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When last we left our intrepid hero, he was getting his ass whacked for smoking. Wondering what the fuck I'm talking about? Catch up with part one and part two.

Caught up? Good!

So ... where was I? Oh yeah. Getting my ass whipped because a schoolmate's mom saw me smoking and turned me in. As I've thought about this over the past day or so, I am conflicted. The better story, given my proclivity towards hating God (again, I refer you to part one) would be to tell you what a shit hole this was and how hypocritical everybody was that went there and how it was the worst time of my life ... but that isn't the TRUE story.

The truth is that it was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. What? You don't believe me? To quote an old Harrison Ford movie, "You will, Doctor Jones, you will." My average report card while I was in public school was dismal. I walked into my classes stoned off my ass most of the time.

I remember a couple of history classes I had with a particular teacher. His name was Lee Highsmith. I thought he was an interminable prick. There was a picture of him in the yearbook with a Kangol -style hat, longish hair, smoking a pipe with a scarf wrapped around his neck. Oh and he was in a Bugatti, too. I mean, just really pretentious looking.

The first class I took with him was Native American History. I was in class and, God, I wish I could remember what happened exactly, but I can't. I remember we got into an argument. What was it about? Who the fuck really knows. All I remember is that he finally told me I was disrupting the class and to leave. I looked at him and said "Fuck you, I ain't going anywhere." I was tough. He wasn't gonna scare me. I mean what was this pretentious prick gonna do? Physically remove me? Pffft, he wouldn't dare!

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So Lee and I are walking down the hall ... well he is walking. Me? I am tiptoeing. Not because I want to be quiet and respectful of all the other students, those conformist sponges, soaking up their lessons so as to make their transition to the college of their choice an easy one.

No. I'm tiptoeing because Lee, nice guy that he is, has one arm around my windpipe and his other hand has my arm held, rather uncomfortably I might add, behind my back. He has my arm so high that I could probably groom the duck tail I wore then ... If he would just be nice enough to hand me the comb that was ever-present in my back pocket. But he had other plans ... like getting me to the principals office and getting back to class to teach the kids that WANTED to learn.

Needless to say, I never darkened the doorstep of his class again that semester. The same thing happened a year or so later. I was taking another class with him and just ... didn't feel like being there. So I took my boom box (an 8-track no less ... with F.M. Radio! SWEET!) and pulled a chair up to the window. I was really considerate. HONEST! I kept it down to a level where only me and the closest students could hear it.

Can you imagine? Lee didn't approve! What the fuck was his problem? Well, long story short, I ended up tiptoeing down the hall to the principals office with his arm around my neck and my left hand scratching my shoulders. Again, that was the last time I darkened his doorway that semester.

That was an encapsulation of my high school experience. There was a two week party that I'll tell you about later as well as time on the rifle range, photography class and a contemporaneous speech in JROTC extolling the virtues of cocaine ... but let me leave you with this.

My average report card had more D's and F's than anything else. I think my worst one was six F's and a D. I got kicked out of high school after two and a half years after only earning like ... fuck I don't remember. Maybe six credit hours? And that's just an old man giving himself the benefit of the doubt.

I was a pathetic student. But! I had been in several of the school's biggest musical theatrical productions including the spring production of "Charlotte's Web" where I played Wilbur the Pig! WOOT! Seriously! I was a star. Here is the proof:

This was a full dress rehearsal. I'm the guy in pink. I like the way my cast accessorized the outfit. (Remind me to tell you about how I broke those fingers. I tell you, I'm lucky to be alive.)

In the next installment? Anchorage Christan Schools and why they were so good for me. Ciao!