I grew up in the real world, I certainly am not an adolescent teen, strung out on hormones and searching for acceptance from faceless, spineless people who are merely here due to circumstantial convenience rather than actually wanting to be friends with me.
I matured physically and intellectually because it was an inevitability, it is the course of nature that we age and ripen before we rot. That being said, I’m still totally a kid at heart. NOT AN INNOCENT INFANT, fuck no. I’m still a wild rebellious teenage little shit with daddy issues, apparently. Appearances can be deceiving for although it may look like I grew up and out of supposed “it’s just a phase, dear” angsty stylings, interests and quirks, I am just a master of knowing HOW TO ACT IN PUBLIC.
I really don’t need anything from you, my readership, my audience. Because it truly doesn’t matter what you do, I will continue to carry on as I do, as I have done, and likely always will do. I am just me, I just do what I do. Like the whole lot rest of you.
I think I realised who my audience is. Or who it is that I am speaking to. If I am speaking to one person, that is. I’M TALKING TO MYSELF. (ugh, hold up, let’s try that again).
The person who I imagine you to be, is the younger version of myself. I’m seriously fucking saying it. And I seriously fucking mean it. It’s what I tell my students at school about why I teach, and why I love it. And I’ve somehow just REALISED today, why I’m here on the internet again, GRABBY-GRABBY FISTS GIMMIE ATTENTION grabbing, making a scene just like I used to do in the good old days.
After all these years…
I’m back at high school, after dropping out right at the start of year 12 (2004); when really I started my ski slope slide (weee, isn’t it fun on your way down to rock bottom?!) near the end of year 10, 2002. I was 16 and I was at school maybe once every few days. I was too depressed and anxious I couldn’t even leave the house. I’d muster all my guts to just wear my school uniform to end up standing at the doorway and just go “ugh, nah fuck it. I can’t leave.”
And I’d just dick around at home or go elsewhere to cause trouble. I wasn’t afraid of people, I was just afraid of the shit that people said. Thought. Or what I thought they thought.
My students seem to think I’m cool or something. I dunno. It doesn’t really matter what they think of me. I’m selfish and fucking powered on by my gas tank, full of my own farts. I’m doing WHAT I WANT TO DO, BECAUSE IT MAKES ME FEEL BETTER ABOUT MYSELF. I am not altruistic nor philanthropic. If anything I’m an egotistic, misanthropic, delusional rebellious maniac. A psychopath. I’m just a regular run of the mill fucking psychopathic psychopomp. WHATEVER TREVOR. IDGAF. I’m doing exactly what I want, but the problem I face now is MY DAMNED HEALTH and priorities have changed.
I am so fucking profane, and so damn fortunate for a whole shit ton of stuff. Problem? All my fortune bleeds out of me, and I don’t often really know what the hell is happening, I just do whatever. I’m a damned lucky charm?! Fuck you, I’m not a ginger bearded lady. I’m more of a gnome than a leprechaun.
I say I never really grew up, I only learned how to act in public, because it’s true. How else do I explain it? I hate everyone and everything equally. Everyone starts out with zero in my books, and by my completely neurotic over-analysis and critical re-evaluations I am always observing and judging and restructuring my opinions and expectations of the people around me. I am rarely disappointed in life because I EXPECT to be disappointed, people don’t give a shit about anything except what provides immediately observable self-gratification.
I learned to modify my behaviour, my words, my expectations, my appearances and idiosyncratic mannerisms dependent upon the people around me. I learned to blend in with the crowd in terms of my actions, and chose to express my rebellion through my appearances. And in the dark of night I would climb out of my window and get in the car of whomever had driven out to pick me up, maybe returning some time later be it hours or days. My bad behaviour was behind closed doors and away from suspicious eyes.
It was all sex, drugs, and rock n roll.
By coming back to high school it’s a little like I get to live out the best years of my life again, but NOW I’M THE TEACHER AND I CAN SMITE THE FUCKING BULLIES WITH AUTHORITY, BITCH. Hah. I’m being the person that I wish I had when I was a kid. My day job is literally me on the watch for mini-versions-of-me. I want to be there to talk to when they feel like they have no one else to talk to. I love lecturing them on life. Fuck the curriculum, it’s basically redundant anyway. The kids are so fucking disconnected from the education system, that’s pretty much why they are so damned apathetic.
- I tell my students not the sordid details of my youthful transgressions, but instead I tell them that it’s okay to make mistakes.
- I tell my kids to fuck off what people say about them, but to consider WHY other people say those things?
- I tell my kids to work smarter, not harder. If they rush rush and cut corners now, they’ll just have to redo the whole thing again later to fix all the mistakes, or to just start again. DO something properly so you don’t have to keep coming back to the same thing again and again.
- I tell my kids to just tell the truth straight out. Whether it’s to me, to their friends, or whatever. Own your own behaviour because no one forces you to do anything, you choose to do the thing. I tell them to take their own agency in life, and that everything “that just happens to them” (at school anyway, I cannot speak for their personal private home lives I know nothing about) is because of what they do or say anyway. They bring about consequences upon themselves – good and bad. Accept responsibility for you words and actions. The sooner that start learning their own power, the sooner they can feel their power and be empowered.
- I tell my kids that if they’re going to make mistakes, better to do it in teenage years before their actions have lasting impact and shit on their lives.
- I tell them that things will always be shit and boring and stupid because that’s the way they choose to see it. Because without even having done a thing, and/or WITH OUT EVEN KNOWING WHAT THE TOPIC IS ABOUT OR INCLUDES, they’ve made that judgement already. It’s like I just have to begin to speak and they’re already rolling their eyes, moaning and grumbling about having to do some-thing. Any-thing.
Fuck it. You know? I don’t care. I don’t really care about the curriculum. I care the kids learn to not be fucking arseholes. I care the kids learn that life is not easy, life doesn’t really “get better”, but it’s how you make your life better.
Categories: The Real Deal