Orientation

WC 803

Orientation

By Jack Rawlins

Professor Ichabod McCrane, headmaster of the politically correct Academy for the Less than Gifted and Lightly Motivated –some called it the Dummy’s School--swished out from the stage curtains on his skateboard, coasted to the podium, whipped out a starter’s pistol and fired at the ceiling.

“Now that I have your attention,” he said, “I want to welcome you to a new learning experience.

“I am the headmaster at this often maligned institution. However, despite my clown-like body build, spiked and gelled hair--I am a serious man; I also have a sense of humor as did my parents when they named me Ichabod.


“For the curious among you, Ichabod is a Hebrew name which means The Glory Has Departed. I don’t for the life of me know what that means. Extra credit for anyone who can tell me.

“However, I do know that many of you will take the liberty of truncating Ichabod into Ich or Ichy which rhymes with hicky. More on that later. Not on hickies, on Ichy.

“I grew up in a neighborhood the police code named District 9. I believe it earned the name based on the multitude of 911 calls it generated daily for robbery, assault and battery and other heinous crimes. It was such a tough neighborhood even pit bulls, and Dobermans avoided it.

“It was there at age fifteen I lost my eye in a fight with a thug wearing brass knuckles. He was caught and sent away, but I never got my eye back.

“I see quite well with one eye but the blind side creates a problem. If I spin about too quickly to look in that direction, my glass eye often pops out.

“If it rolls under your seat, pleases do not step on it or add it to your marble collection.”

Pausing for a swig of an energy drink, he continued: “You are here to get an education, a precious commodity that will help you barter with the world. You will find I am a tough marker, but you will never be left up in the air about where you stand scholastically.

"Now you will find that we do many things differently here at The Academy. For example, I do not believe in the archaic practice of homework. It is our responsibility to teach you. We encourage you to go home and enjoy yourself after putting up with us all day.”

At this point his remarks were interrupted by loud applause.

Continuing, he said, “No one gets suspended from this school—ever! If you think you can get a little vacation…time off for bad behavior… by raising hell in class, you are sadly mistaken. Instead of suspension, we have extension. While most systems would kick you out, we keep you in longer.


“And now I want to tell you about The Hurt Locker. It was a cluttered storage room until I held a yard sale and used the money to decorate. Despite the name, it is not a place where we apply corporal punishment. Rather, it’s a place to go when you are hurting emotionally, or physically. Still, it is not a nurse’s station; it is more like a soul station, a place for repose and reflection.

“And it certainly is not a place to goof off. It does have recliners, a large fish tank, soothing popular and classical music, and inspirational poetry readings. They are all meant to ease your hurt, not your butt.


“And now I would like you to meet, Ichy,” he said holding aloft a lumpy little puppet with a happy face. “This is my avatar. There is a box full of them in back of the auditorium. They were made by Girl Scouts who hated to sell cookies but liked to raise money. I contracted with them for the job.

“You each get one to cherish, chide, or punish. No. Not a Girl Scout—an Ichy avatar. You can treat it as a friendly little companion, or as a voodoo doll. When you think I am mean and unreasonable, jab it with your pencil, slam it on your desk, or twist its arms. When I am doing well in the student approval polls, treat it as a friend who really cares about you and your well-being.

“And that," he said, as he hopped back on his skateboard and pushed off, “is all you have to know for now. Welcome!”

The new class whistled, stomped and applauded. And then with a rush they jostled one another to pick up his or her own little smiling Ichy.

At the end of the semester, everyone still had his or her Ichy. True, some of the little avatars had suffered a few minor body wounds during periods of tough love, but there were no fatalities.

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