Glen, I am pretty sure that somewhere up here at my parents, my mother has all my report cards carefully filed away.
My mother gave me a bunch of my school crap she had kept over the years about a year ago - including my report cards. The teachers all had flawless writing. It gave their damning comments more gravity and credibility somehow... :)I think I threw it all out. Or it might be in my Memories Drawer upstairs, and I only open that thing when it's quiet and nobody is around.
Looong walk home from school holding that envelope.
Okay, Sunday School truth here.I hated school. I mean hated it with the same kind of hatred that the Jews have for the Nazis. All I can say is that the whole business started out bad and got worse as I climbed Mt. Fuji, knowing about the inevitable fall into the volcano at the terminus of my journey. So to speak.In contrast to my kindergarten teacher (who didn't like children, particularly little boys) my first grade teacher was pretty much okay. However, on my report card I got an emphasized Unsatisfactory in Social Relations / Works and Plays Well With Others. I was accused of elbowing my way through a crowd of miscreants so as to get my coat out of my locker. When asked about it by my dear old mom and dad, I explained that none of them would move aside and let me through, and if I waited I'd be late for the bus line and the teacher would give me hell for being tardy.'Mad Jack,' she'd say, 'we're all waiting for you to get ready to go. Why are you so slow, anyway?'So that was that. Mom didn't know what to say, and Dad just said to do the best I could - but he wasn't really listening.I know darn well my sixth grade teacher passed me just to get me out of her class and pass me along to the next jailer.