Microstory 2006: Idaho

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All of us go to a middle school that starts at 6th grade, and ends in 8th grade. Before that, we were in elementary school, and after this, we’ll go to high school. That’s not how it is everywhere, though. When my papa was thirteen, his mother got a call from a school district in Idaho Falls, which is in Idaho, of course. When he was three, she started working as a teacher at a junior high, which is only 7th and 8th grades. She went to college to learn how to be a teacher, but after she had kids, she decided to stay home with them, and never actually got to be a teacher yet. In 1986, she had been doing it for ten years when they were in the middle of building a brand new school in Idaho. They asked her to be the principal of it, but it was not like the one where she was already. This school had all the grades in the same place. Kindergartners and 12th graders all went to the same really, really big building. I’m sure they had special reasons for doing it like that, but I don’t know what they are. I think the school is still there. As I was saying, papa’s mother moved the whole family there so she could be principal. She was making a lot of money from doing that. My dad says that 40,000 would be more than 100,000 in today’s dollars. I don’t understand why it’s different, but it sounds like a lot. Papa’s father had to quit his really good paying job when they moved to Idaho, but since he was the boss in Wyoming, he was able to get a really good new job in Idaho doing pretty much the same thing. This is where they lived for many years.

Microstory 1755: A Man Named Monoceros

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Yes, Monoceros is my real name. Yes, it’s—more or less—the same as a unicorn, which is why that’s my twin sister’s name. No, my parents were not on drugs when they had us. No, I’ve never thought about changing it, and neither has my sister. It’s not even the most interesting thing about us, but it is related. Something went wrong while we were developing in the womb, which made both of us come out with slight protrusions on our heads, reminiscent of a one-horned animal. This protrusion lessened in my sister over time, which is kind of a ripoff, because hers is already a pretty name that people don’t make fun of very much. Mine is still here. In fact, I would say it’s larger, but my parents disagree, and say that my whole head is obviously just larger than it was when I was a baby. I’ve tried to wear an afro to cover it up, but that doesn’t look great on me, and kids would just make fun of that instead. The teasing and bullying got to be so bad that we left the area completely. The same people who gave us these unusual names actually packed everything up, and moved us across state lines just so I could start over with a new strategy. I can’t figure them out either. Perhaps they secretly regret giving us such insensitive names, and have since tried to become better people. This time, they spoke with the principal before the start of my sophomore year, and told her what my situation was. Not only did she have the advantage of being able to get ahead of the bullying before it ever happened, she proved herself to be kinder, and better equipped to handle someone like me. My sister was a little in love with her because of how good she was to me, but don’t worry. This isn’t a sad or disturbing story. I might even call it uplifting.

So what did I do to keep anyone from finding out what my head looked like? I wore a hat, and I claimed it was for religious purposes. My sister wore a variation of the same design to sell the lie. All of the faculty and staff were told this as well so that only the principal knew the whole truth. People get really skittish about religion, so they didn’t question me. Occasionally, a substitute teacher would take their opportunity to yell at me for it, but there was always at least one student in the class who defended me, and called them a bigot. That usually shut them down right quick. Even with those heroes, the kids at my new high school were generally about as mean to each other as they are anywhere. Some of them teased me anyway, because my name was still Monoceros, but a lot of them thought it sounded badass, so it evened out. One girl in particular said she liked it. On my first day, before everyone had learned about my fake religious hat, she called out a group of boys who were mocking me. She didn’t know anything about me, but she instantly showed compassion, and I think I fell in love in that very moment. She was so popular, but for all the right reasons, because she was nice, so people left me alone if they were worried about displeasing her. I know, this story sounds familiar. The awkward kid falls for the hottest girl in school, and they end up together, because they end up having a lot in common. Well, that’s not what happened. We went out on what turned out to be a platonic date, and I professed my feelings. She let me down easy, and told me that she just wanted to be friends. As you can see, we’ve stayed close all these years, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s married now, and so am I. She was the one who convinced me to take off my hat forever, and be confident in myself—to be confident as myself. So what about you? How do you two know each other?

Microstory 1388: Bullies

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School Counselor: Middle Schooler 1, do you have any idea why you two were brought in to see me today?

Middle Schooler 1: Because he’s bullying me.

School Counselor: No, because you’re bullying him.

Middle Schooler 1: He started it!

Middle Schooler 2: No, I didn’t!

School Counselor: What did Middle Schooler 2 do to you, Middle Schooler 1?

Middle Schooler 1: He stabbed me with a candy cane.

