Tonight is parent-teacher conference night. Great. This is what I’ve waited for all year.
In actuality, I frick’n hate these things. They’re the biggest waste of time I could ever imagine. What’s worse is that it means my punk kid will be home alone. He’ll probably burn the house down, or do it with the neighbor girl. They’re 12, after all. I think we all remember what was up at that age.
We never learn anything new in these meetings, anyway. My kid is a good kid. He sometimes lets his mind wander, but who doesn’t ! I would space out, too, if I had to listen to some of the horseshit teachers spew these days. No, I’m not gonna ‘talk to him’ about it, and I’m not gonna make him ‘work hard to improve’ his attention skills, or anything else. I’m not gonna do a goddam thing.
If this teacher wants to tell me one more time about how my kid can be a disruption in class, or how he has ‘great potential’ that he chooses to ‘spend on other activities,’ I’m gonna lose it! I mean I’ll flip out right in the middle of the goddam classroom!
I’ll push that teacher’s face into the carpet. How’s that, you son-of-a-bitch?! I’ll throw that guy against the goddam bookcase. I hope he breaks an arm! I’ll smash the globe on his face. I’ll crack his goddam head against the blackboard! I am seeing red here! I’ll push that motherfucker out the second story window! Apply this, you piece of shit!
My kid is gonna make it. He’s gonna become rich and powerful. And when he does, I hope he comes back and kicks everyone’s ass. I hope he teaches you all a hard lesson.
by Abraham “Able Abe” Aenstograafik | Residential Life Magazine