At school, they hired special teachers just for my sake.
I got really angry. Sure, I was rowdy. Maybe the worst one. But a special teacher! Give me a break!
I got an A in art, and Bs in English, chemistry and physics. I wasn’t a druggie. I’d hardly even taken a puff on a cigarette. I was just restless and did a load of stupid stuff, yet people were talking about putting me in a special school. ## They wanted to set me apart, and I felt like I was from Mars. It was as if a time bomb started ticking inside me.
Do I need to mention that I was good at PE? I might have been a bit unfocused in the classroom and had a hard time sitting still with a book. But I could concentrate, too, if we’re talking about moving a ball or an egg around.
One day we were playing floorball. That special teacher came and stared.
Every little thing I did, she was there, like a barnacle. I was really fuming. I lined up a world-class shot and hit her square in the head.
She was completely stunned, and just stared at me.
Afterwards, they rang Dad and wanted to talk about psychiatric help and a special school and that kind of shit, and you know that was not the right stuff to talk to my dad about.
Nobody says bad things about his kids, especially teachers who are persecuting them. He went spare and charged into the school with his whole cowboy attitude:
‘Who the hell are you, coming and talking about psychiatric help? You’re the ones who ought to be in the nuthouse, the whole lot of you. There’s nothing wrong with my son, he’s a fine lad, you can all go to hell!’
He was a crazy Yugo and completely in his element.
Not long after that, the teacher quit. No wonder, really, and things did get a bit better. I got my self-confidence back.
Even so, the whole idea! A special teacher, just for me! It makes me furious.
Sure, maybe I wasn’t an angel. You can’t single out kids like that, though – you just can’t!
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