1946

(Photo by Haberdoedas on Unsplash)

If you’re already in trouble at school, it’s probably not the best idea to piss on your principal’s head. I couldn’t have been more than 13 years old at the time. Old enough to realize I shouldn’t have done it, but young enough to not realize the severity of doing so. To be fair, he was really pissing me off. Giving me the lecture of how I shouldn’t be chewing tobacco in class (Everybody else around me was, but Principal Atkins only gave me shit for it because my mom wouldn’t go out with him in high school and now, I’m paying the price for it) I don’t blame my mother though, his shiny bald head, rotting breath, and Santa belly wasn’t too appealing.

Anyway, in my defense, we were talking about the latest book we had to read for class. After not reading it, I didn’t see the point in trying to pay attention if I was going to get lost. So instead, I spit my tobacco through the open crack in the floorboard (our school was going through a renovation), which hit the top of Jenny Hamilton’s head.

Ever since I got into middle school, he’s had a vendetta against me. Apparently, he can’t maintain a professional attitude towards students whose mothers turned them down repeatedly for a date. Again, I could see why she wouldn’t want to entertain a boring night talking to this insufferable man. After his daily torment over the past few years, I wish she would’ve.

Now I’m staring at Principal Atkins balding head; his nose and ear hairs are sticking out, and he was wearing an ugly, mud-brown suit. Like he always does, he’s practically standing on top of my toes and is breathing his awful breath on me. His clothes are wet cause of my little stunt and my parents are on their way. I hope I can get transferred to a different school.

(This is the third part of a retelling (somewhat fictionalized) of some of my grandparent’s memories)