Long before someone introduced Bango the Milwaukee Bucks mascot to steroids and we all learned to “fear the deer,” there was another equally ferocious character terrorizing the city’s north side. Now I'm not saying I grew up in a sketchy part of town but apparently my grade school mascot was a mouse. Behold “The Mouse’s Roar,” my school newspaper from spring of 1976. A word of advice for parents: if you’re looking into schools for junior you may want to inquire about the mascot. If it’s a mouse, vole, rat, or any other potentially Black Plague/hantavirus spreading mammal just move on. Your kids will thank you for it. My high school mascot wasn't much better. I attended Custer High School (now Barack Obama Academy) home of the Custer Indians. The school wasn't actually named after George Armstrong Custer of the infamous Little Big Horn massacre. It was named for a different Custer. I'm not sure what the Indians did to him. Apparent...
If silence is golden then you take a vow of poverty when you decide to become an elementary school teacher. Rustling papers and sliding chairs, muffled whispers and joyous laughter are the sounds that you'll work to and work on every day. Whines and chiming bells, sharpening pencils and the constant drone of your own name in your ears - it's enough to drive a someone to the brink of wanting a real job. Almost. After years of living in Lilliput you'll be ruined for life. Where else do you get to make a rainforest out of tempera paint and construction paper? Where else are you paid to play four square and tell stories? Nowhere, that's where! So you'll stay on year after year despite pink eye, contract disputes, and an all you can eat buffet of dysfunction .
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