The "Mean Mrs. Hoover" Story

It was an ordinary day. I was still making spitballs. Here's why I'm doing that. Miss Hoover is my third grade teacher and she is mean. Really mean. Ask anyone in my class. Now, I'm sure the parent's will disagree, but they don't have to sit in her room everyday. I always didn't think she was mean. Early in the school year I was playing on the jungle gym in the school yard when I fell and hit my head on one of the bars. Cracked it open real bad. Miss Hoover helped me and called my mom to come and get me and take me to the doctor. Mom took me to Doctor M. and he had to put six staples in my head. Pretty neat scar I got and you can really see it now that I'm bald. Hurt more to have the staples taken out than it did to put them in. Of course, he used Novocaine when he put them in. That's when I thought she was nice. But, in the middle of the school year a few of us in Miss Hoover's class were throwing spit balls. Dave K., Jack B., John H. and I were caught red-handed with spitballs on our desks. All we were doing was throwing them at the girls. She didn't seem to understand that. Well, Miss Hoover wanted to know who started it and questioned each of us individually. Seems everyone pointed the finger at John H. and he then was paddled in the back closet. We all heard it and wow, she can swing pretty hard. John H. tried not to cry, but I'm sure it hurt. But, that was his punishment and now it was over for him. The rest of us had to stay in at recess until we made enough of spitballs to fill her BIG trashcan in the corner of the room. Must have taken over two weeks and a few reams of paper. Halfway through filling up the can I wished I had told her I was the one who started it. Could have been outside playing kickball now. Isn't it funny the things you remember from your childhood. It was another extraordinary day in the life of an ordinary guy.