Posts Tagged ‘Education


I’m not dead yet

In the past few weeks I have decided to do these things:

  1. Rebel against a certain rule in my school
  2. Write a letter to the editor of the local newspaper about the yelling at lunch, which continues three months into the school year
  3. Attempt to lobby for funding for schools across the US

The first item on my to-do list I started three days ago.  The rule is that anything worn above the waist may not have a lining.  Are we a kosher school? Not that I’m aware of.  Anyway, so you may not wear any outdoor jacket, even if it does not in fact have a lining, because they’ll just guess it does and they are always right.  I’m wearing my jacket to school every day. I tell other kids to leave their jackets on too.  And when the principle tries to take them away I say, “Don’t do it.”  Goodbye cruel world. I have not gotten in trouble because the only people who care, the principle and the vice-vice-vice principle, have yet to see me in Fall attire. Sometimes it’s too hot. My teacher and the vice-vice principle saw me and they told me to take off my jacket and I said I couldn’t do that, but they said that if I got in trouble so would they. I felt sorry for them and I took the jacket off — for them.  Every teacher I talk to about this issue says they think it’s silly.

I am going to write the letter to the editor today. It will be on my blog soon. Goodbye cruel world.  Part of my letter is about my protest of the yelling a few weeks ago where I held a sign up at lunch that said “Please give respect. Please don’t yell.” “Whose yelling?” said the vice-principle at the podium, but then he took his eyes off me to yell at another student. When I held up the sign it was like I was holding up the head of Satan. Some kids covered their eyes and leaned back and were screaming, “Put it down!” Some of them tugged on my arm. The entire cafeteria looked at me through their fingers and it seems like everyone knows my name now. Everywhere I go kids say, “Hi, Mac.” But the teachers still call me Thomas. The principle calls me Thomas, as opposed to “young man.”  The vice-principle knows my name is Mac. As does the vice-vice. Let’s hope the information never passes down to the vice-vice-vice, one of the 137 fallen angels.

My final act is still in the planning stages. So far it involves screaming at the White House. By the way — trivia: over 50% of US tax dollars go to our military budget. Before a nurse called my mother and told her to pick up Thomas today (I was sick; I think I have an ulcer) I was talking to the two nurses about how our schools need more funding so we don’t have to sell stupid fake jewelry just to buy toilet paper. They said, “Well, you can try to do that…” And I said “Sure, I think I will.”

And, hey, my birthday has passed. I’ve lived on this planet 14 years. I’ve lived on Jupiter 128.


Day 1: Why I Write

Why did Roald Dahl write?

Today was my first day of 8th grade.

And well, I woke up really early today. Just barely early enough though. Because I almost didn’t make the bus. But, I did. But, the bus was late. Very late.

After that I got lost. Right after I walked in the front door of school, or right after I walked in. And so, I asked someone, “Where’s my homeroom?” And they  responded with, “Well, look on that sheet over there.” So, I walked over to said sheet and there was a small graph with every homeroom on it. Now, there were two homerooms…wait…

…I should probably add that homerooms are divided by last name. So, there were two marked under “C.” One was “Chi” and the other was “Chj.” I was thoroughly confused. What about stuff that doesn’t start with “Ch?”  And so, I went to the “Chi” classroom. This was on the second floor. 201. My supposed homeroom classroom. It turns out I was supposed to go to “Chj.” I am “Co.” I ran up a flight of stairs and my day actually began.

This blog should have four part harmony. Tonight I hard “Alice’s Restaurant” for the first time. I recommend it. For people who have lots of time.

When I got home my mother asked me why she got a call from the vice-principle.  And she gave me a chocolate.  This blog entry is about that. So, I told her. I had called my principal a hypocrite.

There’s just an abundance of these posters in my school that say something that is completely true in this weird, flouncy bubble writing. “To earn respect; give respect.” I agree with this and I’m pretty sure all the teachers do too. When I got to lunch there was a problem though. The principal was standing in the cafeteria, at a podium, on the stage, with a loudspeaker. And she said to us beneath her:

“You may only get up twice. Once, to get your lunch, and the second time, to leave.”

And then she said:

“Smart people choose the small line.”

This irritated me. Then later, as some people chose the longer line, I was blinded by noise. She screamed over the loudspeaker “What are YOU doing? SMART people choose the smaller line.” She repeated this message 15 times.

I brought my lunch, so I had not gotten up once. I had two get-ups to spare. So, I finished my lunch, and then I stood up. I walked (all cool like) to the podium, directly beneath her. She faced me and said “What are you doing out of your seat?” I said “Don’t you know about those posters?”

“They say, to earn respect you must give respect first. I’m pretty sure you have. I’m not feeling very respected right now. ”

She said: “GET back in YOUR seat.”

I said, “No.”

Then I heard over the speakers, “Mr Miller, can you please come here?” So, Mr. Miller came up to me and her and she said “This kid thinks he can just walk around here and tell me how to run MY school.” I said I wasn’t just walking around. I have a message. Miller said, “What is this message?”

“That you should give respect to get respect.” He took me to the office. In the office we went way back in there to the part that looks like a bomb shelter. And he asked me, “Why did you do that?” I said it was because I was hurt. And he asked me why. So, I told him (in four part harmony), this nice long winded story about how I have this thing about being disrespected. I don’t like it. Everyone in the office said my stry was “interesting.” Then they called my mother and sent me back to class.

At Target, me, my mother, father, and baby brother Ob couldn’t find all the supplies on my list. My mother signed the note I brought home telling her what I needed. And then, she helped me start this blog, after we listened to the original anti-massacre.

What exactly is four-part harmony?

December 2017
« Nov