Creative Writing 101, Fourth Period, Room 107, and PopPop’s Front Yard

“No shit, there I was, just sittin’ there. Like, seriously, for the whole frickin’ period. And like, the teacher is doin’ nothin’. Seriously! Like, fuckin’ around with his pen and just staring at us. Fuckin’ freak. I mean, I seen teachers like him. Power players. Thinkin’ he will make us, I dunno, bow down, or something. Like, if he keeps up the silent treatment, we’re all going to, like, think he’s all powerful and tough, and like, get all scared. Whatev’s.

“So, then, get this! Like, he goes, he goes, like outta nowhere, right? Like, right before the bell, he says, he says…we have homework! First fuck-ing thing outta his mouth the whole period. Homework! Know what it is? You’ll love this, right? Homework is, we have to write what we learned in class today! Seriously? Is he fuckin’ kidding me?! What we learned?! What sort of ass-hat …?”

Jared shook his head and tossed back the last of his soda pop. His grandfather smiled and tilted his head in a lilting nod of amusement as he continued to weed the flowerbed in front his porch. Jared got up from the stoop stairs and walked over to him.

“Seriously, PopPop, I’m askin’, who da frickin’ fuck does that?”

“So. What did you learn in your writing class today?” his grandfather replied.

“Wha…are you listenin‘? Nothing! We just sat there!”

Jared’s grandfather sat back on his haunches and looked at his grandson. “All of you?”

“What’ya mean, all of us. Of course! I mean, some was getting bored and shit, messin’ around, but…yeah! We just sat there.”

The old man went back to weeding. “Sounds like a great writing lesson to me.”

“ARRRGH!!” Jared yelled. He stormed over to the corner of the house, lifted the lid of the garbage can high in the air, and threw down his pop can with all the force he could. He slammed the lid back down.

“I swear! School is so STUPID!”

Jared stomped back over to his grandfather and squatted down next to him. “PopPop, listen to me, listen to me: We, we… just… sat there. He didn’t say a damn thing about writing. Not teach, not nothin’. Just played with his pens and stared at us, like he was, I dunno, sizing us up, or somethin’. Figuring out who’s a douchebag and who’s a fuckin’ twit. Probably checkin’ out Abbey Jensen’s boobs, like every other horndog.”

He paused for a moment, a bit lost in thought. The old man smiled again; a knowing grin.

Jared snapped back to it. “Oh, wait. I’m wrong. No, you’re right, you’re right. He did do something. He wrote his damn name on the board. I learned…the damn fool can write his own damn name.”

Jared’s grandfather let out a sigh and stood. He tossed his weeding tool into the bed and pulled off his work gloves.

“Stand up.”

Jared complied. The old man wiped his hands on his jeans and placed them on his grandson’s shoulders.

“Jared, now, listen here. You got to learn that not all there is to teach comes out of a text book, or what your teachers talk about in class.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I’m saying, my boy, what did you learn in writing class today?”

Jared spun out from under his grandfather’s grasp, pretending to tear the hair out of his head. “Oh. My. God!!! NOT A DAMN THING!”

“OK! So…?”

“So?! So, WHAT?”

“Write about it, ya damn hard head! Write about learning nothing in class today.”

Jared stared at his grandfather in wide-eyed disbelief, but from behind his bewildered look the old man could see a tiny spark. Small, but discernible.

“Oh my God, that’s it!!” Jared blurted. “Oh, man! I get it! Whoa!”

“OK?”

“Yeah! Oh my God! Um…I’m just going to…” Jared motioned toward the house. His grandfather waved him on and returned to weeding his flower bed.

As Jared darted inside, his grandmother came out on the porch.

“Hey Grams…” Jared said.

Jared’s grandmother attempted to kiss her grandson’s cheek, but was met with an awkward and furious rush of teenage energy as he rushed indoors.

“You stayin’ for dinner, hon?” she called to him as he ran to the back the house, but Jared did not reply.

She turned to her husband. “What the hell was that about?”

“School. So, hey. It sounds like Bruce is still teaching. “

“Bruce?! ” Jared’s grandmother shook her head.

“I mean, let’s check it out first, OK? Don’t go telling Jenny before we know for sure, OK? Agreed?”


Miss me? I know I said a few weeks back “I’m back,” but sometimes life has its way with me… ANYWAY… I read your prompt preamble and immediately knew what I wanted to write. Looks like you inspired several others, as well! That was my absolute joy when I was running Blog Propellant. Oh, and BTW…I turned in 750 words, Teach!

https://aooga.wordpress.com/2019/09/22/olwg-121-dalrymple/

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