It's Not A Question But A Lesson Learned In Time

As James and I sat in out English class, waiting to each be called to give our talk we had a quiet conversation about my plan, and how I had already pretty much sorted the most important things out.

“Francesca Armstrong. You’re up next.” Our teacher called across the class. I snapped my head forward again before registering what she had actually said. So I got up and picked up my sheet of paper that I had quickly scribbled what I was going to say, down on. “What’s your poem?”
“Its called, This Be The Verse, By Philip Larkin.”
“The English poet?”
“Yes.”
“Ok. When you’re ready, please read your poem” She told me. This poem could possibly not go down well with her. But she didn’t specify it much, so she can’t complain really. I’ve done what she asked, haven’t I?

They fuck you up, your mom and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
The fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

I paused to see my teachers’ reaction, she didn’t look entirely impressed, but I carried on regardless.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats
Who half the time, were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man
It deepens like a coastal shelf
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have kids yourself

“And… please explain why you chose it? Dare I even ask?” She mumbled. The rest of the class looked quite amused at the reaction to the poem.
“I chose it, because of all the poems I’ve read about parents, I don’t agree with any as much as I do this. Parents try and control their kid’s lives, basically ‘fuck you up’. And more often than not, if you see faults in kids, you see it in their parents too, because their parents have passed on, not only their genes, but their habits and little quirks as well. But obviously they had to get it from somewhere too. So the adults in their lives when they were kids passed the exact same thing onto them, passing it on, from man to man. So the simple solution, ‘don’t have kids yourself’.” I concluded. I got some laughs from the students, who thought my choice of poem was brilliant. My teacher however, still disagreed.
“I have to say Miss Armstrong. I think your choice of poem was highly inappropriate. You know language such as that is not accepted, and to use it in a presentation is simply outrageous!” she practically exploded at me.
“Yes. But to be fair miss, the assignment was to choose a poem we can relate to. I can relate to that poem pretty well to be honest. And you never specified on what sort of poem to use. I know language such as that is not normally accepted, but there’s a difference between quoting and using it maliciously. So for example, saying ‘they fuck you up, your mom and dad.’ That’s quoting, so because someone else has already said it, it’s different to me just telling you to fuck off.” I might as well go out with a bang, eh?
She really looked like she was going to burst, as the rest of the class held their breath waiting to see what she would do.
“Miss Armstrong, you will return to your seat and not say another word this lesson, I will deal with you at the end. Am I clear?”
“Crystal, miss.” God I hate this woman.
James gave me a high five when I got back to my seat.
“Nice one. Go out with a bang why dontcha!” he chuckled to me quietly.
“Exactly what I was thinking.” I smirked.

James was next to be called up, and we all sat as he read his chosen poem, which was also by an English poet, Simon Armitage. The poem was untitled. Just like with my poem, the first line had the teacher looking like she’d eaten a lemon.

“My father thought it bloody queer,
The day I rolled home with a silver ring in my ear.”

“I’ve heard enough!” she shrieked at him. “Why is it always you two that cause the problems?”
“To be fair miss. I chose the poem mainly because it’s about being a teenager in the 70’s, which is the era I’ve always been most fascinated about.” James interrupted. The woman looked slightly less annoyed at that, until James continued. “and I thought it was appropriate cause his dad thinks he’s gay. And well… I am gay!” he grinned.
The class burst out laughing, but our teachers face fell again.
“Join Miss Armstrong at the end of the lesson Mr. Collins.” She told him as he walked back to his seat.
“What?” he asked when he saw me raise my eyebrow at him. “You’re not the only one who’s allowed to have a bit of fun. Do you reckon she’ll get your dad here about it?”
“Oh more than likely.”
A minute or two later our teacher gave a note to a student at the front of the class and told them to take it to reception. Three guesses what that notes about.

After twenty minutes the bell rang, making half the class jump as they were woken from their dazed states of boredom. James and I had already packed out stuff into our bags, so we made our way to the front of the class.
“Sit.” She told us bluntly. We sat in two seats at the front of the class and waited. A few seconds later we heard the door open. We turned to see my dad strolling into the class.
“I got a note saying you needed to see me?” he said, and then he saw me and James. “Oh.”
“Yes. Your daughter has given a highly inappropriate presentation to the class. I think you should hear it.”
“What is it with you people?!” I suddenly burst out. “When anyone gets in trouble, you put them in detention or some crap like that, and their parents never hear a word about it. But just ‘cause my dad works here, you feel the need to inform him of every little thing I do wrong!”
I don’t remember standing up.
“Frankie, come on. Calm down. What did she do miss?” dad asked calmly.
“Miss Armstrong. Would you like to read your poem again?”
I sighed angrily, but recited it again.

They fuck you up, your mom and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had.
And add some extra, just for you.

Dad had a slightly amused look on his face.

“I think that’s enough Miss Armstrong. Well, what do you say to that?” she turned to my dad. He opened his mouth, but seemed unsure of what to actually say. “Do you not agree that is it highly inappropriate?”
“Well I-“
“Excuse me miss. But like I said earlier, the assignment was to choose a poem we could relate to. And I can relate to this poem a hell of a lot, especially right now.” I glared slightly from her to my dad, and ignored his nervous shifting when I said this. “And if Philip Larkin can get away with saying a couple of ‘fucks’ in his poems, it’s not going do much if I quote them in a presentation!”

She looked shocked, but dad did seem to understand what I was saying.
“Do you see what I mean?” she turned back to him. “She is basically saying she doesn’t respect you!”
“Look. I know what she’s saying. But to be honest, I know what it’s like sometimes. So if you wouldn’t mind. Could you leave it to me to decide when my daughter is being inappropriate? It would me most appreciated."

She was speechless for a moment, but quickly regained herself and turned to James.
“Very well. As for you young man. I think you were rather inappropriate as well.”
“But miss. All I did was point out I’m gay. Which everyone knows anyway. What’s the problem? It’s my choice whether I say it or not. And I did. I don’t think it’s really any of your business.”
“Miss. May I intervene here?” dad asked. She looked in surprise but nodded. “Well I know how hard it must be for a guy James’ age to be able to admit he’s gay, and to say it in a presentation, getting shit from you about it is probably not really helping him out much. So why don’t you just back off?”

Me and James were speechless at what he had said. I do love my dad sometimes, but it doesn’t change anything. She just sat down in her chair and didn’t say another word. We all took that as a sign to leave.