My School Confessions . . . Such As They Are
by Stephanie Black
Speed blogging is the order of the day today. But it’s just as well that I’m short on time, because I don’t have a heck of a lot to say. Unlike our resident miscreants and reprobates, whose Tales of School Stinkerhood could apparently fill several volumes, I was a well-behaved little student who even—brace yourself—went to class on a regular basis. At least until my freshman year in college—oops, crud, maybe I do have more to say than I thought, but never mind.
I really didn’t like getting in trouble at school. In third grade when Mrs. Nutt sent me out for talking, I sat in the hall and bawled (I’m sure my parents wished I were that traumatized by getting in trouble at home, instead of being endowed with the gift of smart alec-ness).
Here’s an example of how much I didn’t like getting in trouble at school. My junior year in high school, I had some friends who were on the yearbook staff. One day I went with them at lunchtime while they took some pictures for the yearbook. I can’t remember where we went or why I was there, but we were late getting back from lunch, so I was late to math class. I walked into class and explained to the teacher that I’d been out on a yearbook-picture-taking-adventure. He responded that someone had seen me with Dave J. (the guy I was dating). I said yes, Dave J. was there too. Looking very serious and solemn, my teacher said he would need to talk to me after class. It was clear he thought I was lying about the picture thing—that instead of being out on a legitimate yearbook errand (well, it probably wasn’t even semi-legitimate, but I thought it was at the time) I had been hanging out with my boyfriend. I turned beet red, and sat there in my seat in a horrible state of suffering--my teacher thought I was a liar!—until my two grinning yearbook friends walked into the room and all was made clear. The teacher had been party to a practical joke. My friends had beat me to class and asked the teacher to make me think I was in trouble. I’d like to say that a good laugh was had by all, but I was not amused. I did manage to wait until after school before I started bawling, but it was just NOT funny to me.
Moral to the story: Robert and Dave W., you are stinkers, and if you’re reading this blog, send me a check for my therapy bills.
Other moral: 2/3 of the guys I knew in high school were named Dave.
Last moral: Mean Aunt, don't you say a word. I don't have to confess everything and aerobics are still good exercise no matter when you do them.
Speed blogging is the order of the day today. But it’s just as well that I’m short on time, because I don’t have a heck of a lot to say. Unlike our resident miscreants and reprobates, whose Tales of School Stinkerhood could apparently fill several volumes, I was a well-behaved little student who even—brace yourself—went to class on a regular basis. At least until my freshman year in college—oops, crud, maybe I do have more to say than I thought, but never mind.
I really didn’t like getting in trouble at school. In third grade when Mrs. Nutt sent me out for talking, I sat in the hall and bawled (I’m sure my parents wished I were that traumatized by getting in trouble at home, instead of being endowed with the gift of smart alec-ness).
Here’s an example of how much I didn’t like getting in trouble at school. My junior year in high school, I had some friends who were on the yearbook staff. One day I went with them at lunchtime while they took some pictures for the yearbook. I can’t remember where we went or why I was there, but we were late getting back from lunch, so I was late to math class. I walked into class and explained to the teacher that I’d been out on a yearbook-picture-taking-adventure. He responded that someone had seen me with Dave J. (the guy I was dating). I said yes, Dave J. was there too. Looking very serious and solemn, my teacher said he would need to talk to me after class. It was clear he thought I was lying about the picture thing—that instead of being out on a legitimate yearbook errand (well, it probably wasn’t even semi-legitimate, but I thought it was at the time) I had been hanging out with my boyfriend. I turned beet red, and sat there in my seat in a horrible state of suffering--my teacher thought I was a liar!—until my two grinning yearbook friends walked into the room and all was made clear. The teacher had been party to a practical joke. My friends had beat me to class and asked the teacher to make me think I was in trouble. I’d like to say that a good laugh was had by all, but I was not amused. I did manage to wait until after school before I started bawling, but it was just NOT funny to me.
Moral to the story: Robert and Dave W., you are stinkers, and if you’re reading this blog, send me a check for my therapy bills.
Other moral: 2/3 of the guys I knew in high school were named Dave.
Last moral: Mean Aunt, don't you say a word. I don't have to confess everything and aerobics are still good exercise no matter when you do them.
Stephanie Black — 5/23/2007 03:22:00 PM
6 comments
6 Comments:
In somewhat related news, I just finished an advance copy of Stephanie Black's upcoming book.
It's fantastic. I truly, honestly, not-trying-to-be-polite believe that Stephanie is in the top 5% of LDS authors. If I was more well-read, I'd probably go even further than that.
The book is good.
OK, Steph, who do I make the check out to?
I played a lot of practical jokes in my younger days, and still enjoy a good one, but while this stunt was technically excellent and came together very quickly with the help of the math teacher, (who I feel deserved an Oscar for acting), I was denied taking any pleasure in my handiwork by Stephanie's red-faced response. She was (and probably still is) so guileless that it just wasn't any fun to make her look bad. I did, and still do, feel like a stinker for what I did.
That being said, my actions were not without provocation, as earlier in the day Stephanie and Dave J. had "stolen" my car, which could be started without a key and could not be locked. Instead of getting mad, I decided to get even.
By the way, the math teacher involved is (or was until recently) a temple worker in the Jordan River Temple.
-One of the 2/3, previously known as "The Other Side".
Ack! Dave W. I forgot about your car starting by Jedi mind power. Oh my word, that was some car.
--The Mean Aunt
aka Di
ps I can never sign in on this blog, Steph use your technical genius to fix that, would ya?
Oh my heck! We stole your car, Dave? What does it say about my character that I managed to remember your practical joke while conveniently forgetting my own grand theft auto? Hmm, I have serious selective memory. Anyway, you're officially forgiven :) Am I?
That was an awesome car.
Mean Aunt, you know I have no technical expertise. I have to ask my kids how to work the TV remote.
P.S. Thanks, Rob!
Well, an advance copy of your new book would go a long way toward your forgiveness!:-)
(just kidding, but I can't wait to read it!)
I'll send you a hot off the press copy as soon as I have one (which will be next spring :-)
I should send you chocolate chip cookies too, in honor of old times, but I don't think they'd travel too well.
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