Hey, you, just-out-of-high-school rebel. You probably think that your final, pre-empted gesture of disdain for the Raymore-Peculiar
School District went largely unnoticed. But my friends and I were sitting way up in the balcony of the megachurch where your graduation ceremony was held, and we could see you struggling to get your pants back on under your robe. And we could see the two teachers standing by to make sure you did. We wondered if they'd even let you walk. They couldn't threaten you with much else, could they? We couldn't wait to see what you'd do when you finally did get up to the stage. You were in one of the final rows of kids to cross it. Maybe you'd flip off the audience, let out a defiant stream of curses or even try to drop trou again! The anticipation literally had us on the edge of our seats. But you just threw your fists in the air and grinned. Ah, well. Congratulations. And thanks for giving us something to focus our attention on during the endless recitation of your classmates' names. We only knew one of them. And he wasn't you.
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