MY NAME IS EARL, BUT IT JUST MIGHT BE THE HAG

I'm normally pretty respectful to my teachers. In fact most all teachers, who I think do a heckuva lot better than they're given credit for. This picture, as superimposed, as surreal as it is, reminds me a lot of my old social studies (pre-civics) teacher Miss Hagey.

She put those big eyes on The Hoob and me one Friday about a week before Christmas. It was 7th hour, the last hour of the day. Our school day ran until 4:05 after having held us captive since 8:25. And it was more than halfway into the period.

As a frosh in high school, I didn't know all the ins and outs of high school life including when we got our edition of the school newspaper that I enjoyed.

I turned to my bud and whispered, "Do we get a Vernois-News today?"

Boom. Busted. Nabbed. Kicked out. The Hag sent us to the Principal's Office. Why Hoobie never objected and why I didn't stand up for the guy and take the fall on my own, I don't know. Probably because we both felt we deserved it because of prior atrocities we had committed.

Mr. Kuhn, our Principal, yelled at us a little and gave us a week's detention. We were kept out of class for three additional days until Christmas break. Miss Hagey stopped by to wish us a Merry Christmas and see that we had learned our lesson.

I felt like an absolute low life and got in trouble at home, too. Which is still the only way to raise a kid But I don't recall much behavior modification as they called it back then from me. I was too much of a little punk.

But I'd say that act had the single most effect on my freshman year. Even more devastating than Freshman initiation.