Apparently, I had the reputation as a bad kid while in grade school. In fact, it has gone down in Hopfinger family lore that at a parent teacher conference, my 3rd grade teacher made my mother cry because I was such a rotten kid. I don’t really see it that way as my actions were often misinterpreted, but nevertheless, that stigma will follow me around for as long as I live. I can’t remember ever doing anything with malicious intent – ever. It’s just not my style. Sure I talked a lot in class. Sure I couldn’t really stay in my desk. And sure, I thought homework was a waste of time (it’s not my fault that my teacher’s can’t teach me everything I need to know in the 8 hours per day that they have me). Due to some of the company I kept, however, I was automatically associated with wrongdoing whenever it went down. I’m not saying I was innocent by any means, but as I’ve discussed previously, my utilization of common sense was often lacking. Here is a list of some of the (many) things that I can remember getting in trouble for in grade school:
· Saying “wiener” in the boys bathroom (first trip to the principal’s office)
· Being part of a group of guys who made fun of a girl so much that she didn’t come back to our school the next year (I don’t remember making fun of her, but I was part of a crowd that did)
· Deciding with John to not take the bus home in order to hang out with two girls prior to going to Mr B’s arcade and then walking home. (apparently, teachers were out in their cars looking for us).
· Being pulled out of class and accused of adult activities with the above mentioned girls the following day by a teacher who happened to be the mother of one of our classmates who was in turn the object of my 6th grade affection.
· Writing profane words in two separate girl’s yearbooks (happened on the same day, so should really only count as one offense)
I’m sure there are many more that my parents, classmates, and teachers can remember. In fact, I spent so much time in the principal’s office during my grade school years that I probably could have asked him to be in my wedding party 14 years later. We knew each other that well. Thanks for putting up with me Mr. P.
The story that will stick with me forever though, and the one that I recall every time I visit St Mary’s for a fish fry, is the day I kicked the hole in the wall.
In grade school, if there was inclement weather during recess, you had one of two options on where to go. Normally you would go to the gym as it allowed for running around, basketball, jump rope, or many other games. That was always the desired location and suited the need just fine. St. Mary’s, however, had a smaller gym and when you have grades 5-8 out to recess at the same time, not all of the kids could fit in the gym. As a result, the fifth and sixth graders got the gym that day and the seventh and eitgth graders were forced to go to one of the two big rooms in the basement: The cold lunch room or the band room.
I know the “cold lunch room” was called that because years prior, if you did not buy a “hot lunch” from the school, you were considered a cold lunch kid and you ate in a separate room. The band room, however, confused me. We had a separate room for music class which also housed all chorus, band, and beginner band practices. Even our winter and spring concerts were held in the gym, so I have no idea why it was called the band room. Either way, on this glorious day, we were banished to the band room and I would meet my fate.
It started very innocently.
While you were allowed to run around in the gym, running was discouraged in the band room. There wasn’t a lot to do except for sitting around while working on homework, playing games, or talking to people. My buddies and I, however, found a new game that didn’t involve running. The ceiling in that room was probably around 9 feet tall, but there was a section right inside the door that hung about 6 inches lower. Being the basketball powerhouse that St. Mary’s was, we had a bunch of poor, poor jumpers in my class. I was easily 6 foot in my 8th grade year and possibly taller. Being the tallest one, however, didn’t mean squat when it came to jumping.
We all took our turns jumping and trying to touch the lowered ceiling. I’m pretty sure Danny, who was just a hair shorter than me, could get a full palm on it. The rest of us, however, could barely scrape it with our fingers. We would jump time after time trying to get as much of the ceiling tile as we could, but we just couldn’t get as much as we wanted.
I don’t remember who did it first, but I’m 99% sure that it was someone much lighter than me. I only weighed about 112 pounds then, but this was also 8th grade so most of the guys were still smaller than me. Either way, someone got the idea to take a two or three step jog towards the main wall of a closet in the room (which housed SOME band equipment, which may also explain the name band room, but that’s still kind of a stretch), place a foot on the wall to propel themselves up, and get a lot more of the ceiling.
And what do you know? It worked.
