BUSTED IN SCHOOL MID SIXTIES

My next article comes from the deep recesses of my aging mind and takes me back to my high school days, circa 1965. The memory was triggered by a conversation with my eldest boy D1, over Easter. We were “chewing the fat” and I was answering his questions about his grampa and gramma. During his childhood years, while I was flitting around overseas, D1 (as well as D2 and D3) spent a great deal of time with my parents. Gramma and Grampa used any opportunity, that presented itself, to have the grandkids for the weekend, or holiday. In any event, D1 reminded me of a story told to them by my mom. It went something like this.

At the time, I was probably 16 years old and attending High School in Red Deer. I might say, that I saw myself as god’s gift to humanity. There was little left for me to learn in this world. I felt myself ready to take on the future. My buddies, in high school, were a mix of athletes, achievers, punks, and hell raisers. There was little that we didn’t get involved in, especially if it had to do, with partying or girls. We talked “a good game”, but seldom were the times, where any girls even paid us a passing notice. In our minds, we had many conquests. In reality, we had none. Our group hung out, before school, at lunch and after school. When one of us got in trouble we all did.

This particular memory comes from my grade 10 days. At our school we studied in a semester system. That meant our year was broken down into 3 month segments. In each three month period, we took 3 or maybe 4 classes. Each class finished at the end of the semester. You didn’t see that class again for a year, until you took the next level. I remember feeling so grown up, as I transitioned from Junior High to High School. It felt as if I had “arrived”. The new found freedom of the higher grades was exhilarating. In reality, I was ‘trouble” just looking for a place to “happen”.

Our new freedom included the right to miss three days of school, in any one semester, without any questions or ramifications. On the fourth day missed, you needed to return to school with a note from your parents detailing why you had missed four days in one semester. If you knew my mom and dad, then you know, this was not an experience you wanted to have. After the sixth day missed, you needed a doctor’s certificate, or you would be expelled from that semester. Again, not an experience you wanted to have in our family.

Within the first week of the semester, we all had one “missed” day on our record. It struck us that we were going to have to be very careful too use our remaining two days for a very good reason. As it came to pass, before the middle of the first semester, we had all skipped school 3 times. Now we were faced with having to attend every single day, for the rest of the semester, without missing even one minute. The alternative was to miss another day and then go ask my dad to lie for me and tell them I was sick. And that was NEVER going to happen!

Inevitably, it came to pass, that I awoke one fine morning with a terrible bout of the flu. Mom said I looked like “death warmed over” and that I had better remain in bed that day. Of course that was not an option for me. If they had to transport me on a travois, I was going to school that day. I got out of bed, pretended to be fine and staggered off to school. Mom told dad she was so proud of my commitment to school. I don’t remember much of that day. I’m not sure how I survived, but at the end of it, I drug my ass home and flopped down on my bed. I can tell you, it took major effort but, I felt I had dodged a “bullet”.

I felt much better in a couple of days, and was even boasting a bit to my buddies, about my toughness and cunning. Then enters “the fickle finger of fate”. It just so happened that my big brother attended the same high school a few years prior to me. He was a legend amongst the teachers. Their first ever student to receive a full scholarship to McGill University in Montreal. This guy had almost obtained sainthood status around the school. His picture was shown in every display case in the school. And of course he was a big ol’ lard ass Angel, who never did anything wrong, and never, ever skipped a day of school.

If he ever did miss a day, which I doubt happened, he would have taken a letter from mom, on his first miss. He would not wait for his fourth like normal kids did. In addition to him, my older sister Murt also studied a few years ahead of me. She was not much less of an Angel than my brother, and was also a favourite of the school staff. Geezus, were these two a tough act to follow. Every time a teacher asked if I was related to either of them, I said no. Basically, I was held to higher standards, and expectations, than I could meet. The looks of pity that I endured, if I did not have top marks in every subject, were crushing. Teachers who had previously taught my siblings, did not hide their disappointment, after spending a semester with me.

