Skipping School

I can say with great confidence that I was the first student in the class of 1981, Buffalo, Minnesota, to skip school. It happened early in the fall during first grade. I was sitting by a noisy friend who would not stop talking to me. I kept telling him to be quiet. But my teacher, Mrs. Forsberg, could not hear my friend talking. She could only hear me telling my friend to shut-up. Quite unfairly, she penalized me, an innocent descendent of stoic Swedes, for politely asking my friend to please be quiet so that I may devote all my attentions toward studying what crazy thing Dick and Jane did with Spot. I was incensed that Mrs. Forsberg blamed me for the outburst, even though I was completely innocent.

My punishment was staying behind in my classroom while everyone else went outside to play for recess. I could not believe the unfairness. I was the innocent one and I was not going to take this injustice. I sat alone in class for about five minutes. They were certainly the longest five minutes of my life. Then, to prove my innocence, and to show I was not going to take this punishment lying down, I put on my coat, grabbed my Scooby Doo lunch box, and walked out the front door of the school. Leaving my troubles behind, I decided my academic career was over. I lived only six blocks from the school so I walked home. Walk Scott, walk. See Scott leave the school. Scott has disappeared. Where is Scott? Where has he gone?

I have no idea what poor Mrs. Forsberg thought when she returned with the class, but apparently some sort of very concerned search was made for me. Without a care in the world, wearing my newfound freedom proudly on my jacket, I walked into the door of my house. My parents were not home that day, however, my grandparents were there watching my little brother, Tim, who was in Kindergarten at the time. My grandfather met me at the door. I was surprised that he looked so surprised. With a stern voice he asked, “What are you doing home so early?” I then spoke the first lie I remember telling. It was a good one, sure to be believed. “They let all the good boys and girls go home early today.” For some reason not known to me at the time, my grandfather did not believe I was one of those “good” children. I later learned his disbelief was based on the experience he had dealing with me before. He lovingly took my hand and marched me right back to school. A very relieved but visibly upset Mrs. Forsberg met us at the door. She was very shaken and looked like she had been crying. “That would teach her,” I thought.

It was then I learned a new word. The word was “principal.” I would later learn the difference between principle and principal was that a principal was your “pal.” In my case, this would not be true. Her name was Mrs. Bauer. She was a large, stout Midwestern woman. She had an imposing look and a frightening voice and smelled strongly of lilacs. I remembered this because I always associated the smell of lilacs with poop. This was because my grandmother always had lilac air freshener in the bathroom. But it never really smelled like lilacs in her bathroom. It just smelled like someone pooped in the lilacs. But I digress.

I remember thinking that Mrs. Bauer would make a terrible grandmother. She began to tell me that what I was did was very wrong and that I was very bad. My grandmother never told me anything like that. What Mrs. Bauer did not know was that her slip was showing just a little. I knew that a slip was like underwear, and that was funny. I got the giggles really bad, which made Mrs. Bauer even madder. I don’t remember much after that. However, let’s just say that was the beginning of a long and strained relationship I had with Mrs. Bauer that would last until fifth grade. It did not help matters that she smelled like my grandmother’s bathroom.