I Have, Once Again, Found Myself Thinking About How My Music Teacher In Elementary School Was A Creep

I have, once again, found myself thinking about how my music teacher in elementary school was a creep and some of the evidence that was used to get him fired were a bunch of pictures of elementary-school-aged me in class. Nothing crazy. Just stalkery pictures of me on Kelly Seger’s crusty iPad.

And he’d dump his kid on me if he ever needed to bring her in with him. (We were the same age and she didn’t go to my school.)

He also bragged about how he knocked a kid’s tooth out by flicking his favorite xylophone mallet into her face.

He made us have a six-month-long David Bowie unit that wasn’t in the curriculum after he died. And don’t get me wrong, I have always loved David Bowie, but Kelly Seger took his death REALLY hard.

Bro now reaches out to past students and tries to get them to record songs in his private studio.

This dude was a literal cartoon villain. He WAS Mr. Crocker.

In the sixth grade, I had a very religious teacher which was ironic because he was teaching evolution and ancient history and he kept making it seem like WE were the ones that homo habilis was offending.

When we got to Egypt, he told us we were watching a movie and we were all excited because we were eleven. The movie was The Prince of Egypt. And he kept pointing out a bunch of stuff that he didn’t agree with and said it was wrong, but we didn’t care. My eleven-year-old ass was having the time of my life with the Disney-esque animation and fabulous songs.

I just realized YESTERDAY that it was just a wee bit strange that we were watching the most religious DreamWorks movie ever in the same class that was teaching evolution a few months before.

Today, Sergei told me that she just realized that it’s called “stuffing,” because it is used to stuff a turkey. She is nearly old enough to legally consume alcohol. This was after she tried to cut a pie whilst holding the blade of the knife.

I forgot how excited little kids get for parade candy. Like dude, you’re hyped? I am also hyped, I’m in a fucking parade. And I get to choose how much candy YOU get.

I lay here, in my bed, and I think about a very traumatic moment in my life that I think about a few times a month.

Sergei had recently graduated and she had a boyfriend. Shocking, I know, but we’re not at the scary part yet.

Said boyfriend would often leave Sergei gifts in her room. Her room is in the basement. The basement has a shared living room next to the Sergei room. I was in the living room. I am drawing something stupid for a friend and I hear what sounds like my mother walking down the basement stairs. I prepare myself to say something stupid and I make eye contact with a lanky, eighteen-year-old man child and he has the AUDACITY to say, “Boo,” and NORHING else. I was speechless.

I do not like the fact that that man child walks like my mother. Luckily, Sergei is no longer with him and it only happened once.

I do not appreciate the utter sass I receive from inanimate objects. Sir, you are a table. LEAVE ME THE SWEET AND SOUR FUCK ALONE.