Editor’s Note: my little sister “S” was more like me. I vaguely remember her in deep discussion with Mom/Dad after she and “Wild Bill” disappeared a few times when they should have been at school.

About 3 or 4 days, after I had made my miraculous effort to avoid being exposed for skipping school, my world crashed down. I returned home from school to a very chilly reception from my mom. She would not say what was wrong. Usually she would spill her guts, after about two minutes, holding a secret. The next couple of hours were very uncomfortable in our house. At last dad arrived home. Before we sat down to supper, he invites me to come have a “talk” with him. In our world, the last thing you wanted was to go for a talk with my dad! He was not known for his long conversations. My blood ran cold.

He settles himself into his chair, taps out his pipe, stuffs in a new wad and relights it. He takes a deep drag, and exhales a blue cloud towards the ceiling. “Son”, he starts, “I had a call at work today from Mr. E at your school. Mr. E. was the vice-principal in charge of hard love and punishment. I like to have fainted on the spot. I knew at this point I had been “BUSTED”. Dad goes on to say, that Mr. E. was inquiring about my overall health. He was concerned that I had missed school three times in the first month and a half. He added that both of my older siblings had been very healthy and had never missed a day.

So dad says, “well I told him that there must be some mistake because as far as I know ol’ Jimbo has left for school each morning”. All I could think was, Geez, thanks dad. I now knew, I was in big trouble both at home and at school the next day. My mouth came open to spew out some tale of a mistake at school, or mixing my records with some of my friends. However, something warned me to just “fall on my sword” and suffer my punishment. There was absolutely nothing I could say to make it better. I was well and truly BUSTED, by the fickle finger of fate.

Now my dad could see a tiny amount of humour in the situation. However, my mother could see none. She now jumps in and starts naming off punishments. It starts with grounding for the remainder of High School, no TV until I had the top marks in the school. She would have suggested corporal punishment if she wasn’t such a “softie”. What they settled for was no more Fridays and Saturdays out for the remainder of the semester. Geezus, that was a month and a half. Which seemed like a lifetime to me. However, it could have been worse. Now for School the next day.

I had narrowly escaped with my life at home, but now I dreaded going to school the next day. And sure enough, about 10:00AM, the intercom lights up and blasts all over the school, “WOULD JIMBO H PLEASE COME TO THE PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE!” Once more I could have fainted dead away, right there in the classroom. Everyone was looking at me. Some of my buddies were shrinking down in their seats. They were waiting for their names to come up. The teacher looked at me with pity. The whole school knew I was in big trouble. I get up and slink towards the office. The secretary greets me and says, “Mr. E would like a word with you”. I was near to soiling my pants.

So I kowtow into his office. He is sitting there, a big old hulk of a bully. He scowled at me and said, “so I guess you have been skipping school, eh?” What can I say, my dad has already thrown me under the bus. Then he threatens to expel me from school, have me locked up in juvenile hall, or just plain kick my ass. About every second sentence he throws my brother’s or sister’s name in for good measure. He also warns me that if I ever, even think of skipping school again, to just come back with a note from my dad, the next day. Throughout, he is yelling and frothing at the mouth. He looks positively rabid and suitably scary. It worked on me.

What he decided for punishment was that I could do my homework each day at lunch time in his hall of fame. FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS! That was right our front of his office, in the main hallway, where every person in that school walked by at lunch. Those I knew, came by just to look at me and giggle. Others came to see the arch criminals, lined up in the main hall, paying the price of being “BUSTED”. I know that if there was even one person who did not know me by then, they certainly did after my two week stint in the hall of shame. I must say, that one lesson stuck in my mind for a long, long time.

Once again, I have written a long and very trivial memory from my younger days. Had D1 not stirred it from my memory, it might have remained buried forever. If you think this was long and boring, just wait, I have more just like it, or worse, coming down the track.