What I Discovered in the Principal’s Office
A pain that still stings today
I’d been to the principal’s office before.
Years before.
As a young elementary student with a tendency to talk. All the time.
My elementary principal was a short, stout man. Dark, thick hair. Glasses.
When I went to his office (several times, actually), he’d have all the overhead lights off.
None of that buzzing from fluorescent bulbs.
Just a single desk lamp.
He sat behind the desk with his feet on it.
He smoked a big cigar.
Yes, this was school in the early 1980s and yes, smoking was still allowed in the building.
This principal, my elementary principal, never paddled me — even though corporal punishment was definitely allowed. In fact, it was encouraged.
His stern lectures did tend to get me back on track, though.
The whole scene was straight out of a gangster movie.
Terrifying.
In any case, I escaped elementary school relatively unscathed and only visited the principal’s office in middle and high school a couple more times.
