open it. Instead I lectured him on the importance of school and told him that he was going to have to make up for the time he missed this morning by giving up recess.
The whole way to school he talked happily about all the things he saw as my eyes grew watery and my lungs constricted. I was not tearing up over his unfortunate situation, rather I was reacting to the overwhelming stench of cigarette smoke that permeated his clothing and thus, my car. I knew he was in awe of my moonroof, and I wanted him to hate the ride, but, doggone it, I needed to breathe!
At the halfway point I had to give in to protect the boy's safety and mine. I warned him not to have any fun, but it had to be done. As the fresh air filled the car, I inhaled deeply and felt my eyes return to their normal state.
And so goes the life of a short term AP.
After my morning ritual of giving the daily announcements over the PA system, I hopped in my car to track down the troubled kid. There was no way we were going to let this little guy cheat us out of the money we collect from the state each day a child is present. When I arrived at the apartment, I was thankful not to have been invited inside. The smell of the smoke so permeated the building that my eyes began to water. You have to understand that I have never met this child or his mom before. All she knew was that I was a representative of the school and that I was taking her son with me. I was actually shocked by her willingness to send her seven-year-old boy with a complete stranger. I guess there are some who blindly trust any governmental agency.
With a big smile of victory, the boy cheerfully headed out to my car. Once he was safely strapped in, he was amazed at the moonroof. Apparently he had never seen such a thing before. Not wanting to make him think this was a fun ride, I refused to open it. Instead I lectured him on the importance of school and told him that he was going to have to make up for the time he missed this morning by giving up recess.
The whole way to school he talked happily about all the things he saw as my eyes grew watery and my lungs constricted. I was not tearing up over his unfortunate situation, rather I was reacting to the overwhelming stench of cigarette smoke that permeated his clothing and thus, my car. I knew he was in awe of my moonroof, and I wanted him to hate the ride, but, doggone it, I needed to breathe!
At the halfway point I had to give in to protect the boy's safety and mine. I warned him not to have any fun, but it had to be done. As the fresh air filled the car, I inhaled deeply and felt my eyes return to their normal state.
And so goes the life of a short term AP.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Day 7 - Tuesday
Today was a busy day in the life of an assistant principal wannabe, but instead of boring you with tales of crazy parents and wacky kids, I am going to spend my time focusing on something entirely different today. I am constantly amazed by the types of people who get hired as role models for our kids.
Tonight I was out to dinner with my family to celebrate my daughter's sixth birthday. She was in her own little world playing with her cousins and eating her burger and fries while sipping on a chocolate milk shake. For that I was thankful because she could not hear the man siting at the table next to us. My ears kept picking up on his prolific use of four-letter words as he recounted to his buddy the trials he is going through with his live-in girlfriend. Nearly every sentence contained expletives, many used to describe her. I could tell he was angry and I concluded that to call him on his horrific behavior would only make things worse, so I suffered in silence.
As he spewed out his profanity, I couldn't help but notice that he wore the uniform of a local high school baseball team. Sure enough, the conversation eventually turned to baseball and the players on the team. I couldn't believe that this man had been hired to coach high school boys and mentor them through a portion of their most impressionable years. His disgust with his shack-up honey and the words he used in a very public setting were among the most offensive things I had heard in quite some time. I was equally appalled by his buddy who sat there never once suggesting to his friend that his language might be offensive to those around him.
If this man were to tell me that he never speaks that way in front of his team, I wouldn't excuse him. The truth of his character was revealed tonight. Even if his language was nothing but perfect in the presence of teenagers, his character is flawed and those flaws will be evident in his interactions with those he is tasked to train.
It is these kind of people who influence our children. These are the men who shape our future. Until our role models can control themselves, we will continue to see new generations of ineffective and immature parents sending their children to our already struggling public schools. It's time to take a stand because when we do, students will be free to learn.
