Way back when, when I was in the sixth grade, I had a teacher that for some reason I wasn’t too popular with. Miss Peters was her name, and it took a bit of hair pulling to get her to change her mind about me.

One morning, sitting at my desk, (which was next to an outside wall, and was the last in the row) there was a girl seated in front of me, and somehow, she pinched her hand between her seat and the front of my desk. She let out a wail, and Miss Peters came running. She assumed that I was the cause of the problem, and after calming the girl, she grabbed me by the hair on my head, and marched me to the “Gulag,” another name for the coat room in front of our classroom. It was a perfect spot for solitary confinement. I was pushed inside, and told to stay there until she released me.

I h

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