All of the guys tried it and it worked like a charm. I tried it a couple of times and it was awesome. It worked so well we were almost hitting our heads on the ceiling. We were flying like Michael Jordan. We were also leaving footprints all over the wall, but who cared? We were touching that ceiling and we were happy.
Recess was going to end soon, so I decided that I was going to take one last turn before the bell rang. I backed up, took my few steps, propped my foot against the wall and…
Oh shit.
I can still feel to this day the sensation of my foot going straight through the drywall. I wasn’t lucky enough to have that be it though. Not me. I had put so much force into this jump that not only my foot, but my entire leg went through that wall. And, because I had jumped a little to get a better lift off of the wall, I was pretty much stuck in the wall with neither foot touching the ground because I was hanging there – by my crotch.
I immediately knew I was in trouble (I came to know that feeling well), but hoped that maybe nobody had seen. Those hopes were dashed quite quickly as my entire class and the 7th graders below us either laughed out loud or gave a resounding “Scott’s in deep shit” gasp. I was about to plead my case and let them know that nobody saw anything, but at that moment, my buddy Mr. P came into the room and a 7th grader whom I played basketball with and who was also jumping with us grabbed him by the arm and pointed directly at me. Thanks Todd.
Well, Mr. P. gave me his disappointed look (a look I had come to know very well), helped me out of the wall, and took me up to his office. It didn’t help that I was also currently in trouble for the yearbook incidents listed above. I don’t remember my punishment for this offense as they all seemed to gel into one large 8 year long prison sentence, but I do remember that the janitor who had to replace the wall didn’t talk to me for a long time after that.
I’ve done worse things in my life. I’ve done things that will NEVER be written about in this blog. This one, however, always seems to rear its ugly head any time I’m around a group of my old grade school classmates. I’m not ashamed of it as I’ve already explained that it was not malicious – it was an accident. In fact, if anything is going to follow me around, I’m really glad it’s this as opposed to other things I’ve done.
I just really wish that St Mary’s would hold their fish fry’s in another room because every time I go in there, I see the wall. And I still see Todd pulling on Mr. P’s arm to point out what I did. And I still see Mr. P’s disappointed look as he helped me out of the wall and escorted me up to my desk in his office. And when I see all of that, I have to laugh because, looking back, it’s pretty damn funny. And then I look at Ben and I hear everyone telling me that whatever I did, Ben is going to pay me back for 10 times over. And then I don’t laugh as much.
I’m going to go Lowe’s tonight and pick up a couple of sheets of drywall – just to be prepared.
· Saying “wiener” in the boys bathroom (first trip to the principal’s office)
· Being part of a group of guys who made fun of a girl so much that she didn’t come back to our school the next year (I don’t remember making fun of her, but I was part of a crowd that did)
· Deciding with John to not take the bus home in order to hang out with two girls prior to going to Mr B’s arcade and then walking home. (apparently, teachers were out in their cars looking for us).
· Being pulled out of class and accused of adult activities with the above mentioned girls the following day by a teacher who happened to be the mother of one of our classmates who was in turn the object of my 6th grade affection.
· Writing profane words in two separate girl’s yearbooks (happened on the same day, so should really only count as one offense)
I’m sure there are many more that my parents, classmates, and teachers can remember. In fact, I spent so much time in the principal’s office during my grade school years that I probably could have asked him to be in my wedding party 14 years later. We knew each other that well. Thanks for putting up with me Mr. P.
The story that will stick with me forever though, and the one that I recall every time I visit St Mary’s for a fish fry, is the day I kicked the hole in the wall.
In grade school, if there was inclement weather during recess, you had one of two options on where to go. Normally you would go to the gym as it allowed for running around, basketball, jump rope, or many other games. That was always the desired location and suited the need just fine. St. Mary’s, however, had a smaller gym and when you have grades 5-8 out to recess at the same time, not all of the kids could fit in the gym. As a result, the fifth and sixth graders got the gym that day and the seventh and eitgth graders were forced to go to one of the two big rooms in the basement: The cold lunch room or the band room.