Tonight I was out to dinner with my family to celebrate my daughter's sixth birthday. She was in her own little world playing with her cousins and eating her burger and fries while sipping on a chocolate milk shake. For that I was thankful because she could not hear the man siting at the table next to us. My ears kept picking up on his prolific use of four-letter words as he recounted to his buddy the trials he is going through with his live-in girlfriend. Nearly every sentence contained expletives, many used to describe her. I could tell he was angry and I concluded that to call him on his horrific behavior would only make things worse, so I suffered in silence.
As he spewed out his profanity, I couldn't help but notice that he wore the uniform of a local high school baseball team. Sure enough, the conversation eventually turned to baseball and the players on the team. I couldn't believe that this man had been hired to coach high school boys and mentor them through a portion of their most impressionable years. His disgust with his shack-up honey and the words he used in a very public setting were among the most offensive things I had heard in quite some time. I was equally appalled by his buddy who sat there never once suggesting to his friend that his language might be offensive to those around him.
If this man were to tell me that he never speaks that way in front of his team, I wouldn't excuse him. The truth of his character was revealed tonight. Even if his language was nothing but perfect in the presence of teenagers, his character is flawed and those flaws will be evident in his interactions with those he is tasked to train.
It is these kind of people who influence our children. These are the men who shape our future. Until our role models can control themselves, we will continue to see new generations of ineffective and immature parents sending their children to our already struggling public schools. It's time to take a stand because when we do, students will be free to learn.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Day 6 - Monday
What could go wrong on a Monday morning? The kids all had a nice relaxing weekend away from the pressures of school and they are feeling refreshed and enthusiastic about their education. Right? Oh, yeah. There was that little incident involving fire in the bathroom from last week that didn't get resolved. Then there's the two kids who got into a fight before school even started. Oh, and who would have guessed that we'd send a student to the hospital in an ambulance this morning? Maybe I shouldn't have called those other teachers first thing this morning and offered to help offload some of their more mundane tasks in anticipation of a slow day.
There is fun in it all, however. The fun comes from catching the bad guy. You remember the little fellow who got caught with matches after school last Friday? Well it didn't take long to connect him to the infamous Cheeto Fire of 2010. The Cheeto Fire was named after the source of the flames that filled the boys' bathroom with an odd odor last week. No damage actually occurred, but after only a few minutes of interviewing guilty consciences, I learned that Match Boy had invited a friend to join him in the bathroom to experiment with a new technique for making Hot Cheetos even hotter. According to their theory, a small flame held beneath the puffed chip-like creation would make it do something new and exciting. Apparently the word "burn" never entered their realm of hypotheses.
I always feel a little better when the truly guilty let the tears flow just a bit. It's nice to see that they are scared and that they fear the consequences of their transgressions. These little guys held back the tears until the just after the sentence was pronounced, then they let them flow. As the tears started to flow, so did the names of anyone else who was within a block of the flames. One name happened to belong to the little guy who first ratted them out last week. Isn't that convenient.
The best part, though, came when I called home and the parents of one of the little pyrotechnicians had just one question. "Where did he get the Cheetos?" And this my friends, is what we call "A parent that makes me go hmmm." I can't wait until tomorrow!
There is fun in it all, however. The fun comes from catching the bad guy. You remember the little fellow who got caught with matches after school last Friday? Well it didn't take long to connect him to the infamous Cheeto Fire of 2010. The Cheeto Fire was named after the source of the flames that filled the boys' bathroom with an odd odor last week. No damage actually occurred, but after only a few minutes of interviewing guilty consciences, I learned that Match Boy had invited a friend to join him in the bathroom to experiment with a new technique for making Hot Cheetos even hotter. According to their theory, a small flame held beneath the puffed chip-like creation would make it do something new and exciting. Apparently the word "burn" never entered their realm of hypotheses.
