Raccoon Toons

Once upon a time, in a land called high school, I was a young and defiant senior. Yes. I know. Anyone who has actually taken the time to read my writings here on the website is already well aware of many of the antics of my youth. So my statement of being a defiant teenager probably comes as no surprise.

It was senior year of high school. Obviously since I believed I was the teenage incarnate of both Parker Lewis and Ferris Bueller combined, I felt somewhat obligated to create a legacy of sorts and perform various acts of prank-dom.

There were multiple plans and operations. Some were achieved with great success. Others were…less than successful and resulted in trips to the dean’s office and meetings with my arch nemesis: the assistant principal.

But this prank was different. It was my pride and joy. I had literally been planning it for three years. And now, after all that time, the moment had finally arrived: It was time to walk graduation.

Let me first state here, that I kind of think the whole thing is rather meaningless. I mean, here you are, FINALLY ready to be released from soooo many years of school, and they just have to have you for one more day. It’s just one more day of time and money that school wants to suck from your life. They can’t just finally set you free into the world. They have to parade you around and dress you up like a doll first. Because that’s what school does to you man.

First they charge you a bunch of money for the cap and gown. I mean really. C’mon. Who do you think you’re fooling?It’s nothing more than an overpriced garbage bag and a flimsy hat made of cardboard and you’re charging me HOW much for it? For a silly little outfit that I will only wear once for a few hours in my entire life?? And then I’m just going to throw the hat up in the air and lose it anyway??

Robbery. Straight up robbery.

Then they drag you all out there and make you practice walking a bunch of times, before doing it for reals in front of all your friends and family. Ok…let me just state the obvious here. I’ve been walking since I was 2 years old. Pretty sure I got that one down. I’m ready to learn something new now. If you feel like you have to drag a bunch of young adults out into the hot sun to teach them how to walk back and forth repeatedly, then something is drastically wrong with our education system. Just sayin’.

The day finally arrives and you get to waltz around in your fancy clothes which ironically–no one actually sees because you’ve put a garbage over them– and then you get to sit forever and listen to some of your peers try desperately to sound deep and profound as they speak to the great gathered multitude. I’m sorry, but no 18 year old kid is that deep and profound. I don’t care how smart you think you are, you’re 18 and you know absolutely nothing about the world. I sure as heck didn’t when I was 18. The sooner we all accept that the sooner we can all stop pretending that we’re adults the minute we graduate high school.

Finally after all of that…after all that waiting…the moment FINALLY arrives… And you don’t even get your diploma. Oh no. Instead you have to shake the hand of your arch nemesis and smile, while they hand you an empty placeholder. No diploma there. Your REAL diploma–that fancy and extremely valuable (-cough-) piece of paper arrives by mail a month or so later. Talk about adding insult to injury. In a way it’s the perfect analogy to a high school education…

So I don’t particularly like graduation ceremonies. I think I’ve made my position clear.

Thus, it fell to me to rectify this problem for the sake of us all. And so I devised a plan. A great and noble plan. And it was glorious.

As is custom at most graduations, the senior class at our high school would be required to don their caps and gowns and be paraded before all the happy parents in our silly little ceremony. As we did so, the high school band would be required to play the popular high school theme “Pomp and Circumstance.” This would be the backdrop for my last and final high school prank.

I needed to bring graduation back to the students. It was my job…my DUTY… to let everyone know exactly how seriously we took this complete and utter waste of time.

My plan was simple. When the moment arrived, we the senior class would march out onto the field to the familiar tune of “Pomp and Circumstance.” Only this time, the band would not be the only ones playing. Oh no. For I would see to it that every member of our graduating senior class would have a kazoo with which to play along.

It was poetry in my mind. The thought of 300 kazoos all humming in wondrous harmony titillated the exuberant young  prankster in me.

I began the plot weeks in advance. I took donations from senior class members. A friend and I went to numerous party supply stores until we had accumulated roughly 300 multi-colored kazoos (mine was orange). Everything was going according to plan. I could not be stopped. The dream that I had crafted 3 years earlier was coming to fruition.

And then my mother found out.

As was my luck, a young, spacey, socially awkward girl from my class had called my house and left a message. In her voicemail this strange soul who had only days before donated money to the cause, stated that she had changed her position and that she felt that 300 kazoos would be making fun of graduation.

My mother heard the message before I’d even arrived home that day. All of a sudden the full scope of her wrath was upon me. At first she insisted that I not go through with it. I didn’t see what the big deal was. We were just having fun! And I couldn’t stop now, I explained. We had already purchased 300 kazoos!

Then she demanded I not go through with it. But this was my dream!! Desperately I tried to explain. I had wanted this since I was 15 years of age! Just think of it! 300 kazoos all singing together!

Then she gave me the ultimatum. In a moment of absolute parental dictatorship that I have never seen in my mother before nor since, she stated in so uncertain terms that either I put an end to my plans, or she would not attend my graduation.

I did not care about my graduation ceremony. Not in the slightest. But I knew my mother did. And I knew I could never live down the guilt trips that would surely follow if I did not bend to her will.

Disappointed and crushed, I tried to figure out what to do. We had 300 kazoos. People had paid for them. Could I really just call the whole thing off?

My friend and co-conspirator , bless her soul, suggested that we hand out the kazoos and instruct the students to use them at the final commencement of our graduation, when hats are flying in the air. My mother seemed to approve of this compromise. And the matter was settled peacefully. I was still crushed. My dream shattered.

In the end, it didn’t really matter.

As it turns out, 300 kazoos attract a fair amount of attention. My arch nemesis, the assistant principal became aware of my designs and stood by the gate with a large cardboard box collecting the kazoos from each student that marched onto the field.

As I passed by him I heard him laugh with the principal.

“Kazoos! That’s a new one!”

Curses!! Even my arch nemesis himself could acknowledge the brilliance of my scheme! And yet I was still thwarted. Defeated by my nemesis, my mother, and a strange awkward girl.

I did manage to smuggle into the ceremony 100 or so kazoos. I hid them in every pocket on my person. But even though I dispensed them to the senior populace once we had reached our seats in the stands, aside from a few timid kazoo noises, no one really paid them much mind.

And thus, this was the way my high school pranks ended. Not with the triumphant chorus of 300 kazoos humming, but with the whimper of my little orange kazoo.