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This is one of my favorite stories to tell in person. It might not translate perfectly here but I will try my best. High school was a challenge. Actually, more like a roadblock. Brutal. My mom assures me I graduated high school, somehow, but I am not so certain. I have never seen a diploma and I sure as heck never attended any graduation. Either way, now I have a Masters degree and things have worked out. I still have never attended a graduation, but things are good.

Things were less certain during my junior year in high school. I went from a 3.8 or 3.9 GPA to a O.OO in one semester. School was just not for me, or this was what I wanted people to think at least. The reality was that I was battling for my life, and I was losing. It was during this time that I got called down to the office to see “Mr. Sanchez.” As an adult who now works in the public school system, I feel horribly that I do not know this man’s correct name. But as a 17 year old punk, who was a privileged student in a privileged school district, I had less respect for authority than I ought to have. My friends and I referred to our school liaison officer as “Mr. Sanchez” and I was headed to his office.

The thing I remember most about this day is going from total terror of what my dad might do when I got home from school that day to ultimate respect and pride in the man I called my father. This is how it went down.

Of course I had to wait outside Mr. Sa… I will just call him Liaison Officer’s, office before he could “help” me. I think they do this on purpose, just to make you sweat. I was sweating. I knew why I was there and I knew I was in trouble. The office secretary walked into his office and gave him a stack of papers. As she was leaving she looked at me and smiled, a tragic smile. A smile that said, “I’m sorry. Good luck.”

As I entered his office, he was sitting on the corner of his desk. He was a tall man, well over six feet, who liked to lift weights. He also liked to intimidate young punks like myself. I was intimidated.

“Hylan, do you know why you are here today?”
“No, sir.” I did. Very much so.
“Do you have any idea how many unexcused absences you have this semester?” Yes! Yes, I do. A lot. Too many, in fact. 100? 200? I don’t really know. No. I don’t really know. How many?
“No, sir.”
At this point he gets up from the corner of his desk, picks up the stack of papers the secretary had brought in, and rises to his full height. Very dramatic and imposing. This can not be good.

When I went to school, the paper for the school printers came in reams where the sheets were all attached to each other. If you needed just one sheet from the printer, you would have to tear it off from the others along the perforated edge. This is the type of paper the liaison officer now held just in front of his face. Without saying anything, he holds the top sheet and lets the others fall towards the floor. One, two, three… seven sheets of paper in all. Shit!

“386.”
I just sat there. What am I supposed to do? Ok, liaison officer dude, you win. Now what?
“You know what this means, right?”
“No, sir.” I can’t help it. Authority and I have never had a great relationship. I knew what was supposed to happen, but I wasn’t going to make it easy.
“We are going to need to call your father.” Whoa! What? Wait. What? My dad? No! Why? Shit!
“Ok.”
And now begins the transformation within myself of being terrified of what waited for me when I got home from school that day to being somewhat in awe of my dad, and feeling really, really lucky to be his son. Liaison officer dials and my father picks up the phone. I can hear his deep, baritone voice on the other end. Liaison officer introduces himself and states he is from the high school administration and so it begins.
“I am calling today because I am now sitting in my office with your son and we are going over his attendance this past quarter and there is a problem. Your son currently has 386 unexcused absences. School policy requires in-school suspension after seven unexcused policies. I am just calling today to inform you of the situation and to let you know how the school will be proceeding in this manner. We would…”
My dad begins to speak. A visible red flush begins to appear on Liaison Officer. What is happening?
“But sir, with all due respect, I don’t think you understand the severity of the…”
My dad cuts him off.
“But this is school policy. It is important…”
My father speaks.
“But…”
My dad.
“Really, sir…”
My dad again.
“The importance of…”
Cut off once again. And then, some sort of magic happened that still causes some disbelief even to this day.
“Okay, Yes, sir. I understand. Yup. I understand. No, it will be done. I can promise you. Yes. Thank you for your time. Have a good day.
I hear my father say, “Thank you. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” Liaison Officer is staring at his desk as he hangs up the phone. He did not look at me as he said these words, “Hylan, you are free to go.”
What? What just happened? I am too old to use acronyms, but I am pretty sure I was thinking WTF?
When I got home from school that day and my dad came home from work, I was nervous. I did not know what was going to happen. I think I was probably in my room, hiding, from everything. My dad walked in, and said these thoughts. “Hylan, you are my son. You are my responsibility. If you are missing school, that is your mom and I’s problem. We know the situation, and we will deal with it. We both love you, son. I love you. We are going to do whatever is needed to get you through this. In-school suspension is not needed. This will not be a problem in school again.”
My dad was a Green Beret in the Special Forces of the U.S. Army. He once stood at 6’4” (He is shrinking a bit now). He was not a force you wanted to cross. I had always felt a little fear of my father. On this day, at this moment, although my soul and my mind were a little bit broken, my heart felt love for this man I called my father.

Although the number of unexcused absences continued to grow, I was never again summoned to any administrator’s office. Thank you, dad.