The Late Great Highschool

Back in the day when grades appear to matter, I was lucky enough to have exuded enough character to be tagged as a potential do-gooder, leader type. Of course, it was all a matter of personal taste among the teachers, for which I am eternally grateful that I was not relegated to the backdrop and was in fact grouped with the smart kids. Like all those who were trained in the archaic theories of education, my school decided to make me into all things I am not and would not want to be. I was made to sing, to dance, to act on stage instead of focusing on and honing my greatest strength which was slouching around.

Anyway, I cannot really complain. It removed a lot of shyness from me and put in a lot of shame. To this day, I have not the courage to speak up when needed having been shamed into silence. Sure we got freebies, like grades, in exchange for being forced to sell tickets to fund whatever project the white penguins could think of.

Still, I have very happy memories of highschool and factoring in the fact that I was bullied in my first year, it still was the best years of my life. Since my good friend Doctor Immortus has regurgitated another HS memory pearl, which this time is not something I wished died with the last pope, I decided to pour out a few of my best, funny, happy memories of Highschool.

I guess my favorite year was my second year. A lot of things happened that year and I was blessed to have been put in the same section as the really crazy and unruly kids in school.

It was the year when during Health class, our teacher clad in porn-nurse outfit made us stand out of the room. Lacking the strength to strap us down herself, she later called our adviser to make us stand under the hot afternoon sun until the Flag Retreat ceremony forced us to seek shelter from the prying eyes of half the student populace who failed to see as they were chained to their seats.

The cause of such inhuman punishment was nothing more than our silly game of throwing munggo beans at each other. Somehow, it became addicting to throw a fistful of small, hard beans at another person and then frantically pick-up those same beans before the other got the chance to do so. After which, you just had to throw the diminished number of beans on hand and repeat the cycle.

Somehow, it was all worth it.

It was also the year of Professor Chicken Hawk who was reported to be gay who preyed on young dickheads which is how you can describe most highschool boys. The reports are varied from the tale of him being a corner-parlor-pederast, the type that screech and shriek instead of talking, to that of his showing the impressionable, Catholic schoolboys an album filled with other boys in their underwear.

Somehow, my peer group managed to be at the top of the list of rumor mongers. It did help that our good friend, the authority lapdog, General Jaepen Sur decided to share in one of the then in-season 'open forums' that '[Callistus] and company said [this miscarriage-causing horror of a tale].' Yeah, some shit like that.

Sure enough, during one of the time-consuming activities when they did not want us to learn anything important like math, science, grammar and literature, we were summoned to the dreaded Office of the Directress. It was like the topmost in the hierarchy of Offices where screw-ups get summoned.

So we were there, all five of us who mattered, seated at the long table. Our crone of a Directress, wobbled like a pole balanced on a hand to the head chair. She began to make us feel at ease, asking us in kind tones what we heard or knew about Professor Hawk. We gave calculated, non-specific snippets of stories at first which she kindly swallowed as whole truths.

Now, being schooled in interrogation by Barney and the Teletubbies, our Directress decided that she had a meeting to attend to and had to leave us to ourselves. She left us a pad of paper on which we write what we heard and from whom we heard them. Any half-wit would of course not leave me and Doctor Immortus to write something which will be taken as official affidavits of sorts but our Directress being more of saintly lackwit did just that.

It was a very happy hour indeed. General Athena was the default secretary, having good penmanship and being the only female in the group. We wrote our fictional account of what we do know and from whom we heard those said stories. They had enough smattering of truth to be valid. With Chancellor Jaepen Matos being part of the group, it had enough stamp of authenticity that the white and gray penguins would have sworn on the sheet of paper if no bible was lying around.

Falcon Red was also with us but he was a little more timid back then and just wanted to get out of the office fast. Now, he's like this filthy rich lord of unwashed peons that I always smile whenever I recall him hurrying us up to get it over with.

It was also the year when after some talk on another topic which was so important to skip regular class instruction, we were served snacks. It was a surprise as we were not charged 100 pesos beforehand. In any case, the one who distributed the ensaymada and zest-o decided that the most efficient way to do so was by throwing it across the room to whoever needed bread and juice. We were served refugee-style and this did not sit well with one class adviser. She gave her class an earful on begin barbaric and uncouth.

There were other stories from other years. I'll write them some other time.