In fifth grade, every student in my class got to be class president for a week.  Class presidents took attendance, made any announcements and I don’t remember what else.  It was a great honor. 

At the end of each week, the teacher would pick the student to be the class president for the next week.  The “goodie-two-shoes” kids got picked first, and then, progressively the less “goodie-two-shoes” kids got their turn.  

I was the least “goodie-two-shoes” kid and as such I was picked last.  The last week of the school year was three days long. My class presidency was revoked about five minutes after it started. You’ll have to wait towards the end of the story to learn why.  

Suspense is a good story writing tool, or so I’ve heard.

In hindsight, my teacher did not hate me, frustrated is probably a better word for how he felt.  Probably, he saw potential but he thought I was also a wise ass runt who wasn’t even trying.  

Failing fifth grade was often threatened, however, in my mind, I never felt I was actually going to be held back.  Two years later a teacher figured out I was functioning illiterate, not able to read very well.  My behavior in fifth grade was a symptom of an as yet, undiagnosed issue.  

However, back in fifth grade, I got along well with my fellow students.  I was a wise ass punk, whose wise ass remarks were, mostly, both insightful and a bit funny, not mean. I never intentionally disrupted the class.  It just never occurred to me that others didn’t want my opinion whenever I wanted to give it.   

Also know I was not picking on a defenseless teacher. Except for me, he had control of the class.  He was, I think, generally a good, well liked teacher.  He taught and kids learned. Most kids liked him. 

Also know that he hit me hard on the shoulder a couple times during the year.  Back then teachers were allowed to hit wise ass kids.   Yes he hit hard, however, I knew he was just trying to emphasize the point, he was leading the class, not me.  

Besides raising his voice at me several times a week, he only sent me to the principal’s office a half dozen times during the school year.  The first couple of times he was “red faced angry”, after that he sent me before he got that angry. 

Please note the first time I was sent to the principal’s office for disciplinary reasons was four years earlier, in second grade.  My third and fourth year teachers had both sent me to the principal’s office also.   By fifth grade, the principal was not shocked I had been sent to him. 

For me, being sent to the principal’s office was not scary.  The  principal would ask what I did.  I’d tell him.  He would say, it would be better if I was not such a smart ass.  The threat of being sent to the principal’s office is worse than the reality of being there. 

Early in the year my teacher would ask me to defend my comments.  Those reading this probably know I can, in most cases, defend my comments. Sometimes what I say might be a bunch of B.S. but I rarely am at a loss for words. Didn’t take long for the teacher to learn to not engage in a battle of wits with me.  

I was reasonably good at getting answers in math, the problem was they wanted me to show my work.  I don’t do math like that, it’s too slow. Yes, I can add even big numbers in my head, can’t you?  

In fifth grade, I would come in last in the weekly spelling contests.  Every week I was told I didn’t try hard enough. It never occurred to the teacher that poor spelling was a symptom of illiteracy, not necessarily of laziness. 

Every week, he meanly, loudly, announced to class that I had, once again, come in last in the spelling contest.  Shame can make you shy or as in my case, it made me even more of a smart ass.  

At the parent/teacher conference he told my mom I was misbehaving.  She told me I should not be disruptive.  Mom never expected me to excel. 

So here is the story of my short lived class presidency. First you’ve got to understand that while I was a jerk to my teacher, most of my fellow students liked me. Not because I was a wise ass but rather because I tried hard to not be a jerk. 

So on the Monday morning of the start of my presidency, before class began, I convinced about ten of my fellow students to follow my lead.  

It was a Monday but also the third to last day of the year.  I stood up like a class president does,  walked to the front of the class and said something really close to the following:

“Good morning, it is a beautiful day today, it would be a shame to waste it in a classroom. So, as my first official action as class president, I’m announcing that class is dismissed to the playground for a game of kickball. “

With that about a dozen kids stood up and headed for the door.  Our teacher was not amused.  He shouted for everyone to go back to their seats except me, because I was to report to the principal.  

For the record, even the principal thought it was funny. 

The closer you look the more you see.