My Father the Principal

Books ‘N Pieces/July 2022

Third Place Winner, short story contest

Pep Rally

Warr-i-ors! Warr-i-ors!

Back when I started there, in seventh grade, my mother and I attended the St Michael’s football games together. Standing in as Dad’s wholesome family unit, we perched on a bleacher, our smiles chiseled and stuck. Principal Dad came out on the podium in his purple and white jersey and the crowd went wild. His cheeks matched his fire-red hair as he pontificated about the glory and history of our school. He raised his fist in the air at the end and asked us all to stand to sing the school anthem. People were crying. I’m serious. Tears of pride, joy, nostalgia, maybe all three. He had that effect on people. He got the crowd chanting Warr-i-ors! Warr-i-ors! Over and over again. But somewhere in there the crowd switched and started chanting Mc-Ardle. Mc-Ardle! Dad beamed from his place before us, his mouth closed in a tightening of pride, his eyes full of water. We were with him, totally, and he could have no greater joy.

Warr-i-ors! Warr-i-ors!