A couple Christian friends tentatively approached. They knew my standard not to watch R-rated movies and were curious to hear about what happened in Economics class the previous hour. Don’t ask me how R-rated movies became an integral part of the course. I figured they were only asking because they knew an R-rated movie was being shown, but I should have known better. In a small-town-school word gets around quickly, especially with an instance that stands out like this.
I told my friends how Mr. Meyerholtz threatened a quiz on the movie and he would fail me if I left. He even guarded the exit by standing in front of a closed door. I believed I could call his bluff. As important as he and I both knew grades were for me, and as stubborn as he was, I knew he did not have more resolve than me to win the point. At first I hunkered down in my chair. Defiantly I plugged my ears, closed my eyes, and laid my head on my desk. I said a silent prayer to ask what to do.
I thought the teacher would have to leave his post, even momentarily, to start the movie and then I would make my escape to the library–my sanctuary. I was supposed to have a library pass signed by my teacher for that hour, but they always knew what was going on. I wondered if the Principal knew and just looked the other way as well. The teacher was prepared. He had a remote and turned the movie on from where he stood. Just then a man child of a friend, Rob Hacquet, tapped me on the shoulder. He pushed past the teacher claiming he had to get a drink and waved me through the exit.
Little did I know English class, which I was now in, had an R-rated literature-related movie, to show us. My English teacher quietly excused me to go back to the library. That’s where I spent those two class periods the next couple days.
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Editor’s Note: “I feel to provide a disclaimer of sorts. My view is just one perspective that may or may not be shared by others. The portrayal is not intended to be the definitive source of said events, nor is one instance meant to define the characters of anyone portrayed here, as if it were a microcosm of anyone’s life. It is a simple memory, but it also can’t easily be safeguarded by simply changing names, as though those who knew me would not know I attended Covington High School, not know the story referenced or the players involved, and not have formed their own opinions about who each of us were then and even who we have become now. I take full credit for my telling this non-generic tale as given above.” –-Chad Parker