School Counselor: He what?

Middle Schooler 2: Oh, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Middle Schooler 1: He sucked on it until one end was sharp, and then he stabbed me in the arm.

School Counselor: Is this true, Middle Schooler 2?

Middle Schooler 2: Wull...I guess.

School Counselor: Middle Schooler 1, why didn’t you report him to the principal?

Middle Schooler 1: Because I’m not a whiny little baby like him!

School Counselor: Now, you know we don’t call people names at this institution.

Middle Schooler 1: Whatever.

School Counselor: Did he break the skin? Do you need to go to the nurse?

Middle Schooler 1: No, I’m fine. But that doesn’t mean it’s okay.

School Counselor: Of course it’s not. Middle Schooler 2? You know what you have to do.

Middle Schooler 2: I’m sorry, Middle Schooler 1. Ugh.

School Counselor: That didn’t sound like a very sincere apology.

Middle Schooler 2: Well, he hasn’t apologized to me either!

School Counselor: That’s true. Why don’t you two apologize to each other at the exact same time. Okay? One...two...three.

Middle Schooler 1 and Middle Schooler 2: I’m sorry.

School Counselor: That was very good. Now. Let’s talk about why you two are so upset with each other.

Middle Schooler 2: He cheated off me on our homework. I know I shouldn’t have stabbed him, but it was annoying.

Middle Schooler 1: I wasn’t cheating. We were doing homework together.

Middle Schooler 2: Yes, but you weren’t supposed to just copy what I wrote. You were supposed to come up with the answers yourself.

Middle Schooler 1: No, we were working together.

Middle Schooler 2: You said you wanted to work together, but then you just had me do it myself, and copy it later. I didn’t even realize I did all the work until it was all finished. You tricked me.

Middle Schooler 1: I didn’t trick you. You’re smarter, so you finished it faster.

Middle Schooler 2: Don’t try to say nice things to me to get out of being in trouble. He’s still in trouble, right?

School Counselor: Neither of you is in trouble. You’re here to work this out, and I think you two are doing a pretty good job on your own, so I’m going to sit here with a game of sudoku, and let you keep going. I don’t want you to stop talking until you’re friends again, okay?

Middle Schooler 1 and Middle Schooler 2: Okay.

Microstory 868: Fall at the Final Hurdle

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I’m an extremely competitive person, and I quite frankly don’t understand people who aren’t. What’s the point of life if you’re not going to develop, progress, get better...be better, than everyone else? What are you doing with your time if you’re just sitting there, content with being mediocre. I’d sooner kill myself than waste away with no purpose. Obviously not everyone can be the best, but people who don’t try just don’t make sense, and I can’t stand them. Thing is, I can’t stand other competitive people either. We’re all alphas, so we easily get on each other’s nerves. I’ve never been in a fight in my whole life, but I can’t hold in my anger this time. There’s this one guy from Easton High who I have never been able to beat, in any track event. I’m always so incredibly close, but I just can’t make up that fraction of a second. But I’ve resolved to correct that in my last event before I graduate. If I don’t win this, I’ll forever be a loser, and that is not acceptable. I push myself harder than I ever have before, and almost feel like I’m gonna pass out. I’m about to do it when something hits me in the chest. Whatever it was, it was small, but even that is enough to make me fall face forward, right on the hurdle. Looking back, I guess I’m just lucky I’m alive, but I was not so clear-headed at the time. I know he threw a rock at me, or something like it. My lane was right by the the grass, I so I couldn’t find it to prove it; not that the police would have dusted it for prints, or anything. The first thing I see when I come to is my nemesis, jumping up and down at the finish line, rousing the crowd, and proverbially patting himself on the back. The rage boils up inside of me, then explodes. I hop right over the hurdle from a standing position, and bolt right for him. He’s so shocked at seeing me keep going even though the race was long over than he can’t move. I barrel right into him like a charging rhino. I want to punch him in the face, but I hold myself back. No matter what anyone tells you, I showed restraint; it wasn’t because the other racers kept me away from him. Needless to say, I regretted what I did, but the principal didn’t care. That bitch expelled me three days—three days!—before my last final exam. It’s so late in the year that I can’t even transfer to a new school. I’m going to have to go to summer school just to graduate. I still don’t know if college will let me defer a year so I can take care of this. Whatever happens, though, I know I’ll fix it, and probably still graduate early, because I’m a winner. And that’s something people like my bitch principal could never understand.

