How was your guilty day? Ask me about mine.

My students take a sideways glance toward me whenever they are doing something they shouldn't. Now I know how Mr. Salestrom felt patrolling East High when he was the principal of vice. As a former Cornhusker football hero, Mr. Salestrom had hallway cred. His cross-armed presence in the study hall was enough to make most mischievous deviants reconsider their plans.

My father phones me to chat whenever he thinks the aides might contact me. Dad would rather confess to a misdemeanor than be ratted on for a felony by the staff in his skilled care unit.

Cheezits! Howie got me again the moment I walked in the door after work. He was so pleased with himself because he had already had supper and his "afternoon purge". He had told the nurse aide offering to check his ear wax "at no charge" to "get the hell out" so he could have his dump. I said I was sure he was more polite, but he wasn't. Then he went into the litany of his meal menu, and said it was time to hang it up. I said, "Gosh, we can hang up, but I thought you would want to ask about my day."

"Oh. We could do that," Dad says.

I laughed, and proceeded to tell him about the girl barfing ALL OVER THE CLASSROOM, and me bravely leading the other children to the library for an impromptu storytime to prevent copycat chain-reaction vomiting. So, Dad, you don't really want to ask about my day today. But in the future it might be a nice gesture!

© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder