Rebel Without a Cause

After reading this week's blog entries, I decided to morph three recurring topics: your interest in my non-professional life, the choices I have made in my past, and my perceptions of my students.  As a sophomore in high school--a stellar student and a star member of the band--I had never broken one school rule.  However, one fateful night, I decided to skip a mandatory band function: the Homecoming bonfire.  For some reason, this time I decided to take a stand.  This time, my best friend and I would NOT grace the band with our presence.  This time, from this fateful day forward, everyone would remember me as "The Rebel."  I meant business.  While I cannot recall what exact "business" I sought to accomplish, I did accomplish landing my first (and last) detention. While I revelled in my newfound gangsta persona, I had not considered the consequences.  You see, at my high school, the front office announced the daily detention list on the intercom system for the entire school to hear.  So, the morning following the bonfire, the morning after my trombone-free, confetti-fraught festivities at a roaring fire where I led cheer after cheer, the principal announced my name and my best friend's name on the detention list.  Yes, just our two names.  As I sat in chemistry class, I felt my face redden.  I heard my best friend groan behind me.  I felt the scrutinizing eyes of my teacher and my classmates.  And then, the worst that could happen, did.  My long-time crush, my lab partner at the time, blurted out: "What the heck did you two do wrong?!" I sank down into my seat, speechless, until my teacher asked, "Well, Serensky? What happened?"  Silence.  Longer silence.  And then, begrudgingly, I choked out, "I skipped band last night."  Oh, the roaring laughter!  Oh, the relentless mockery!  For the rest of my high school career, I repeatedly suffered the lampoons regarding my foolish decision to snub my band duties.  And, while I thought I would earn the moniker, "The Rebel," instead, the incident only intensified my true moniker, "The Nerd."  In addition to the stings of comments from all ages of high school students throughout the day, my best friend had more information to share with me after school.  "Bobbie, the band director called me into her office.  She said I need to steer clear of bad apples.  She means you."  So, my dear students, from this horrifying stroll down memory lane, you will understand my desire to keep you off the streets and out of trouble.  Even the greatest rebellions never go as we plan them; instead, they mark our reputation with humiliating stigmas.