Microstory 786: Nina

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Nina Poole did not have an easy life, even while growing up in a nice enough house. Her parents were somehow both negligent, and overbearing, with her. They were quick to become angry when she made a mistake, but failed to recognize her accomplishments, and did little to teach her life skills, or so much as take care of her. She would often wish that they just abandon her entirely, so she could fend for herself. At least then, her life would be consistent. Still, she got through it, and moved on with her life, vowing to herself that she would never speak to them again. Unfortunately, their bad parenting had left a bigger mark on her psyche than she knew, which ultimately led her to becoming pregnant by a man she barely knew, and had no interest in helping. She had to raise her son, Harlow by herself, and to make matters worse, she would keep seeking help from gracers who were about as bad as he was, one of whom fathered a second child of hers, little Damaris. He too left, and though her responsibility to her family was even more difficult than it was before, she made another vow to herself. If she was going to have to do this alone, then she would remain alone. She would stop trying to find a second parent for her children, and just focus all her efforts on the job itself. Of course, nobody does anything alone, and since she could not lean on her own parents, she started relying on her children’s teachers a lot more than most do. The majority of them were fairly receptive to the fact that these two students were in need of a little more help, but they could only do so much. That is, until Nina met Senia Laureda and Isabelle Salomon. The former was Nina’s daughter’s favorite teacher, and understood the whole family’s needs better than any had before. The latter was the school librarian, who Nina soon discovered had the ability to see people’s futures. She would use this gift to guide her students down the right path, with the help of Senia, the school principal, Keturah Bachman, and even Nina. And through all this good she was doing, perhaps Nina also happened to find someone who could truly love and respect her.

Microstory 283: Perspective Fifty-Eight

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Perspective Fifty-Seven

I’ve had it up to here with this place. These people don’t understand who I am, or what I am. Yeah, I’m quiet. And yeah, I sometimes have what appear to be violent outbursts, but I’m no danger. I don’t keep a knife in my locker, and I wouldn’t know where to start if I wanted to get my hands on a gun. But I’ve actually heard from others that I’m the kid everyone thinks is gonna show up with an AK and just blast everyone away. The truth is that I just don’t like school, and my interests lie elsewhere. I have a group of friends who all go to this preppy private school, and I really only ever want to hang out with them. They’re the coolest people I know, so why would I waste my time with these jackasses? And why should I fill my brain up with all this crap either? Teach me to count money, and to read, and then leave me alone. I don’t need nothing else. My brother’s an adult, and he’ll be damned if he can tell me the last time he used long division. It’s ridiculous, and I have no use for it. So yeah, sometimes I skip school. It’s not a big deal. I already know what I’m going to do with my life. Last time I checked, you didn’t have to go to college to be a dental hygienist. Now, I know what you’re thinking; what kind of middle school kid wants to be a dental hygienist? Well, first off, it pays well. I won’t be making six figures, but whatever. Second, you get to stab people with things, and they just have to sit there and be happy about it. You do the same thing every day, there aren’t really any surprises, and when you go home, you’re done. My dad has an office job, and he spends all evening working at home. He always says that when he’s not on the clock...he’s on the clock. But my uncle is a dental hygienist, and he loves it. He’s so much happier with his life than my father is. So please, you can keep your Shakespeare monologues and balanced chemical equations. Screw this meeting with the vice principal. I’m going to meet my friends in the back of the superstore.

Perspective Fifty-Nine

Microstory 282: Perspective Fifty-Seven

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Perspective Fifty-Six

People are always asking me when I’m going to get my own gig as principal. But I’m perfectly happy as the vice principal. And that’s not coming from a place of resentment. I haven’t been passed over several times, and am now just pretending it doesn’t bother me. I really do prefer my job to my boss’. He sits in his office all day, making decisions and dealing with bureaucracy. I get to deal with the students. I’m sure to you that doesn’t sound like a plus, but I got into teaching in order to shape young minds, not to sign documents. My position here gives me the scope I need to encounter any student, rather than the small subset teachers have, and when I do interact with one of the children, it’s really important in that very moment. They come to see me when something’s wrong, and I’m proud to be the person who can hopefully make things better. Don’t misunderstand me, teachers are superstars. I’m not saying they have no effect, but it’s so subtle and seamless. What I do is take immediate action on a pressing issue, and I get to see the results of my efforts instantly, good or bad. I am by no means considered a “cool vice principal” but I’m not as hated as my colleagues in the rest of the district. You know how that old saying goes, “firm but fair”. That’s always been important to me; to make sure the student actually experiences a benefit from my discipline, and that I make it a learning experience for them. I don’t just want to punish their behavior and walk away, because they’ll probably just do it again. Of course I still see recidivism, but I like to think my numbers would be lower than the national average. I do have this one kid who has to come in all the time. I feel for him, I really do. He is incredibly clever, but the problem is how much he vocalizes what he knows. He takes his assignments profoundly seriously, and always has to make sure to become an authority on the matter, but sometimes just so he can argue with his teachers about it. I want to encourage him to explore his passions, especially for history. I want to fuel his thirst for all knowledge, but I need to find a way to teach him restraint. You need to know when to keep your mouth shut, am I right? Maybe we just need to find a subject with which he struggles. Maybe that will give him a glimpse of what it’s like for the rest of us. We’ll look into that when he inevitably returns to me within the week. For now, I’m due to speak with a particularly troubled child.

