I hated school as a kid. It just seemed so...restrictive.
Ironically, the thing I hated most was music. Probably
because the person I hated most at school was the music
teacher.
Mr. Hartford his name was.
One day, he asked the class to create four bars of original
music and score it in our manuscript books.
I’d struggled to concentrate in music lessons and had no
idea how to read or write music.
It had been a long hot June day, the sun beating down
on my back through the floor to ceiling window.
Feeling drowsy, I began doodling away in my exercise
book, lost in a daydream.
The next thing I know, Mr. Hartford had reached over
my shoulder, snatched my exercise book away and
hauled me up in front of the whole class where he
asked me to explain the drawing I’d just done.
Well, it was a picture of a naked woman with flaming
rocket’s exhaust pipes for breasts and forest of trees
for pubic hair.