I always feel a little better when the truly guilty let the tears flow just a bit. It's nice to see that they are scared and that they fear the consequences of their transgressions. These little guys held back the tears until the just after the sentence was pronounced, then they let them flow. As the tears started to flow, so did the names of anyone else who was within a block of the flames. One name happened to belong to the little guy who first ratted them out last week. Isn't that convenient.
The best part, though, came when I called home and the parents of one of the little pyrotechnicians had just one question. "Where did he get the Cheetos?" And this my friends, is what we call "A parent that makes me go hmmm." I can't wait until tomorrow!
Friday, March 26, 2010
Day 5 - Friday
An entire week has now passed and I am ready for the weekend. To call this week exhausting is an understatement. Today I learned the value of technical glitches and repeat offenders. Let’s start with the technical glitches.
A student, let’s call him Eager, was sent to “The Office” today for injuring another student on the playground. We’ll call the injured fellow, Bumpy. According to the witnesses, Eager lost his cool and pushed Bumpy into a bar. (Perhaps “pole” would be a better term for those of you wondering what kind of a school I come from.) The injury amounted to a slight bump (hence the name, Bumpy). As I always do, I pulled Eager’s discipline file up on the computer to review before acting. To my surprise, Eager’s file was empty. According to our system the child had never so much as smacked a fly on the playground. “Hmmm,” I thought to myself. “This is not the Eager I know.” As a prudent investigator, I ran this up the chain of command, only to determine that there was indeed an error.
After several e-mails around town, it was determined that the file was lost. Despite all of our best efforts to prevent this kind of a disaster, we have no digital evidence that Eager has ever been to the office. Fortunately, a hard copy remains. As for me, Monday promises to be a day full of data entry…unless I can pass it off to someone else. Not likely. Kindergarten registration starts bright and early Monday morning and all the office staff will be busy signing up the little guys.
Now on to repeat offenders. I was informed this morning that the boys bathroom smelled like matches. I walked by the open door and confirmed the report. A closer look revealed that the evidence had been removed and that only the smell remained. Given the lack of witnesses or evidence, there was little I could do to catch the perpetrator. I put the word out to listen for kids talking, but the dismissal bell rang without any response. It looked like this was going to be an unsolved mystery.
But wait, there is an after school program. And it was here that the offender struck twice. Without regard for his own personal safety or the safety of others, Smokey struck his matches in the presence of an adult and the case was solved. I have yet to speak with the child as he was sent home by the after school staff, but come Monday, as soon as I finish my stack of data entry, I’ll be on him like smoke on a fire.
A student, let’s call him Eager, was sent to “The Office” today for injuring another student on the playground. We’ll call the injured fellow, Bumpy. According to the witnesses, Eager lost his cool and pushed Bumpy into a bar. (Perhaps “pole” would be a better term for those of you wondering what kind of a school I come from.) The injury amounted to a slight bump (hence the name, Bumpy). As I always do, I pulled Eager’s discipline file up on the computer to review before acting. To my surprise, Eager’s file was empty. According to our system the child had never so much as smacked a fly on the playground. “Hmmm,” I thought to myself. “This is not the Eager I know.” As a prudent investigator, I ran this up the chain of command, only to determine that there was indeed an error.
After several e-mails around town, it was determined that the file was lost. Despite all of our best efforts to prevent this kind of a disaster, we have no digital evidence that Eager has ever been to the office. Fortunately, a hard copy remains. As for me, Monday promises to be a day full of data entry…unless I can pass it off to someone else. Not likely. Kindergarten registration starts bright and early Monday morning and all the office staff will be busy signing up the little guys.
Now on to repeat offenders. I was informed this morning that the boys bathroom smelled like matches. I walked by the open door and confirmed the report. A closer look revealed that the evidence had been removed and that only the smell remained. Given the lack of witnesses or evidence, there was little I could do to catch the perpetrator. I put the word out to listen for kids talking, but the dismissal bell rang without any response. It looked like this was going to be an unsolved mystery.