I know the “cold lunch room” was called that because years prior, if you did not buy a “hot lunch” from the school, you were considered a cold lunch kid and you ate in a separate room. The band room, however, confused me. We had a separate room for music class which also housed all chorus, band, and beginner band practices. Even our winter and spring concerts were held in the gym, so I have no idea why it was called the band room. Either way, on this glorious day, we were banished to the band room and I would meet my fate.
It started very innocently.
While you were allowed to run around in the gym, running was discouraged in the band room. There wasn’t a lot to do except for sitting around while working on homework, playing games, or talking to people. My buddies and I, however, found a new game that didn’t involve running. The ceiling in that room was probably around 9 feet tall, but there was a section right inside the door that hung about 6 inches lower. Being the basketball powerhouse that St. Mary’s was, we had a bunch of poor, poor jumpers in my class. I was easily 6 foot in my 8th grade year and possibly taller. Being the tallest one, however, didn’t mean squat when it came to jumping.
We all took our turns jumping and trying to touch the lowered ceiling. I’m pretty sure Danny, who was just a hair shorter than me, could get a full palm on it. The rest of us, however, could barely scrape it with our fingers. We would jump time after time trying to get as much of the ceiling tile as we could, but we just couldn’t get as much as we wanted.
I don’t remember who did it first, but I’m 99% sure that it was someone much lighter than me. I only weighed about 112 pounds then, but this was also 8th grade so most of the guys were still smaller than me. Either way, someone got the idea to take a two or three step jog towards the main wall of a closet in the room (which housed SOME band equipment, which may also explain the name band room, but that’s still kind of a stretch), place a foot on the wall to propel themselves up, and get a lot more of the ceiling.
And what do you know? It worked.
All of the guys tried it and it worked like a charm. I tried it a couple of times and it was awesome. It worked so well we were almost hitting our heads on the ceiling. We were flying like Michael Jordan. We were also leaving footprints all over the wall, but who cared? We were touching that ceiling and we were happy.
Recess was going to end soon, so I decided that I was going to take one last turn before the bell rang. I backed up, took my few steps, propped my foot against the wall and…
Oh shit.
I can still feel to this day the sensation of my foot going straight through the drywall. I wasn’t lucky enough to have that be it though. Not me. I had put so much force into this jump that not only my foot, but my entire leg went through that wall. And, because I had jumped a little to get a better lift off of the wall, I was pretty much stuck in the wall with neither foot touching the ground because I was hanging there – by my crotch.
I immediately knew I was in trouble (I came to know that feeling well), but hoped that maybe nobody had seen. Those hopes were dashed quite quickly as my entire class and the 7th graders below us either laughed out loud or gave a resounding “Scott’s in deep shit” gasp. I was about to plead my case and let them know that nobody saw anything, but at that moment, my buddy Mr. P came into the room and a 7th grader whom I played basketball with and who was also jumping with us grabbed him by the arm and pointed directly at me. Thanks Todd.
Well, Mr. P. gave me his disappointed look (a look I had come to know very well), helped me out of the wall, and took me up to his office. It didn’t help that I was also currently in trouble for the yearbook incidents listed above. I don’t remember my punishment for this offense as they all seemed to gel into one large 8 year long prison sentence, but I do remember that the janitor who had to replace the wall didn’t talk to me for a long time after that.
I’ve done worse things in my life. I’ve done things that will NEVER be written about in this blog. This one, however, always seems to rear its ugly head any time I’m around a group of my old grade school classmates. I’m not ashamed of it as I’ve already explained that it was not malicious – it was an accident. In fact, if anything is going to follow me around, I’m really glad it’s this as opposed to other things I’ve done.
I just really wish that St Mary’s would hold their fish fry’s in another room because every time I go in there, I see the wall. And I still see Todd pulling on Mr. P’s arm to point out what I did. And I still see Mr. P’s disappointed look as he helped me out of the wall and escorted me up to my desk in his office. And when I see all of that, I have to laugh because, looking back, it’s pretty damn funny. And then I look at Ben and I hear everyone telling me that whatever I did, Ben is going to pay me back for 10 times over. And then I don’t laugh as much.
I’m going to go Lowe’s tonight and pick up a couple of sheets of drywall – just to be prepared.
Can't imagine all this!! You sure changed by high school chemistry class!
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