My Old School

For the first time since 1989 I went back to my old high school to attend a ceremony for a writer's contest my daughter entered in a local magazine.

***

Wife: The contest will be at your old school.
T.C. (nervously): Damn, I hope they won't throw me in detention.
Wife: What are you talking about?
T.C.: Never mind. I have to go.
Wife: It's the middle of the night.
T.C.: You don't understand. The box. They may find it!
Wife: Are you insane?
T.C. (biting fingers): I have to call Viper.
Wife: Viper?
T.C.: Yeah, Viper. He knows where the 'box' is.
Wife: You're spooking me.

Next day.

T.C.: Look, honey. That's where daddy dealt his for drug score in that corner! And that's the detention center where I spent a lot of my time...plotting. Oh, that's where Ms. Virginia lost her virginity if you get my drift.

Wife: (looking on in horror as T.C. smiles longingly): T.C.!!! You mentally diseased and defective dipshit! Not in front of your daughter!

Daughter: What's a a virgin, mommy?"

****

Anyway. My daughter wanted to see my graduating class picture and sure enough, she found my graduating year frame on a wall displayed in the main hall of all places.

Looking over the pictures, including my buddies who I still communicate with, was a slightly depressing experience. All those dreams (whatever they were) and endless promise we possibly represented....now I'm blogging.

My daughter got a kick out of it.

"Daddy had a lot of hair! And look at Patrick!"

Damn.

The day couldn't move any slower. All those people. Some familiar faces others simply punchable. I really hate crowds.

The ceremony was held in the fucking cafeteria for some reason. I have no idea why 500 people weren't placed in the auditorium. Again, being the keen little social butterfly she is, my kid wanted to know exactly where me and the guys ate. I showed her the very table where 15 of us sat;a defunct group of derelict Knights of Deformity. Eventually it got started and just when the pain of the past was starting to recede, it was announced one of the judges was my sixth grade teacher.

This in of itself means nothing except she didn't really like me for some reason - and vice-versa

"Well, she's screwed" I told my wife with my arms nonchalantly leaning back on the table. "Why" my wife asked. "She was my grade six teacher" I replied. "And" "And. She hated me." I look over at my daughter and add, "Sorry about this honey. Karma is a bitch. My wife being a teacher herself stared at me with utter contempt. "Good job, T.C." "Yeah, like I knew that my sixth grade teacher was going to be a judge in my daughter's writing contest 30 years into the future."

My daughter didn't win and being the sore loser she is (even though she is always the first to go congratulate people - one of her friends won and she ran to her and the mother to hug them) wasn't happy. I had to explain to her award ceremonies suck and mean jack shit. If you love to write, you keep writing. I further told her I found her story to be creative and surreal. Honestly. And that sometimes judges just look for safe stories. I didn't find any of the stories to be particularly original but the themes were right up a judge's ally.

I never won or win these things because I have a fucked up mind and head so the mainstream is not that into it. Not that I think I'm a great writer or I often joined contests.

She didn't give a shit.

She wanted her recognition. Her Sunset Boulevard moment. But she was also tired after a week-end at winter camp so we let her blow off steam with her little "I'm never writing again" rant.

She calmed down and the day ended.

My day at my old high school.




e.f.