THAT BASTARD

I only had one teacher ever lay a hand on me. It was Mr Gittins in the 1st grade. I lived in Detroit, it was November and the water that pooled in the cement sandboxes we had at school had frozen over. I was out there with my buddies banging my heel into the ice, and the water underneath was splashing all the way up to my knees. It was probably about 32 degrees being November and all, and I was just about sopping wet and having the time of my life when suddenly a hand grabbed me by the nape of my neck and pulled me out.

Mt. Gittins carried me like a kitten, legs kicking to the office.
They had my mother bring some dry clothes.
That Bastard.