Ode to Mrs. Clanton

It was approaching Spring, another boring uneventful day

I was out on the playground during lunch and wanting to stay

I thought I heard the bell ring as we ran to get into line

It was the same routine we had done time after time 

Mrs. Clanton was on duty, in the shade as was her usual place

I had no idea I would be receiving a slap in the face.

Mrs. Clanton was reading her newspaper by the door

She said, “ The bell hasn’t rung, get out there and hang out some more

You kids have more time to talk- you’ll have to come in and be quiet soon”

I said, “Mrs. Clanton, the hands on my watch say it’s noon”

Then Mrs. Clanton took her paper and rolled it up in a great haste

And slapped me really hard against the side of my face

I was shocked and embarrassed, and kept the tears at bay

Mrs. Clanton looked at our group and began to say

That there would be no talking back where she was concerned

And that she hoped that a lesson was truly learned

And I wanted to run really fast to get out of that place

The day Mrs. Clanton used the newspaper to slap me in the face.

When I got back in class, I quickly took my seat

But I could still feel the red in my cheeks with all of that heat

I wondered what my mother would say when I got home

I begged her not to call the principal on the phone

I told her I would tell him myself at my own pace

That my seventh grade reading teacher slapped me in the face

Fifty five years have come and gone since I felt that hit

Mrs. Clanton never said she was sorry-not one little bit

I never really liked her much anyway

And can’t imagine what would happen to her today

And me, I try to laugh about my disgrace

The day Mrs. Clanton hauled off and slapped me in the face.

Not So Sweet Sixteen

With my 50th high school reunion coming up, I have been thinking about some of my experiences which I wish I didn't remember. Those memories will not keep me from the reunion, but a prior commitment probably will.  
On the day I graduated, a boy I had grown up with stole my wallet.  He and a couple of his friends drove around town with it in his car, and somebody who saw him do it told me immediately. I had just cashed some graduation gift checks to the tune of $60.00--money I was going to use for college clothes-- so I was super sad.  ( $60 could buy a lot of clothes in  those days) But I was more than upset that the boy I had known forever had swiped my money and didn't care about my feelings. I thought he was my friend and I was hoping that it was just high school shenanigans, but when a friend of mine talked him into returning the wallet, it was empty.  I was super happy that he had left my driver's license and other cards intact. He has since passed away, so I never got a chance to tell him that I didn't hold it against him--I just wondered what possessed him to do such a mean thing on such a happy day. 
And one more yucky memory surfaced recently- one that comes up from time to time-- one of the stories from my youth that I have actually shared with my grandchildren, so I thought I would share it here too just to see what you think.
I rarely had a party at my house, but on my sixteenth birthday, my mom threw an all girl party for me with a spaghetti dinner and her famous chocolate cake. I can remember having trouble limiting the invitation list to 10 girls, which was mom's limit.  After eating dinner and cutting the cake, I opened presents. Lucy gave me the Motown Greatest Hits album, and we cranked up " Shotgun", a Jr. Walker and the Allstars classic.  We were busy doing the jerk when the back doorbell rang. We turned down the music. and I answered the door.  I remember going to the door with some of the girls at the party and we found an unwrapped shirt box on the doorstep with no card or note.  A car was screaming down the street.  Some of the girls thought they recognized the car but we were unable to see who was driving or if there was anyone else in the car besides the driver.  It was making a quick getaway for sure.  
I brought the box into the house, excited to see what someone had given me. I lifted the top off and folded back the paper to see a dead bird inside--a rather large owl!! And in its rectum was a number two yellow pencil. Yes, that's right, someone thought so much of me that they stuffed a pencil up an owl's butt, stuck it in a box and left it on my doorstep. I can't tell you the many different emotions that my body processed in the minutes that followed. And of course, "Shotgun" was no longer the focus of our attention.  Here's what went through our minds:  
1. Who did it?
2. Why?
3. Did I really piss someone off to the degree that they felt that was an appropriate response?
4. How does somebody get a dead owl? And then make a decision to thrust a pencil up that owl"s bottom? And leave it at my birthday party?

If you know me, you know I am an animal lover.  I think I cried as much for the owl as I did for myself. After mom rushed over and disposed of the package, we were pretty much subdued, so the rest of the party was focused on who would have done it and why.  Later in the school year, I was told who was probably behind the 
owl package, but I never took any recourse.  I just avoided those people. Fifty two years later, I am not angry or hold any contempt. I will just not ever get it.  I didn't dislike anybody in my class so I guess I assumed everybody liked me.  But this does take Mean Girls to the next level, don't you think?  And I can't help but think that these folks won't be missing me too much at our reunion.