Recalling Liquid Assaults In York High Classroom

Editor's note: This piece is by David Venetucci, a retired teacher from Elmhurst School District 205. He taught at York High School and Churchville Middle School.

QUESTION: What’s the difference between a helicopter parent and a lawnmower parent?

ANSWER: The lawnmower parent is closer to the ground and lots noisier.

If you’re not an educator or have never heard this joke, here’s the context. So-called “helicopter” and “lawnmower” parents are those who advocate on behalf of their children to the point of enabling them. For reasons that psychologists and social scientists can better explain, these overprotective adults feel they must insulate their children from life’s challenges, along with the natural and logical consequences associated with decision-making. Barring intervention, children of overprotective parents often grow up to become helicopter and lawnmower parents themselves, thus perpetuating a cycle of enabling with profoundly adverse effects, including on teachers.

Overprotective parents assert that any teaching methods they believe are “harming” their child should be banned from the classroom, even when those techniques are demonstrably effective. The pressure these over-zealous parents exert on teachers and administrators makes it nearly impossible for educators to utilize techniques deemed “unconventional.”

Judged by any reasonable standard, I was an unconventional teacher. I tested students’ musical knowledge by playing various genres of music with a daily “Featured Artist.” I employed a pair of cowbells with a flourish every time “extra credit” was mentioned during a lesson. Hanging in my classroom was an extra-large metal serving spoon that I used humorously as a prop any time a student asked to be “spoonfed” information. I once pretended during a lesson to have a seizure, writhing on the classroom floor like a rag doll, to determine if a group of particularly sullen students was capable of empathy. From a supine position looking up from the floor, I observed students in the front room peering over their desks with looks of vague concern. I discovered this challenging group of teens did care. They just needed motivation.

Taken as a group, was this array of unusual instructional techniques unconventional?

Sure. Memorable? Absolutely.

Another unconventional teaching technique I employed was using a toilet seat as a student “potty pass.” I can’t remember precisely where I got the idea. Perhaps I first got the notion from my York High School colleague, John Randle, who used a toilet seat hall pass in his art classroom. Simple in purpose, a toilet seat kept most students from unnecessary trips to the restroom. Any teacher will tell you it’s disruptive whenever a student interrupts a lesson with a restroom request. Many times, the requests are genuine; however, they’re often a way for kids to take a break from class and wander the hallways, frequently instigating trouble. Creative instructional techniques aren’t foolproof, of course. There were always some students, mostly teen boys, who loved strolling around school carrying a toilet seat. Heck, I would have loved to have done just that when I attended high school in the 1970s. Alas, I never had the opportunity.

I worked with several uptight school administrators, especially at the middle school level, who viewed a toilet seat bathroom pass as “demeaning” to students. To the contrary, I discovered most students well understood the toilet seat’s purpose and didn’t feel “demeaned” in the least. Most students enjoyed the toilet seat prop, as its presence created many amusing moments. Toilet seats notwithstanding, arguably the most unconventional aspect of my classroom was a massive squirt gun, which helped keep students focused and deter dozing.

On 5/29/25, I posted on Facebook the following faux obituary after the plastic trigger broke off the large-capacity, pump-action squirt gun I used for many of my 20 years at York.

“I bid a fond farewell today to my intrepid Super-Soaker squirt gun “AWAKEN.” Sadly, its plastic trigger broke following many years of dedicated service in my York HS classroom (not so much at Churchville MS). I rarely had to fire this impressive H2O cannon. Just its presence in my classroom was enough to keep most teens awake and mostly alert.

AWAKEN was student-stolen and held for ransom several times, usually for a generous offering of “sweet or salty treats.” Since retirement from public school service, this faux weapon has been dutifully serving as a domestic deterrent against poor canine conduct. R.I.P. my AWAKEN…you served thee well, my molded plastic friend.”

Yes, I rarely fired AWAKEN at students, as its deterrent effect was powerful. And yes, daring students stole the squirt gun multiple times over the years, typically holding it hostage briefly before posting not-so-anonymous ransom notes. This tongue-in-cheek obit tells some but not all the story. To flesh out this story sufficiently, two specific moments of hilarity, not mentioned in the obituary, warrant retelling. All names are withheld to protect the privacy of individuals involved. Memories are contingent upon elapsed time, emotion, and acuity of recollection. My recollection of this particular episode isn’t rock-solid, admittedly. This event likely occurred sometime following the renovation of York’s new academic wing in the spring of 2004, so perhaps during 2005 or 2006. I suspect students present at the time, now adults, might recall the particulars differently. Here goes.

At some point during one of my semester-long, then graduation-required SPEECH classes, a male sophomore student challenged me to pass gas in his immediate proximity during class. I realize this sounds absurd, but it happened — scouts' honor. I have no memory, however, of how this peculiar student challenge originated. Although, as most of my former students will attest, banter in Mr V’s classroom occasionally involved — shall we say — gutterally-themed topics, including flatulence, nasal discharge, and the like.