But wait, there is an after school program. And it was here that the offender struck twice. Without regard for his own personal safety or the safety of others, Smokey struck his matches in the presence of an adult and the case was solved. I have yet to speak with the child as he was sent home by the after school staff, but come Monday, as soon as I finish my stack of data entry, I’ll be on him like smoke on a fire.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Day 4 - Thursday
Did you say progress reports are due tomorrow? Since when does the assistant principal have to do progress reports? Oh, that's right. I was a teacher last week and the sub doesn't even know the kids' names yet. My plan was to work on a few progress reports a day throughout the week, but it hasn't happened that way. As a matter of fact, that is one thing you learn as a school administrator: Nothing goes according to plan.
There are roughly 850 students at my school (give or take a few depending on the position of the moon). If one out of ten got sent to "The Office" on any given day that would be 85 kids. Fortunately our school is not that bad. Five percent would be just over 40 kids per day. We still have that beat. Let's cut it down to about 2.5% of the kids getting into trouble on any given day. That would be in the neighborhood of 20 kids. Today was right about at the 2.5% mark. That doesn't mean there were 20 fights, because each fight takes a minimum of two people, but it was a busy day for "The Office."
I view student discipline from two different conflicting perspectives. On one hand, I would love to work at a school where all the kids got along and solved their own conflicts; A place were teachers and other adults were treated with respect and kids were motivated to succeed. But that would make me irrelevant in my particular role as an administrator. As a person, I need to be busy in order to feel satisfied. A busy day gives me a sense of accomplishment and value. Given my position, a busy day involves kids screwing up. From that perspective, there is a twisted sense of worth that comes after a long day of disciplining kids. As with any day in the classroom, I hope that they have learned what I have taught them them.
I try to reflect on the good parts of each day, but in the world of student discipline, that can be hard. Fortunately I have great kids at home. Tonight I watched a kindergarten student during Open House who could not recite the alphabet to her parents even as she pointed to the letters on the wall. Obviously, she struggled with the sounds of the letters as well. As I watched this episode, I thought of my own kindergarten aged daughter and absolutely delighted in the fact that she not only knows the letters and sounds, but reads entire books.
Once the kids were in bed tonight, I sat down to write about my day and noticed that there were two comments on yesterday's post. I clicked the link and read what my own son had to say about my writing: "You are so funny!" His second comment was just a reiteration of the first. "I said....You are so funny!" How can you not smile knowing that your own son is your biggest fan. I am truly blessed.
Now, time for some progress reports. Anyone want to help?
There are roughly 850 students at my school (give or take a few depending on the position of the moon). If one out of ten got sent to "The Office" on any given day that would be 85 kids. Fortunately our school is not that bad. Five percent would be just over 40 kids per day. We still have that beat. Let's cut it down to about 2.5% of the kids getting into trouble on any given day. That would be in the neighborhood of 20 kids. Today was right about at the 2.5% mark. That doesn't mean there were 20 fights, because each fight takes a minimum of two people, but it was a busy day for "The Office."
I view student discipline from two different conflicting perspectives. On one hand, I would love to work at a school where all the kids got along and solved their own conflicts; A place were teachers and other adults were treated with respect and kids were motivated to succeed. But that would make me irrelevant in my particular role as an administrator. As a person, I need to be busy in order to feel satisfied. A busy day gives me a sense of accomplishment and value. Given my position, a busy day involves kids screwing up. From that perspective, there is a twisted sense of worth that comes after a long day of disciplining kids. As with any day in the classroom, I hope that they have learned what I have taught them them.
I try to reflect on the good parts of each day, but in the world of student discipline, that can be hard. Fortunately I have great kids at home. Tonight I watched a kindergarten student during Open House who could not recite the alphabet to her parents even as she pointed to the letters on the wall. Obviously, she struggled with the sounds of the letters as well. As I watched this episode, I thought of my own kindergarten aged daughter and absolutely delighted in the fact that she not only knows the letters and sounds, but reads entire books.
