A long time ago I was a grom in the city, and life had somehow become all about drinkin' smokin' skaitn' and playin' games. It was all I did, I thought I had it under control, but wasn't sure. I was ok with that.
I still went to school and got good grades, because I was scared of what would happen if I didn't. I was a latchkey kid, and the only way my folks would ever get a clue as to how far down the self destruction rabbit hole I had gotten was if they got a call from the truancy department. So the double life had to exist.
It really wasn't hard to keep up. I enjoyed reading even when drunk or otherwise indisposed of feeling in my extremities. It helped with immersion. I would pop in and hang around in the back of class, take a test, and pop out. My school was so impacted most teachers didn't even know my name. I was just the weird quiet kid in the back that did the work and never gave them a hard time. After a while even they fell in line with the double life silent agreement I had with my parents.
They ignored when I was obviously hungover, smelled like a reggae festival, or was just straight up absent. As long as the assignment showed up double spaced in twelve point font, no one had a thing to say except keep it up. Super easy mode.
The only teachers who didn't fall for that shit were the creative types. My English teacher lectured me on my future after I accidentally threw up on another student in his class. My photography teacher had a mock intervention one day after a group of independent pharmacists interrupted her class to collect a debt from me. That kind of stuff.
The hardest on me in this regard was my political science teacher. She was a mean old bird that came from Australia and never left, she smelled like bourbon, and hated Bill Clinton with a burning passion. In her class everybody had to participate in discussions, there was no grading scale, and if you failed it was because you were stupid.
I thought poli sci was my strongest subject. My pops was in politics, my family were political junkies. I couldn't get more than a "C" on anything in her class, and I was really trying. It was bullshit. One day I hung out after class and stepped to her full of piss and vinegar.
I said, "What's up with these grades?" She turned to me and replied, "You get those grades because you are full of shit. You sit in the back of my class stoned and only contribute when you have no other choice. Everything you say or write is a lie. Not even a funny or convincing lie, just groundless regurgitation from some tv show, book, or fruit loop. Which makes you an average politician, so you get average grades."
I was finna cry. Whats worse is her accent made it sound sexy. I just sat there quietly. She broke the silence by saying, "Tell me something honest. Tell me what you did this weekend, leave nothing out, as long as it's the truth."
So I told her the home base story. It happened that weekend. I left nothing out, broke down a couple times while telling it, have never told anyone the story since. It was one of the hardest things I had ever done. Then she told me a story. Her story blew mine out of the water. Then we went and had a drink. We never had sex, she was super old, It was different times back then. I thought about it though. Is that gross?
Later she gave me a job as her T.A. We still talk from time to time.
This Week in Gaming Oct 21-27 - By SpeakingOfGames
The Protoculture Mixtape v.122 : People : Tableland