Perspective Fifty-Eight

Microstory 281: Perspective Fifty-Six

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Perspective Fifty-Five

“My name is Thomas Edison. Most people know me as the father of many inventions. But what you don’t know is that I stole a not insignificant number of them. You see, inventing isn’t about starting from scratch with an idea and developing it until it’s done. No, it’s about incremental refinements and enhancements to preexisting products. Using what wealth I had already accrued, I exploited legal loopholes and co-opted ideas could put in the time and effort into creating something. They were then contractually obligated to hand over their ideas and creations so that I could patent them. I even sued independent people and companies for patents the rights to which I was not entitled to hold.”

That was the beginning of my presentation for our huge eighth grade project. We were tasked with choosing an historical figure and portraying them in little plays so that parents and other visitors could watch. The teacher was neither happy nor impressed with my research. The point of the assignment was apparently to conform with socially accepted “knowledge” on history, rather than actual true knowledge. I’ve always been like this; more knowledgeable of the facts than my supposed teachers. We’re all taught that George Washington said he couldn’t lie about chopping down his father’s cherry tree, which is ironic, because if he had ever tried to convince someone that the incident happened, he would have been lying. My third grade teacher thought violins were distinguished from violas by having six strings, instead of four. I even had a screaming match against my science teacher who said chameleons changed color to blend in, when it really has more to do with mating and temperature regulation. This is just the latest adventure in my perpetual need to be right all the time. The thing is, though, that it’s not just that I have to be right; it’s that I am. I don’t ever say anything that isn’t true, unless I’m claiming to my parents that I didn’t put on a makeshift hazmat suit so that I could see what our neighbor’s house looks like while it’s being fumigated. Welp, I’m being called into the vice principal’s office. Again. Wish me luck. Oh no, this is still theatre. Tell me to break a leg.

Perspective Fifty-Seven

Microstory 9: Sticks and Stones

Young Samuel Doolin sat in his class, hardly paying attention to what the teacher was saying. He was brighter than the other students, and should have been placed at least two grades higher. But he didn't care enough about school to let anyone know that. One phrase the teacher said, however, caught his ear. "Sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me."

Samuel cleared his throat, prepared himself, and raised his hand. Once called on, he said, "you're a stupid f***ing c***."

In the principal's office, Samuel was calm and collected. The principal, of course, asked him where he learned those words, and why he felt that it was necessary to say them. "Well, I speak English, don't I?" Samuel asked. "And they were necessary to illustrate a point."

"Which is?" the principal asked, curious.

Samuel began the apology. "There are three things wrong with the sticks and stones rhyme. First, it's just a lie. Words are powerful. And they can hurt deeply. Walk into a room of black people and say the "n" word, and just wait for the reaction. Secondly, the rhyme gives bullies free rein to say whatever they want, without repercussions. Obviously, that can't be true either as I am sitting right here. Thirdly, the rhyme places the responsibility on the victim to change their behavior. The bully was just saying whatever they wanted, as they are free to do. Should the victim is simply grit their teeth and ask for more?

Samuel continued, "you may either punish me for my actions, and reform your policies, or you can let me go and stick to your outdated and ridiculous values. But I will not stand for hypocrisy. Either I can say what I want because words can't possibly hurt others, or I can't, and the rhyme should be abolished from the curriculum."

The principal sat for a long while after the speech. "Okay. That makes sense. I won't punish you, because you brought up some good points. But we will change."

"No," Samuel insisted."You absolutely must punish me. That's part of the reformation. I did this in order to elicit change, not to get a rise out of you and my teacher. If I expect you to not be hypocritical, I cannot rightly be so myself." He was given detention for a week. And things began to change. Slowly.