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Get off my LAWN! "Grumpy Old Farts"

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Math teachers and I never got along. That's partly on account of having lost all my arithmetic skills in an accident (concussion, contusion, fractured skull, aphasia &c). Portable calculators became available around 67-8, and are the only way I could pass a test. That's true to this day.
 
Math teachers and I never got along. That's partly on account of having lost all my arithmetic skills in an accident (concussion, contusion, fractured skull, aphasia &c). Portable calculators became available around 67-8, and are the only way I could pass a test. That's true to this day.
Yikes, that's rough. I can't even blame my rudimentary-at-best math skills on trauma. Just always was a words guy, not a numbers guy.
 
Woe betide the kid who had to excuse themselves from seventh and eighth year math class for their music lesson. That teacher hated music students. This has 1967-8 written all over it. School discipline was strict, no doubt a reaction to the "hippie" thing going on out there. Inside, we kids belonged to them until the school bell.
 
Woe betide the kid who had to excuse themselves from seventh and eighth year math class for their music lesson. That teacher hated music students. This has 1967-8 written all over it. School discipline was strict, no doubt a reaction to the "hippie" thing going on out there. Inside, we kids belonged to them until the school bell.
We had a dress code in public schools. No jeans, no long hair, girls couldn't wear trousers unless doing some after-school activity. My parents had to go argue with the principal when he wanted to kick me out in my senior year for growing a moustache. A proper moustache it was, too. I still remember one line from the section on boys' hair: "No ducktails, fenders or sideburns."
 
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They came down hard on girls who dared the skirt length rules. Noted that as a Good Kid, I stayed (mostly) below the radar of the school disciplinarians. That became a survival skill by the time I hit boarding school.

Eighth year students got typing lessons. They opened the class to boys the year before. Always opportunity for a Smart Girl who can type and take dictation for her boss. That a Smart Girl might be the boss is far out of consideration in 68.
 
Well, being Latino, his name was most likely Jorge (pronounced WHORE hay ;)).

Well, of course the Spanish pronunciation is ‘hor hay’...but absolutely no one in our 9th grade knew that.
All we heard was the ‘WHORE’...which is one way to elicit giggles (did I mention this was 9th grade, in 1968?) and heap more abuse on the kid, several times a day.
That place was Wrong on so many levels...

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We had a dress code in public schools. No jeans, no long hair, girls couldn't wear trousers unless doing some after-school activity. My parents had to go argue with the principal when he wanted to kick me out in my senior year for growing a moustache. A proper moustache it was, too. I still remember one line from the section on boys' hair: "No ducktails, fenders or sideburns."

My high school principal had a rule, if you didn’t attend the graduation ceremony, you wouldn’t receive a diploma. Thinking that this was wrong, I didn’t attend. I didn’t care about the paper. This set me on a course of not attending any of my graduations.
 
What about the famous Jeff Scott?

Here ya' go:

Jeff Scott - IMDb

We had a dress code in public schools. No jeans, no long hair, girls couldn't wear trousers unless doing some after-school activity. My parents had to go argue with the principal when he wanted to kick me out in my senior year for growing a moustache. A proper moustache it was, too. I still remember one line from the section on boys' hair: "No ducktails, fenders or sideburns."

They came down hard on girls who dared the skirt length rules. Noted that as a Good Kid, I stayed (mostly) below the radar of the school disciplinarians. That became a survival skill by the time I hit boarding school.

Eighth year students got typing lessons. They opened the class to boys the year before. Always opportunity for a Smart Girl who can type and take dictation for her boss. That a Smart Girl might be the boss is far out of consideration in 68.
You folks went to the wrong high school! :D
That place was Wrong on so many levels...

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You call those levels? :roflmao: These are what we used on all the renovation jobs at the house:

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