Cripes A'Mighty, I'll say so! I did pretty much the same thing during PE in 7th grade (1970-71). I was a pusillanimous fourteen year-old. We were playing softball and I was called out at first base. I was such an excitable boy. I lost my cool and punched Mr. Petrequin square in the solar plexus. I was detained after school for a week. I figgered I could hide it from my dad, telling him I'd be at the library that whole week. That wasn't unusual because we lived about three miles away from Camp Darby and we'd very often go do homework at the Post Library until my dad drove us home at 1700. I don't remember how many days it took my dad to ask me about punching my teacher, but he did. I don't remember what I said in response but I do remember he didn't return the favor I'd granted to Mr. Petrequin, although I'd have gotten a good slap across the side of my empty skull instead. That was the very last time I ever was disrespectful of any instructor in any education I had after that instance. I learned respect for my elders better than I ever had before just because of one "gnat punch" by a stupid kid against a teacher he really liked. Mr. Petrequin looked like a young Kurt Vonnegut (he had color in his hair), and I can see him in my mind's eye just like I saw him yesterday. I hope he's enjoying his retirement; I hope he doesn't remember me. Given his approximate age in 1971, I suspect he retired in the early 1990s...My risk-vs-reward scale was out of calibration.