High School Emergency Contact Form: Fill & Download for Free

Around college, I started going by “Jeff” instead of “Jeffrey”. Nobody calls me by my full name anymore.My mom is recently separated from my dad after a less-than-amicable split. She's decided to use “Wood-Collins” from now on since she wants to share a last name with her kids but also to separate herself symbolically from my dad. I use that name when I have to write her down (as an emergency contact, for example).My high school mock trial coach hates his first name and goes by “Drew” instead. I don't even know what his first name is and call him “Drew” when I stop by.A Chinese person I know goes by an “American” name that's wholely made up and sounds a bit ridiculous. I still use it.Why, exactly, should pronouns be different from names? They are literally replacements for them. They're just as personal and important. I may stumble a few times (I'm still getting used to they/them/their; it's not super novel but it wasn't part of my idiom), but I try my best to be respectful. That means using whatever moniker they want me to.

When I was in High School, there was a teacher who was very much liked by the student population. He taught courses in history, political science, and sociology. I will refer to him here as simply Mr. H.The very first of his classes I took was sociology. On the first day of that course, he began by telling us all to turn to a specific set of pages in the textbook, where all of the interesting photographs were concentrated. He then began role-call, with instructions that as he called off each student’s name, the student would then bring his textbook to the front of the classroom and add it to an ever-growing pile of books. At the end of role-call, he informed us that we would not be using the textbooks for his class.Over the course of the next several months he did not once give us a lecture. He never gave out handouts or worksheets. There was never any homework at all. There were never any writing assignments. Mr. H never hit us with pop-quizzes. In fact, he did not give us any quizzes - or tests. Unlike any other class I have ever taken, there was not a single moment of what would or could be considered traditional teaching.Instead, his classroom became a place where we could relax, talk about our lives, and what we were experiencing. There were numerous times where people brought interpersonal conflicts they were having to the classroom, and Mr. H had the individuals role-play their conflict, with the participants taking the part of the person they were having the conflict with. The interactions were often over-the-top exaggerations which proved both comical and informative.As the course was nearing its completion, many of us began to wonder just how grades in this class were going to be assigned. After all, we had done nothing all semester. So, when we asked and Mr. H informed us we would have a final exam which our entire grade would be based on, we were dumbfounded. How could he possibly give us a final exam? what could possibly be on it? would this be a paper where we put our name on it and with some nonsense about how we liked the class?On the day of the final exam, every single one of us became quite terrified when he began handing out the exam. The exam was over thirty pages in length, consisting of multiple choice, true/false, fill in the blank, matching, short-answer, and essay questions. All I could think of as I saw this monstrosity of a test was “WHERE THE HELL DID THIS COME FROM?”Imagine my absolute shock as I began going through the test. Every single question was about knowledge I definitely DID NOT KNOW before taking his course. Yet, every single question I KNEW the answer to. Somehow, Mr. H had taught all of us a great deal of material without once teaching us. The whole time we thought we were goofing off and having fun in his classroom, we had been learning.Needless to say, Mr. H was not only well liked by us as students, he has earned life-long admiration from us.This led to the situation which spurred me to answer this question.Six years after graduating high school, after attending college and earning her own bachelor’s degree, one of Mr. H’s former students became romantically involved with him. Every student at the high school was fully aware that the two of them had formerly been student and teacher. we accepted it without concern. Many of the high-school girls secretly envied her, as they had crushes on Mr. H. Many of the high-school boys envied him, as his girlfriend was very attractive. None of us harbored the two of them any ill-will. About a year after I had first been in that sociology course taught by Mr. H, he and his girlfriend got married.When they found out about the marriage, the school-board became livid. They called Mr. H and his wife in for a conference, confirmed that she had formerly been one of his students, and then proceeded to fire him, on the spot. They proclaimed they could never accept this immoral behavior in their school. This occurred on a Friday afternoon.Over the weekend, word of Mr. H’s firing quickly spread among the student population. We were livid. We considered Mr. H’s firing to be unjust and we were not willing to accept it. We hatched a plan to make our displeasure known and to try to force the school board to change their decision.On Monday morning, precisely one minute after the school bell rang to begin the day, every single student in our high-school calmly got up, walked out of class and the school, and crossed over to the public properties across the street from the high-school. we had already staged picket signs proclaiming our frustration and demanding Mr. H be reinstated. Several of the students had loaded their vehicles with coolers of drinks, sandwiches, and so forth to sustain us. We began our student-strike.More importantly, we had already contacted representatives of the press. News crews from every television station in the area were outside the school filming us as all 1,307 students walked out the door of the high-school. Representatives from all the area newspapers (and several more distant newspapers) were there to take photographs and write their stories. Two local radio stations had set up tents to do broadcasts from. And we, the student population, had our prepared statements for the press and had chosen our own representatives to speak on behalf of us to the media.Our strike lasted about half a day. Once word of what was going on started flooding the airwaves, the school-board conducted an emergency session (at the insistence of a few state level government representatives.) The school-board had to publicly apologize to Mr. H and his wife, reinstate him to his teaching position, and apologize to all of us students for what they had done.Unfortunately for the school-board members, this entire sequence of events took place in September. Two months later, the school-board was replaced when the November elections took place.

Well, my 18-year-old daughter wanted to drop out of school in her senior year. I told her that she could not drop out. She made good grades and was almost done with high school. She contacted her narcissist biological father via Facebook who has not been in her life for 7 years, no phone call, birthday card nothing. Apparently, she plotted with him to take my 15-year-old son and live with their father in another state. They wrote up an emergency writ through an Atty stating that they had no food and anything else they could think of. One day constables barged into my house grabbed my son and ran him out the door like a criminal, without shoes on. She had unlocked the door for them with her house key. I haven’t been able to speak to my son in 2 years. It hurts every day. I don’t know if I care to speak to her again. I had given them both everything. Any hobby they showed interest in I sacrificed for, they were enrolled in dance, piano, boy scouts, youth group and I made sure that they saw a counselor regularly just in case there was something that they didn’t necessarily want to discuss with me. I didn’t date because I didn’t want to negatively affect them in any way. The hardest part is knowing that they are not being cared for like I cared for them. I’m probably one of the strongest people I know but this almost broke me. I’m in tears as I write this even after 2 years.