In a little Parisian toy shop, of which the city has almost 800, I have learned, there are toys so beautiful that it takes my breath away. Wow.

I am transfixed by the elegance of the designs - more art than toy, almost. It suggests that children play differently in France, and thus grow up generally to be more gentle and refined, perhaps?

These beautiful French toys are to be played with gently, treasured by parents, and perhaps by the children, as well? Certainly they are meant to be passed down to succeeding generations.

Even the displays in the toy shops are elegant, artistic even. How do toys differ from country to country, I would like to know. How do they differ from culture to culture, and how do these toys promulgate cultural mores and distinctions?

There were more high school shenanigans (boy, that is another fine word!) of which I am not so much proud, now, looking back. I loved biology class most of all, and my seventh grade biology teacher was a short, round, bespectacled little man who one was given to mock (I regret to say).

He may have earned that, however, as rumor had it that in a previous year some smart aleck student was dissecting a frog and put eggs from a female into a male specimen. As a joke he showed it to Mr. K, who proclaimed it to be a miracle of biology and then drove the hermaphroditic frog all the way to the University of Buffalo - to the big city, the Belle of Western New York about 45 miles south - to present it to the biology department there. He was most likely laughed out of the university lab, I would suspect.

Now, Mr. K always had a cup of coffee he was in the process of drinking, and it could be found in any part of the lab on a given day. It is my considered opinion that any cup of coffee one is drinking in a biology lab of high school students, one would be advised to keep close at hand with a watchful eye on it. Otherwise, the claw of a crawfish might be found at the bottom of the cup of coffee, or it might be laced with chocolate Ex Lax, or any number of other surprises might find their way into such a misplaced cup of coffee being nursed by a teacher of Biology.

Ship hattens, if you know what I mean.

(Continued from previous post)

Later that same day I was called to the principal's office and told that an overhead projector had caught fire, billowing poisonous, sulphurous dioxide gas. The school smelled terrible and the second floor (only) was evacuated.

Suspension was discussed. Calling my mother was probably done, but I don’t quite recall. Why me? Why not my buddy Gary, too? The pranks may have been my ideas, but he sure did help all the way. A great high school friend, indeed.

I love April Fool's Day - I think it deserves cards and decorations just like Valentine's Day. It might be the most under-celebrated holiday on the calendar. Why not make a big deal out of a day dedicated to making people laugh? There can’t be too much mirth or joy in the world.

Perhaps I overdid it on that particular occasion, but my intentions were good. Umm, maybe not.

(Continued from previous post)

We criss-crossed another classroom door with 'invisible' tape, hoping some unsuspecting teacher would run into it. This may seem a small thing perhaps, but it was one prank of many. We also made cardboard Mickey Mouse hands - 3-fingers-and-a-button-white-glove affairs - and climbed up and taped them to the hands of the clocks in the library.

We thought a bomb might be a good idea, so a wind-up alarm clock that ticked loudly went into a box addressed to our physics teacher, to be delivered to him on his arrival at school that morning, ticking. Tick Tock! With no return address, of course. This was back before bombs were fashionable, before there were bomb scares in schools. Back then this was funny - sorta. Today, not so much.

Later that day, to our surprise, our physics teacher brought out from behind the very same lecturn that his brother the chemistry teacher used, the ticking box. "What's in it?" he asked the class, and suggested we open it and see. As a geek, nerd, dweeby science lover, I always sat in the front of the class, right in front of that self-same lecturn.

Mr. J very slowly and deliberately opened the box, and I jumped out of my seat when flames and sparks shot out of it when we thought it contained only a windup alarm clock. Gotcha! Nice get, teach.

(To be continued . . . )