Johnny, your Pa has
no headroom
He sure snores like
a pest
And Johnny, your Pa
fills up our gloom
He brings us all
Down in his nest
All we can tell is
That we sure ain’t
blessed
Life has gotten sure wonderful
lately. I now wonder if I am still
alive. I wonder if I ever was alive. I’d
like to wander, fully. Wander fully away
from here. I started my life here. I grew up here. I started to get educated here, if you can
call that an education. I don’t think I
learned anything. All of us were just
told to memorize and do what we were told.
Do what we memorized. But I could
not memorize. I could work my mind to
figure out what I needed to do. But the kids that would do something from their
memorization, they sure didn’t know or care about the reactions of here to
there that was needed to do what they were told to do. The directors of our activities, in and
around the classrooms, said, “You are good.” To those kids that did not see or
think about what happened to the other pieces of life on and around and touched
by what they were told to do.
There was this kid who had a great
short term memorization ability. He did many
great short term memorizations. The teacher would have us read a chapter of a
literary book and on the third chapter the teacher would ask us to spell a
specific word from the first chapter. He
would do it and the teacher would mark down that he did it. When I was asked, if it wasn’t a word
involved in the activity that I knew and physically, actionally supported in my
life, minutes ago or weeks ago or years ago, I would take a guess at the
spelling and many times I would get it wrong.
The teacher would mark down in her book that I was not good with
spelling and she would have me walk up to the front blackboard and write the correctly spelled word twenty
times.
After class was over, and we were
walking down the hall to the next hour’s learnings, that spelling honor student
tapped my back and told me, “I make life easier than ever!” Some of the around students clapped. One of the mean guys pushed me out of the way
and said to him, “You never make life easy!
You need to Exercise! For you, Gym is Toxic. When you speak that sure is sonic!”
While he was being laughed at, the
smart guy asked, “Could you spell what I had to say?”
And the bully said, “Nope, but I
can sure smell what you had Tuesday!”
Then another kid from the ones
walking to class asked the smart guy, “Who are you?
I bet you are
Ivan. And you’ll ask me, ‘Ivan
Who?’ And I’ll answer you, ‘Ivan
Hoe.’ And again, all we get are ‘How How
How?’”
Then another kid laughed, “He sure
makes a lot of Howls.”
Another one said, “That’s the king
of the Spruce. Spruce? Spruce!
Spruce are the Mints you shred around here.”
And another one went, “Blue Mist
here, Clue Less there. Hear a jerk?
They’re some jerks. Ever walk where
Jerks Work?”
An algebra teacher then pointed
his ruler at us and commanded, “All your classes start on time. Go!
And Go! And Go!”
My mind went completely
blank. I began thinking that this is the
second snow off the season seasons, and us humans have to work for some rat
king who dug a hole to our universe.
Black Hole, Wack Whole, Smack All, Snack Call. When I die you need another eye to get those snake
eyes on your dice move.
It’s like Marching Maraschinos.
Marching maestros. Here they come a mashing
up machine parts to fight me.
And then some sixth grader wacked
me with the portable stop sign that he uses to direct the students who actually
go to class, directing them down the three aisled hall. There are Kindergarteners who go there. First through sixth graders also go
there. Seventh and Eighth graders walk down
the middle.
I’ve learned that these doors on the hall corner bathrooms are generally
open so the teachers can yell in them to stop kids from smoking. The school library has an entry door and an
exit door. You cannot enter with
anything other than notebooks and a pencil.
You can exit only after going through the line where the teacher records
the books or computer records of what you need to study for your classes.
I like the art class room. It is in the same room as the science room. Art on some time of the day. Science at another time of the day. With the way my memory is, when I grow up, I
will think that Science is an Art Form.
Or is it Art needs a lot of Science?
This is for the Seventh and Eighth graders. Their teacher either has the students paint
on canvas or mix chemicals together that would burn their hands if they were
not careful.
I guess I will just have to walk down the hallway from where I sit at the
beginning of school in my assigned home room to the English class when that
first bell rings so I can learn nouns and verbs and how to use adjectives and
adverbs. These are the objectives we
were all told to have. Well, I certainly
object to that. Obviously, my brain
cannot observe adverbs when they obtuse from all the abuse I get. It’s just another tooth decaying from the
truth. So, I boot both booths.
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