Frankly, I don't why, but last night memories of an old teacher of mine from grade school, popped into my head.
Ah, Mr. Morgan!
If I recall correctly, he wore natty grey suits, horn-rim specs, and a red ruby ring on his pinky finger that winked in the light now and then.
Although, I was clueless about matters that pertained to "sex" back then - in retrospect - I just betcha he was (as we used to say) "light" in the loafers or "musical" at best. (gay)
I was quite the jokester when I was a student.
Because I was on the Honor Roll, the teachers usually let me get any with murder.
Yes, I was quite the cut-up in class.
For some reason, Mr. Morgan was my perfect foil.
I was always pulling gags on him.
For instance, one day at recess, I strolled up to Mr. Morgan (who was watching over the students on break with an eagle eye) and struck up a little bit of idle chit-chat.
"Mr. Morgan, how do you like my ring," I chirped, as I thrust the gawdy over-sized diamond within admiring-distance, for him to take a gander at.
"Very Nice," he politely responded with hardly a glance.
At that precise moment, as my hand was about two inches away from his face, I squeezed a small container of water in the palm of my hand (which was attached by a small tube to the fake ring) and a jolt of water splashed all over his face!
For a second - he glared at me - as the droplets of water slowly dribbled down the lapel of his jacket. Then, he stormed off towards the schoolhouse, in disgust.
Yeah, I was a hard case, alright.
On another occasion, I offered him a stick of gum, which he graciously accepted.
'Ya got it!
It was one of those trick packets of spearmint that turns into a sort-of mousetrap that snares the finger when the stick of gum is pulled out of the realistic-looking candy wrapper.
Gotcha, Mr. Morgan.
But the funniest one was the exploding pen.
Well, sort-of.
One day, as the class was busy writing an essay, I strategically placed a fake pen in one of the aisles on the floor just behind me.
As I anticipated, Mr. Morgan strode up and down in-between the desks, to make sure no one was cheating.
When Mr. Morgan stumbled across the pen - as I surmised he would - he systematically asked each pupil as he moseyed up the aisle if they were perchance the owner of the writing utensil.
At my desk, he called out my name to get my attention.
At first, I pretended not to hear, to ensure he wasn't tipped off about the gag.
Then, I gazed up with an innocent look on my face, and replied calmly.
"Sir?"
Is this your pen?" he asked in a hushed voice.
"No, I don't think so," I responded confidently, as I turned back to my assignment.
Then, as Mr. Morgan started to walk away, I spoke out.
""Mr. Morgan? That might be my pen. But, you'd have to take off the cap, 'cause mine has a special nib."
He paused; then, a wicked little smile came across his face.
"This is one of those trick pens, isn't it?"
Blast!
"Um, no sir! Why, whatever do you mean?"
"You're always disrupting my class. And, I won't have it," he barked, as he turned on his heel and made a beeline for his desk.
"No. I would never do that," I wailed plaintively.
"Well, I'm keeping this pen," he snapped.
"But, Sir! That would be stealing, wouldn't it?"
"I know this is a trick pen," he asserted almost angrily.
At this juncture, he flipped open the drawer of his desk - tossed the pen inside - and slammed it shut with a sharp bang.
And that - as they say - was that.
To this day, I often wonder, did Mr. Morgan ever open that pen?
I like to think that after all the students packed up their books - and trundled off home when the bell rang at three-thirty - that he slowly opened that drawer, withdrew the pen, and gingerly flipped off the cap - albeit - cautiously.
Who knows, maybe it's still lurking in the dark confines of his desk, untouched.
I just betcha, though, he was beside himself that day.
And, that long after we departed, he tempted fate.
KABOOM!
Only Mr. Morgan knows for sure.
And a fly on the wall, perhaps!
