Mr. Anderson, Mr. Anderson, Mr. Anderson!

I can always remember how to spell principal because that man or woman is your pal, not your ple, at least that's what I learned in school--except that he never was my pal.  I don't think I ever made eye-contact with the man.  I don't think I made eye-contact with anybody because I was too busy navigating those boats I called feet (the only thing bigger than my feet was my hair) through crowded hallways pulsating with horrormones attached to teenagers--no easy task--and eating my lunch in the bathroom.

My daughter, T is the spitting image of me in eighth-grade only she has a harness on all that big-footed, awkward lurpiness because she is a finely-tuned athlete and is not scared of her own shadow or her principal. 

In fact T loves her princi-pal.  He is one awesome guy.  He asks her what she's reading and reads along with her when it's a book she's struggling with.  He understands that sometimes when you're in middle school you need to be late to class or maybe rise above the hormone cloud  (cut class) and catch a breath of fresh air.

T acknowledges the kindness of her pal with principles by eating all the Jelly Beans in his office, talking him into looking the other way when she sneaks into the teacher's lounge to buy cran-apple raspberry juice and playing practical jokes on him. 

My favorite was when she hid her phone in the ceiling of his office after changing her ring-tone to her sister, Cool Bean's voice yelling, "Mr. Anderson, Mr. Anderson, Mr. Anderson!"  Adolescents get ideas like this when their parents are gone to PTA meetings, church meetings and caucus meetings and their kids are running a muck watching shows like The Office and The Bachelorette.

All day long she got faculty, staff and students to call her phone, which screamed, "Mr. Anderson, Mr. Anderson, Mr. Anderson!" Mr. Anderson was a wee bit perplexed to say the least.  Unfortunately enlisting the aide of the the school policeman and custodian didn't do much to help solve his problem because T already had them firmly rooted in her camp.  So they feigned ignorance and laughed behind his back as Cool Bean's voice continued to yell, "Mr. Anderson, Mr. Anderson, Mr. Anderson!"

I'm sure you can tell where this story is headed, and no it's not headed towards a scholarship to an Ivy league school or to winning student of the month honors.  Not even remotely.  But that's okay because T doesn't need a S.O.M. plaque mostly because she already got one last year before she hid the phone in Mr. A's ceiling.  She's got something better, the power to influence people.  Yes she's a mover and a shaker and those are the people that turn the world or at least make middle school tolerable or steal all your Jelly Beans. 
 
I bet Mr. Anderson is happy that April Fool's Day is on the weekend.

T and Mr. A last March when she was Eagle of the Quarter. . .
(whatever that means:))

How was middle school for you?  The best years of your life, or not so hot--something you can laugh about or something you're still in therapy for???