Once the kids were in bed tonight, I sat down to write about my day and noticed that there were two comments on yesterday's post. I clicked the link and read what my own son had to say about my writing: "You are so funny!" His second comment was just a reiteration of the first. "I said....You are so funny!" How can you not smile knowing that your own son is your biggest fan. I am truly blessed.
Now, time for some progress reports. Anyone want to help?
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Day 3- Wednesday
Have you ever had one of those days when you were so busy you didn't even notice how long you had been working? You know what I'm talking about. The kind of day where an innocent looking child is sent to you for stabbing other kids in the neck with a spork and pretending it is a Taser? The kind of day where other children look you in the eye and lie about launching spitballs into the face of a sweet little girl? Come on, admit it. This kind of thing happens to you all the time. Doesn't it?
OK, maybe you're a cop and the Tasers you work with are real and your spitballs are bean bag pellets fired into unruly crowds. (Hey, that's not a bad idea.) Or maybe you work in a shoe store and your Tasers are smelly feet or ugly bunions. We all have Tasers and spitballs on our jobs. But do you have a joy buzzer?
Oh, yes. I said joy buzzer. You remember those wind up toys that buzz innocent victims when you shake their hands. I got one today from a cute little fourth grade girl. Actually, she's a good kid and goes to our church. As a matter of fact, I have to go and pick the kids up from church in a few minutes and you know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna buzz that cute little fourth grade girl! Oh, how I love this job.
OK, maybe you're a cop and the Tasers you work with are real and your spitballs are bean bag pellets fired into unruly crowds. (Hey, that's not a bad idea.) Or maybe you work in a shoe store and your Tasers are smelly feet or ugly bunions. We all have Tasers and spitballs on our jobs. But do you have a joy buzzer?
Oh, yes. I said joy buzzer. You remember those wind up toys that buzz innocent victims when you shake their hands. I got one today from a cute little fourth grade girl. Actually, she's a good kid and goes to our church. As a matter of fact, I have to go and pick the kids up from church in a few minutes and you know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna buzz that cute little fourth grade girl! Oh, how I love this job.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Day 2- Tuesday
The day started out beautifully... until 5:30 this morning. The beautiful part was the part where the baby slept through the night. The ugly part, the 5:30 part, occurred when my wife's cell phone decided to audibly alert us that the battery was running low. (Insert parenthetical statement here that I won't actually say because it might jeopardize my marriage.) Oh well. The alarm was going to go off in a half hour anyway, might as well get up.
Since my purpose is to chronicle the highs and lows of the day, I'll start with the lows and work my way up. During my morning briefing with my classroom sub, I told her not to put up with anything from the class. If they were not focused she was to send them up to "The Office" immediately. Since yesterday was a "sink the sub" day, this seemed prudent. She took me seriously. Very seriously. By 10:00 a.m. I had seen 12 kids. Nine of them were from my own class. How do you spell Aye-yi-yi as you bury your face in your hands and pretend to weep? I think the strategy worked, though. The class did much better in the afternoon.
Let's go one notch up from there. For guy who deals with discipline all day, it can actually bring about a warped sort of high when you catch a kid red-handed. I had one of those moments today. Guess who's class the culprit came from? Yup, you guessed it, Mr. "The Office's". We have an online learning site where the kids can log in using their own usernames and access learning materials. The site also features an e-mail component. What the kids don't know is that there is an electronic spy that notifies the administrators anytime profanity is included in an e-mail The spy is fast. Very fast. Within three minutes of one student sending a dirty message, he was sitting in my office. I felt wise. And powerful.
Later, another student from Mr. "The Office's" class was in the library using a computer. He launched a naughty e-mail. The program administrator for the entire district happened to be in our library at the time with her Blackberry in hand. The e-mail arrived in her hands seconds after the naughty boy sent it. Caught again! Life is good!
