The principal there was the same one I had had. He was bald, with a beard. When men lose their hair, they compensate by growing beards. The balder they get, the bigger their beards are.

He was also my computer teacher. Principals govern in the style of their previous teaching positions, but I’m not sure how computers rubbed-off on him.

He had four daughters. All of them were fat. In daycare, one of them told me I had a fat ass. I asked her why she was looking at my ass. Then she went and told her dad.

“Nice comeback,” he said.

I tutored each child in the room where students went if they had learning difficulties. It smelled of chalk and dust. There was a light that came through a shoebox window near the roof, which reminded me of a prison cell.

After I met with them, their teachers noticed they were calmer when they got back to class.

Apparently, I had a calming presence.

I got good recommendations.

Then, I began making cold calls to school psychologists.

I looked them up on the internet. Most of them didn’t return my calls. One did. He was a man.

We had a conversation on the phone for an hour, and he agreed to meet me in his office.

It was the public high school where I was afraid to go, when I transitioned private schools between my sophomore and junior year.

I had to go through a maze to get to his broom closet.

I had a formal interview ready, and I asked him questions about his job.

He was impressed that I was so serious. It wasn’t until much later that I realized government employees don’t have anything to do with their time.

My last question was the most important.

“How do I get a job, working in education?”

“That’s easy. Apply for a paraprofessional position that serves students with Emotional Behavioral Disorders. The staff that work with them, usually quit after one month.”


“You’ll find out. Now, do you have to get back to class?”


“Aren’t you in high school?”

“I graduated four years ago.”


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