With that in mind, I’m almost proud to admit that I unceremoniously extracted lint from my navel during several impromptu moments during lessons, typically displaying it on the overhead projector to student feedback ranging from disgusted groans (both genders), ecstatic cheers (guys only), some gagging (primarily girls), and many hastily covered eyes (usually the girls, but not exclusively).

At first blush, the projection of navel lint on the overhead projection appears inappropriate, unprofessional, and gratuitous conduct. I agree; however, please consider this thoughtful pedagogical rationale. Without exception, I always displayed belly-button lint in the context of establishing “connections.” I recall once when a student questioned why I had referred to the piece of citrus fruit on my desk as a “navel” orange. It turned out that while students had all heard of a “belly button” previously, most had never heard the term “navel” as it related to either an orange or the remnants of one’s umbilical cord. Thus, it was my mission in this “teachable moment” to adequately explain the term in a manner that students could understand and appreciate.

Experienced teachers know that sometimes “the curriculum” has to take a backseat momentarily when unexpected educational opportunities arise. And yes, while mischievous students attempt to distract teachers from plowing through the prescribed curriculum by getting teachers off-topic, skilled educators understand the power of the teachable moment. As a topical aside, the once invaluable overhead projector is now, sadly, an antiquated instructional tool, seldom used these days for any purpose, including displaying navel lint.

Back to the flatulence dare. At the time this unusual student challenge arose in class, I recall dismissing the student’s statement with a humorous comment. Nonetheless, I made a mental note of the moment before moving on with the lesson. At some point later in the semester, I was walking around the classroom while students were engaged in an activity at their desks when I realized that I had a healthy fart brewing.

Considering my future teacher pension only briefly, I nonchalantly moved in the direction of the student who had previously made the fart challenge. I let one rip just as I passed to the rear of his seat (pun intended). No sooner had I passed gas in a manner loud enough to register, the student — indignant at this personal affront that he’d encouraged — got up from his seat and yelled, “Mr. V just farted on me!” To make his point more precisely, the indignant student got up from his seat and began to approach me — not menacingly, but with purpose. What did I do in response? I considered my options quickly, then fled hastily on foot. Hence, a madcap classroom pursuit began in earnest.

Nimbly, I managed to keep the teen at a relatively safe distance during our first awkward, clockwise revolution of the classroom. However, on the second time around, the student escalated the action by grabbing AWAKEN from its not-so-secret hiding spot near my desk. With a gleam of acquired power in his eyes, the teen pumped up the water cannon enthusiastically and, to the roars of the classroom faithful, proceeded to douse me from across the room. The playful confrontation continued as the student landed multiple direct hits, simultaneously drenching bystanders with errant streams of H20 akin to friendly-fire casualties.

I’m unsure how the classroom chaos concluded. Perhaps the bedlam ended when the student exhausted the super-soaker’s water supply with no easy way to reload. Or maybe it stopped when both student and teacher simultaneously decided that enough was enough. Either way, this unscripted episode surely created an indelible memory for those present that fateful day.

In hindsight, if an administrator had happened to pop into my classroom during this barely controlled mayhem, I surely would have been in deep professional doo-doo. I likely wouldn’t have been fired, as I was then a veteran, tenured teacher with “due process rights.” Truth be told, if an incident such as this were to occur today in a public school classroom, I suspect administrators would suspend the offending educator immediately pending termination proceedings. Conceivably, the teacher might even face criminal charges, including “assault” and “contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”

The idea of utilizing a squirt gun as a classroom management tool originated from the hijinks of Mike Torney, a former YHS teaching colleague and, to this day, a dear friend. Torney was renowned for harnessing an eclectic collection of ingenious mechanical gadgets and props in his social studies classroom, using them to entertain students and reinforce instructional concepts. Squirt guns were naturally a part of Torney’s approach to creating an engaging educational experience. I recall learning through the school grapevine each time Torney’s students were planning a coordinated squirt gun assault on their beloved teacher. Not surprisingly, Torney was seldom caught off guard and usually well prepared for battle by acquiring the largest, high-capacity super-soaker
available.

Like Torney, early on in my teaching career, I also decided that if I wasn’t having fun in the classroom, students weren’t either. So, it didn’t take long for Torney’s penchant for unconventional antics to wear off on me once we began working together in York’s popular multi-media “Creativity Center,” creating the technology infrastructure for what became a successful broadcast journalism and TV production program. As my Facebook faux obituary alludes, I seldom had to fire my squirt gun during class. Once I spotted a student trying to nap, all I had to do was move deliberately towards the water weapon’s storage location—a spot all students knew—and the kids would go a-buzz with anticipation. That low hum of adolescent excitement was typically enough for the dozing student to get the hint and pick up his head from the desk. Predictably, it was usually male teens trying to catch a wink during class.

Sometimes, if the peer pressure didn’t work, I moved steadily closer to the inattentive teen and waited silently at the student’s desk, AWAKEN held at point-blank range. Sooner or later, the student woke up to see me standing over the desk with a large, colorful, large-capacity plastic squirt gun pointed at his head. That moment of startled realization always drew a huge guffaw from the classroom, and I seldom had to remind that student again about being attentive. My message was simple. No one becomes successful by dozing through life, whether in school or a paid job. Unconventional?