Now for the best part. The girl fight! No, there were no fists or claws, it was a verbal war, but girls can be mean with their words. To simplify things, let's call them Kitty and Drama. Drama came to me on the verge of tears because Kitty had said mean things. (Yes, Drama. Can you believe it?) To get her back, Drama insulted Kitty, etcetera, ad nauseam. With both girls sitting in my office, I told them that they can make the choice to be nice to each other and that compliments are more productive than insults. Then they each took a turn at complimenting the other and things were going well. It was at this point that I began to feel left out, so I gave them an opportunity to compliment me as well. (Might as well get my own back scratched when I have the chance.) Kitty thought for a moment, then spoke. "Uhhhh, you have nice posture."
Nice posture! That's the best they could come up with? I'm in for a long month.
Since my purpose is to chronicle the highs and lows of the day, I'll start with the lows and work my way up. During my morning briefing with my classroom sub, I told her not to put up with anything from the class. If they were not focused she was to send them up to "The Office" immediately. Since yesterday was a "sink the sub" day, this seemed prudent. She took me seriously. Very seriously. By 10:00 a.m. I had seen 12 kids. Nine of them were from my own class. How do you spell Aye-yi-yi as you bury your face in your hands and pretend to weep? I think the strategy worked, though. The class did much better in the afternoon.
Let's go one notch up from there. For guy who deals with discipline all day, it can actually bring about a warped sort of high when you catch a kid red-handed. I had one of those moments today. Guess who's class the culprit came from? Yup, you guessed it, Mr. "The Office's". We have an online learning site where the kids can log in using their own usernames and access learning materials. The site also features an e-mail component. What the kids don't know is that there is an electronic spy that notifies the administrators anytime profanity is included in an e-mail The spy is fast. Very fast. Within three minutes of one student sending a dirty message, he was sitting in my office. I felt wise. And powerful.
Later, another student from Mr. "The Office's" class was in the library using a computer. He launched a naughty e-mail. The program administrator for the entire district happened to be in our library at the time with her Blackberry in hand. The e-mail arrived in her hands seconds after the naughty boy sent it. Caught again! Life is good!
Now for the best part. The girl fight! No, there were no fists or claws, it was a verbal war, but girls can be mean with their words. To simplify things, let's call them Kitty and Drama. Drama came to me on the verge of tears because Kitty had said mean things. (Yes, Drama. Can you believe it?) To get her back, Drama insulted Kitty, etcetera, ad nauseam. With both girls sitting in my office, I told them that they can make the choice to be nice to each other and that compliments are more productive than insults. Then they each took a turn at complimenting the other and things were going well. It was at this point that I began to feel left out, so I gave them an opportunity to compliment me as well. (Might as well get my own back scratched when I have the chance.) Kitty thought for a moment, then spoke. "Uhhhh, you have nice posture."
Nice posture! That's the best they could come up with? I'm in for a long month.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Day 1 - Monday
Let's begin by setting the stage. I learned of this gig last Thursday evening and was told to keep it under wraps until after school on Friday. That means that my class didn't learn of my departure until they showed up Monday morning and I was there to introduce them to the long term sub whom I had just met.
My class here at Anonymous El. is made up of a bunch of talkative kids who love to have fun. While they demand that I keep a vigilant eye on them, the severity of the average offense ranges somewhere between "Knock it off" and "You're a dork, I'm calling your mom". I started the day off by informing the class that I am now "The Office." When they get sent to "The Office," they are coming to me and I was not about to go easy on them.
Predictably, the class with the most visits to "The Office" was Mr. "The Office's" own class. One of the little darlings was caught throwing erasers across the room. Another tried dancing on the desk. I told him he was a dork and called his mom.
The most exciting part of my day, however, came earlier this morning. One of the fourth grade teachers asked me if I would do a home visit for one of her problem kids. Before I continue, you have to understand that I actually enjoy dealing with with those of the denser persuasion. My reason for this is simple: I love to tell a good story and the denser members of our society provide excellent fodder. That being said, there is no shortage of density in and around public schools, so my stories should be plentiful. (If you haven't yet figured this out, I have done a stint as a fill-in administrator before, so I already know what to expect.)
