One year I was a ghost for halloween. Literally, an old bedsheet with two holes cut in it. The next year I was a mummy. Yup, toilet paper. The year after that, I must have figured out I had to do this thing on my own. I procured a horror mask from one of my older siblings, dumped ketchup all over my shirt and brought a big knife to school. They took the knife away, of course, but this was before school violence really came into vogue, so I wasn't suspended or anything. As the day went on though, my shirt began to give off an unpleasant odor, and I was sent home for that reason. Fair enough. On my way home, I had to cross a bridge over the Napawaupee River. I climbed up on the guard rail, not on the river side, on the road side, and walked across it. Some fucking concerned citizen must have ratted me out, because the next day I was called into the principal's office to answer for this daring act of anarchy. A guy just couldn't win, it seemed.
I went to a Catholic elementary school and we had to wear uniforms: blue collared shirt and blue slacks. Not blue JEANS, mind you. This was school, not some sort of jag off party for greasers. What were you thinking? However, some industrious girls at our school devised a way to turn this to their advantage and the advantage of all the kids that had expensive Guess-brand clothes that this draconian dress code was preventing them from showing off. Jeans days. We were allowed a certain number of "jeans days" per year as a reward for good behavior. You had to pay a quarter and you were allowed to wear whatever you wanted. I invariably showed up in my blue slacks and blue collard shirt. I had forgotten it was "jeans day". My parents sure as fuck didn't remember it was "jeans day", that's for sure. I didn't have any civilian clothes I was particularly eager to show off anyway. Just honing the edge, baby.
I won't even get into the incident of the Christmas program where I forgot to bring shoes and had to stand up in front of the church and sing joyous hymns in my fucking moon boots.
By the time high school rolled around I was pretty much a full time malcontent. A delinquent and a vandal. My career culminated in the sabotage of our senior homecoming. It was a concerted effort and successful. Homecoming was cancelled. I remember being pulled out of home-ec class to receive the news. When I went got back to class everyone was just sitting there silently. What's are we doing? I said finally. Nothing, the teacher said and then took a terribly dramatic pause, we're too sad. I laugh about that to this day.
Is that wrong?