So where was I?
Oh yeah... the man with the hook and how young writers' minds get shaped into burgeoning excavators of darkness.
And yes, this is true. So, we had this principal with a prosthetic chrome hook for a hand. Now, I have no doubt that the man lost his arm in defense of freedom, liberty, capitalism, and everything else sacred to us.
That still doesn't change the fact that when he spanked us boys (because boys were the only ones who seemed to ever get spanked at school... mysteriously enough) he would hold the paddle, locked in his hook.
If I told you that wasn't the bad part, you might think I was making this up.
But it wasn't.
When he did spank kids... er... boys, he would perform the ritual in the middle of the school's hallway, and they would make all the boys from all the classrooms come out and stand quietly and watch.
That's how it happened.
Nowadays, at schools, it's like you need to have your attorney file legal briefs with parents if you reprimand a student for texting in class.
But not back in the days when my generation used up all the world's supply of fun, fun, fun!!!
So, at my little school, if you were a boy, you tended to either grow up to become a sociopath or a novelist.
Go figure.
