D.A.S.S

            I like going places with my dad, and when I’m out and about with him he runs into a lot of what he calls D.A.S.Ss. One time we were traveling on the highway and a guy in a pickup truck cut my dad off he didn’t even use his turn signal.

            My dad said, “That D.A.S.S, he must be a Masshole!”

            To clear his reference up the word “Masshole” is what folks from Maine call people from Massachusetts or another name used in a nicer content is Massawhatsit. Folks in that, state don’t know what a turn signal is. My dad says the turn signals in cars from Massawhatsit have been disconnected, as the car manufacturers figured them folks never use them. So why make them work?

            Another D.A.S.S moment happened when my dad and I were at the pet store. We exited the pet store and this fancy pants dude, as my dad called him, put his cart by the curb and it slowly rolled backwards and ran into the front of my dad’s truck. Dad was mad, but keep in mind we own a septic tank business, so the dent wasn't the problem. He, was madder at the fact that as the cart rolled backwards and the guy just got in his BMW and drove out of the parking lot. Out of my dad’s mouth came the words, “That stupid D.A.S.S!!”

            With all that said I made it my goal to rid the world of D.A.S.S I started with my kindergarten class. It was a Friday afternoon, my teacher Miss P. she looked like Popeye’s girlfriend Olive Oil, she told the class to play quietly and that she had to step out for a short time. Our kindergarten classroom was one of those open room something’s were you had two classrooms side by side with no wall. Miss P. informed the other teacher Miss what’s her name that she was stepping out. I think she had to go to the can as my dad called it.

            After Miss P. walked out the door I grabbed the big letter cards and laid the cards against the board by the circle time area. I then got ever one to come to circle time area and sit down. I placed out the letter cards D.A.S.S and explained to my classmate how not to be a D.A.S.S. I found that for some of the girls there was no hope. I informed the hopeless girls to pray for common sense every night before they went to bed, and that one day it would come. Halfway through my program Miss P. walks in and sees the kids gathered and my letters laid out. I knew the gig was up when I heard her say, “Joey Stein!!” That little program got me a trip to the principal’s office and a phone call to my parents.

            My mom that night, glared at my dad and said, “This is your fault!” as she pointed at me. He just gave me a wink as he shrugged his shoulders.