Mr. Purple

The only two words that rival "Snow Day" for a kid in school are "substitue teacher".

You know the substitute really can't teach, so it's basically one great long play day.

In fifth grade, we got the word that a substitute would be coming in.

Bobby Spurlin and I hatched an excellent plan.

We switched identities.

Bobby and I were great friends, but very different. He had a well earned reputation for hijinks. And academics were not his focal point. He majored in fun at Mount Olive Elementary.

It started when she called roll. Oh what fun to see Bobby raise his hand and say "here" when my name was read. What more fun to do it myself when his name was read.

It was on.

Bobby and I were in different reading groups.

His group was called together first, so I went in and pretended to stumble around trying to read the Hardy Boys book. She took pity on poor Bobby and tried to help me say the big words.

It was all going so well. Bobby attended my reading group. Then the principal walked in to see how things were going.

Bobby and I had some 'splaining to do. And it didn't work.

I really hated writing those notes to mom and dad and getting them to sign them.

I think Spurlin got his older brother to sign his.

She who will be reckoned with had a substitute teacher this week.

"The meanest substitute teacher, ever. He ruined my world."

And I think I know why.

His name is Mr. Turple.

Oh, Lordy. Why didn't he change his name long ago.

How would you like to go thru life as "Mr. Turple"?

Apparently, he doesn't either.

After he wrote his name on the board, a couple of the boys quickly touched his third rail and called him "Mr. Purple".

So far as I know, no notes to mom and dad had to be written.

But had I received one, I would have signed it "Mr. Burps."