Several years ago, back in the middle school, I noticed that one of my boys was wearing a bullet belt.  You know, a leather belt with 22 calibre bullets all around it.  Real 22 bullets. Not fake ones.  Real bullets.  22’s.

 

Did I mention that this boy was wearing a dozen or more actual 22 bullets?  In school?  Bullets?  AMMO?

 

This was not a well-behaved, stable kid.  This was a volatile, scary, ‘temper challenged’ * kid who was suspended about as often as he attended.  In other words, not exactly the kind of kid you want wearing a bullet belt, and also exactly the kind of kid you’d almost expect to be wearing one.

 

I sent a message down to the office, informing the principal that I had live ammo in my classroom, and awaited his arrival in my classroom to remove it.

 

About a half hour later, I sent another note, reminding the principal that I still had bullets in my room and wondering what was going on with his end of it?

 

He never showed during the boy’s stint in my room.  The bell rang, and the bullets walked out the door along with all the students, to grace the next teacher’s classroom. 

 

Toward the end of the day, I saw the principal in the hallway.

 

“Didn’t you get my note about the bullets?”  I asked.

 

“Oh yeah, I got it,” said the principal, “but that’s just the way we do things around here.  We’re a little country school and our boys hunt, and sometimes they wear bullet belts. They’re that handy;  I’ve got one myself.”

 

A few days later, when I found out that one of my boys had his socks stuffed full of condoms, I kept my mouth shut about it.

 

I figured, society as a whole would be worse off in the long run if those things were confiscated, than if they were kept and used.  Besides, that particular kid was so stupid, he probably thought his socks were where the condoms were supposed to be, anyway.

 

Bullets on your belt, and condoms in your socks.  That’s just the way we do things around here.

 

*euphemism for ‘big disgusting whiny crybaby’