Monday, July 29, 43 A.B.

Well, Sure - I'm Glad They Got All 9 Of Those Miners Out Alive, Too.  But... come they never came and rescued me from high school?

I don't want to rain on anybody's parade - and I certainly don't want to sound self-centered or bitter - but as near as I can recall, the small desk-chair I was trapped in was just 30 feet beneath the roof.  And a mere 2 feet or so of concrete ceiling was all that really separated me from sunny skies and freedom.  Even a 3-man crew of apprentice rescue workers could have drilled through that ceiling, dropped me an escape cage, and had me out of there in five or ten minutes, I bet.

Instead, I was left to languish in a stuffy, cramped, all-male classroom for four years while hormone levels rose above my chin and our collective supply of sanity steadily diminished.  Thank goodness we had the good sense and will power not to break into that sanity more than once a quarter from the time we were freshman on!

Anyway...  I'm glad those miners got out in a mere three days.  I really am.

And I'm really glad nobody thought piping in disco music before the morning announcements might somehow increase rather than diminish their will to live.

I just wish the same amount of compassion and concern could have always been shown to all of this old world's poor, trapped creatures.

And I hope against hope that today's 8th graders are better trained in how to survive the deep, dark hole they're about to be thrust into than I ever was.

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(©Now by a DJ Birtcher who still hacks up
chalk dust every other month or so)