I don’t think any Middletown High School student really understands how lucky he or she is. Sure, Thanksgiving has come and gone, but its true meaning was barely there to begin with.

Sometimes context is needed to really put things into perspective.

A 13-year-old Floridian boy was arrested on Nov. 4. It wasn’t for bringing a “weapon” to school. It wasn’t for possession of drugs with intent to sell. And no, it wasn’t for hugging a girl (which many politically correct advocates prefer to call “sexual molestation”).

No, the Spectrum Junior-Senior High School student was arrested for something much more sinister: “passing gas.” http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/27898395/

Authorities took him into custody for turning off his peers’ computers and cutting the cheese. Apparently, such vulgarities can now be considered illegal.

The next time I discretely let one go, I for one will be double checking for cops nearby. Who knows when one will be lurking around a corner, on the lookout for dangerous, smelly criminal? I will never be comfortable in public again.

Suppose I were caught red-handed? I would be defending my hygienic principles in front of not only my friends, but the law as well.

I can imagine the chaos:

“Excuse me, ma’am, but I seem to have detected a whiff of flatulence from my post. You wouldn’t be the individual who disturbed the peace in such a vulgar manner, would you?”

Even if I managed to fudge my way out of it by pulling the old “I was just about to ask the same question!” the public humiliation would be unbearable.

Upon hearing such a conversation, I know that I would be the first to quickly text the news to a friend or run from the room snorting in laughter. Being the hypocrite that I am, if I were the victim, I would be so consumed in self-pity that appreciating the humor of the situation would be out of the question.

After narrowly escaping arrest under the charges of extreme public flatulence, I’m sure I would be unable to resume my original pastime. Rather, I would bury the memory in the back of my mind, praying that no one I knew witnessed my humiliation.

And if the unthinkable happened, and someone I knew were there (a friend, acquaintance, parent’s friend, or, heaven forbid, teacher) I would seriously consider the paper bag fallback, at least for the next three years or so.

But all that is child’s play compared to the torture I would have to endure had I actually been taken under custody. Aside from the arrest itself, along with the customary humiliations that accompany it (or so I’ve gathered from all the prison movies I’ve watched) my first night would be simply unbearable. The conversation with my cellmate is bound to be dreadful:

“So, what’re you in here for?” (All this followed by a detailed account of her own car chase, bank robbery, or gang fight, causing me to practically trip over my ball-and-chain.)

“Oh, you know, the usual: disturbing the peace, resisting a police officer (certainly probable), public flatulence.”

It’d be a miracle if I didn’t end up in the infirmary after my first meal. From what I hear, criminals don’t take to “cheezies” too kindly.

With good behavior and some serious bribing, my sentence would be on the lighter side (I hope). I’m sure I’d be spending the next few years in therapy, regularly retelling the tragic tales of my confinement.

This hypothetical situation has really made me thankful this year (more so than usual, anyway). Sure, I’m grateful for good friends, a loving family, a full stomach, a warm house, and all that stuff my first grade teacher taught me to write on my hand-traced turkey. Most of all, however, I’m thankful for my freedom and self dignity.

Sometimes, all it takes to be a better person is a little imagination.