When I was a child I didn’t feel very lucky. My parents were older when they had me, I think I was a mistake, so there was a huge generation gap. I was an only child so played alone in my bedroom most of the time. I mounted my horse and rode looking over the horse’s neck, the back of the old wood chair. I had six-shooter, at each side of my pajamas, to kill the bad guys who were always dressed in black. I had my dad’s huge winter coat spread out on the floor with hills and valleys. The multi colored marbles were the Indians who rode down from the hills and always surrounded the solid green marbles the cavalry.
I was a good student, and the tallest kid in the third year, so the staff voted me to be a prefect. The first ever third years boy to receive such an honor, if honor it was. There are twelve Prefects, who under the leadership of the Head Boy, help the staff with various duties, such as the tardy book, no running on the stairs, no congregating in the bathrooms, and breaking up fights on the playground. In my fourth year I was voted the Head Boy, which alienated me as teachers pet from most of the other students, and I felt alone again. My big opportunity came for redemption in my favorite teacher’s music class. I was discussing Elvis with a friend while Mr. Blum was talking about Beethoven.
“Mr. Wills, I don’t seem to have your complete attention. Maybe you would like to share with the class what is more important than what I am teaching.”
Realizing my opportunity, I told him I was discussing Elvis.
“A rock and roller is more important than Beethoven? Go to the Head Master’s office and get the cane!”
With glee I hurried and got the cane. Standing in front of the class I had my eyes closed and tried not to smile. It seems like forever that I waited with hands outstretched anticipating the swish of the cane. Gingerly I half open one eye and look into the unhappy eyes of Mr. Blum.
“I think it’s embarrassing enough for the Head Boy to have to go and get the cane! So I’ll not cane you!” Mr. Blum announces
Wills, what a fink! I think. Now you’ll always be known as the bloody teacher’s pet.
by Alan Wills
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