In the 4th grade, we had a talent show. Some kids danced; some sang; and some did recitations. I tried to do something different, so I did some impressions. I did animal noises and bird calls. I concluded the act with a Tarzan yell. I got a lot of laughs. It may have been the first time I used humor in an act of mine. I didn't win the show. I may have come in last, because the teacher didn't care for it, but the kids liked it.
In 8th grade, I was sitting in class one day listening to my teacher, whose name was Mr. Stock. He had a crew cut and was pretty tall. He was probably in his thirties, but he seemed old. There was an empty desk in front of mine. The desk had an opening in it that was for books and papers. I had a rubber band and some paper, so I made some spitballs and was shooting them into the desk's opening in front of me. Mr. Stock was writing on the board with his back turned away from us. I shot one spitball which missed the opening; clipped the top of the desk; and hit Mr. Stock in the back of his neck. He spun around and asked who did it. Now, you would think that no one would say anything, but everybody pointed to me. He made me stay after class and write on the blackboard numerous times that I would not shoot spitballs in class. I was late getting home that day, and my Mother asked why. When I told her, I was punished again.
So, the moral of this story is that it is better to do a Tarzan yell than to hit your teacher in the back of the head.
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