Definitely. Effective? Darn tootin.

While I’m a bit fuzzy with some details in the aforementioned squirt gun escapade, my memories of this second incident, also around the same time, are crystal clear. A male sophomore student decided one day it would be amusing to keep his head down on his desk, despite considerable peer prompting. This student wasn’t sleeping or even tired. He was testing me, and everyone in the classroom knew it as the teen glared at me with his chin resting on the desk. “Go ahead, make my day…” was the unmistakable message, right out of a vintage Clint Eastwood action film. The classroom waited in anxious, hushed silence, eager to see what would happen next. After a dramatic pause, I pulled the trigger on the already pump-primed AWAKEN.

From across the room, I landed a direct hit, spraying a stream of H2O directly in the student’s mouth. The student, flustered by the liquid assault he’d needlessly provoked, rose from his desk and ran from the classroom, muttering something I couldn’t hear clearly, but knew wasn’t complimentary.

As soon as the student bolted out the door, I knew exactly where he was heading. Oh boy. Appearing unfazed, my only comment to the class was, “Not a bad shot, eh?” Many students, still in a state of giddy disbelief, nodded in the affirmative. Most students knew that the teen who had challenged me deserved the wet reprimand. As in real life, a poor attitude and non-compliance tend to have logical, even sometimes aqueous, consequences.

The student whom I doused didn’t return to class that day, and it wasn’t long after class concluded before a school administrator paid me a visit. Once I explained my version of what had transpired, the administrator was sympathetic to my cause but firm in his request that I retire the squirt gun immediately to preclude future similar incidents. I reluctantly agreed.

Yes, I dodged a disciplinary bullet in this instance. Nonetheless, I resolved that day to bring my trusty super-soaker back into service whenever administrative leadership changed. It inevitably did, of course, and AWAKEN reemerged from a storage cabinet to serve dutifully again as a trusted S.S.D.D. (“Student Sleep Deterrent Device”).

As the Facebook obituary mentions, I officially retired the squirt gun from active duty when I transferred from York to Churchville for the 2007-08 school year. I concluded wisely at the time that utilizing squirt guns in the middle school classroom was an unconventional stretch too far.

No one should be surprised to learn that students typically don’t recall specific lesson content on any one school day. Instead, students create memories based on singular moments, be they positive or negative.

I trust my former students remember my classroom as a structured, often serious, sometimes madcap environment where learning was fun and creativity was encouraged. I hope that students feel I respected them as young learners and provided ample opportunities to thrive intellectually. I trust that memories of toilet seat potty passes, public flatulence, and wild squirt gun antics remind my now-adult students that I cared about them and always brought a love for learning to the classroom, even if things sometimes got a bit carried away.

I’m glad to be out of the classroom now, but I had plenty of fun during my career. It wasn’t fun all the time, of course. Budding sociopaths — often enabled by helicopter and lawnmower parents — usually bristled against my firm, humane attempts at academic and behavioral accountability. Nonetheless, I trust that most students had a positive experience in my classroom and looked forward to attending class each day.

I sense that the unconventional techniques I employed years ago have long been overtaken by “data-driven” instruction overseen by administrators who are myopic and use cookie-cutter approaches. There’s now also the growing menace of opportunistic, ideological zealots intent on using political power to destroy public education in favor of privatization and economic monetization. There’s little tolerance for unconventional teaching with either of these groups.

While I’m grateful to be retired from teaching, I grieve for colleagues who are still battling in the educational trenches today, many of whom are counting down the days to their retirement. I feel sorrow for newly minted educators who find themselves uncertain they’ll survive in the teaching profession and experience retirement. Most of all, I feel sad for students at all but the best-run and most progressive public schools. Much of the fun and joy of teaching and learning has evaporated in the obsession with ever-changing state instructional goals and objectives.

I wouldn’t recommend that teachers today use a toilet seat as a hall pass or a squirt gun to deter sleeping. If an educator decides to utilize these unconventional classroom tools, expect ever-vigilant helicopter and lawnmower parents to cause quite a ruckus. So then, here’s my unconventional recommendation. Let’s ensure that all inept administrators, helicopter and lawnmower parents, as well as those intent on denigrating the public school system, experience a high-profile public rebuke. I’m not advocating the equivalent of corporal punishment for adults. And no, I’m not envisioning public floggings or stun guns turned just past discomfort. Nothing that barbaric.

My non-violent approach could resemble what’s happening currently in many European cities, where locals are blasting foreign tourists with squirt guns to protest government economic policies that favor the tourist industry and are making housing unaffordable. Picture something like a “Dunk the Clown” carnival booth, where no physical pain is inflicted, just enough ridicule to send a strong message that it’s time to reform public schools thoughtfully, not dismantle them.

And while we’re at it, let’s also pass local ordinances requiring these problematic adults to carry a toilet seat whenever visiting a public restroom.

Unconventional? Yes. Appropriate? Absolutely.