Join me as I cruise to a dilapidated mobile home to determine why little Horace does not turn in his homework. The teacher had tried calling Mrs. Horace, but their phone was disconnected. When I arrived on scene a car was parked in front and the booming techno music was actually making the little ramshackle house throb. I began to worry that the structure might collapse if the music wasn't turned down, but instead, I regained my focus on the task at hand. Climbing the astroturf steps to the front porch, I made note of the sliding glass door that served as the home's main entrance. With no blinds to hide it, the inside was laid out before me.
The polite administrator within me rang the door bell, but, not surprisingly, it didn't work. The 8-ounce yapping dog, however, announced my arrival as he stared me down through the door. Next time I rapped my knuckles on the door, hoping to arouse a sleeping giant. As I did, I noticed the glass of ice water on the kitchen table. The ice was not melted. "Someone is home," I quickly deduced as the techno music throbbed in my ears. I waited for the song to end and when it did, I pounded away on the glass once again. My window of silence was all of three seconds before the next techno track started, so I went around to the other side of the trailer and pounded on the back door. I even shouted out a greeting to inquire if anyone was home. No luck.
The second song was about to end, but someone didn't want intruders. The soundtrack turned to the rat-a-tat-tat of gunshots and screams. Was that a warning? If so, I was determined to heed it and off I went. No wonder Horace is failing.
Stay tuned for more fun tomorrow!
My class here at Anonymous El. is made up of a bunch of talkative kids who love to have fun. While they demand that I keep a vigilant eye on them, the severity of the average offense ranges somewhere between "Knock it off" and "You're a dork, I'm calling your mom". I started the day off by informing the class that I am now "The Office." When they get sent to "The Office," they are coming to me and I was not about to go easy on them.
Predictably, the class with the most visits to "The Office" was Mr. "The Office's" own class. One of the little darlings was caught throwing erasers across the room. Another tried dancing on the desk. I told him he was a dork and called his mom.
The most exciting part of my day, however, came earlier this morning. One of the fourth grade teachers asked me if I would do a home visit for one of her problem kids. Before I continue, you have to understand that I actually enjoy dealing with with those of the denser persuasion. My reason for this is simple: I love to tell a good story and the denser members of our society provide excellent fodder. That being said, there is no shortage of density in and around public schools, so my stories should be plentiful. (If you haven't yet figured this out, I have done a stint as a fill-in administrator before, so I already know what to expect.)
Join me as I cruise to a dilapidated mobile home to determine why little Horace does not turn in his homework. The teacher had tried calling Mrs. Horace, but their phone was disconnected. When I arrived on scene a car was parked in front and the booming techno music was actually making the little ramshackle house throb. I began to worry that the structure might collapse if the music wasn't turned down, but instead, I regained my focus on the task at hand. Climbing the astroturf steps to the front porch, I made note of the sliding glass door that served as the home's main entrance. With no blinds to hide it, the inside was laid out before me.
The polite administrator within me rang the door bell, but, not surprisingly, it didn't work. The 8-ounce yapping dog, however, announced my arrival as he stared me down through the door. Next time I rapped my knuckles on the door, hoping to arouse a sleeping giant. As I did, I noticed the glass of ice water on the kitchen table. The ice was not melted. "Someone is home," I quickly deduced as the techno music throbbed in my ears. I waited for the song to end and when it did, I pounded away on the glass once again. My window of silence was all of three seconds before the next techno track started, so I went around to the other side of the trailer and pounded on the back door. I even shouted out a greeting to inquire if anyone was home. No luck.
The second song was about to end, but someone didn't want intruders. The soundtrack turned to the rat-a-tat-tat of gunshots and screams. Was that a warning? If so, I was determined to heed it and off I went. No wonder Horace is failing.
Stay tuned for more fun tomorrow!
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