I was in elementary school and the end of the year was approaching. I must have been in 4th or 5th grade at the time around 1978. The teacher assigned us a short essay on what we had planned for the summer.
I had absolutely nothing planned and no idea what to write so I decided to write a little fiction.
I wrote about burning the school down and using the firemen as wood. I quoted the children’s song:
Glory, Glory Hallelujah.
Teacher hit me with a ruler.
I met her at the bank with a loaded army tank and she ain’t my teacher no more.
Yesterday I went to her grave.
Instead of putting flowers, I put a hand grenade.
Yea, yea, yea, she couldn’t get away and she ain’t my teacher no more.
(I can’t believe I remember the words.)
I got in serious trouble. Not as much as if it had happened today. Back then we still had free speech and there was no such thing as a threat on a school. School shootings would not have been invented for another 5 years. I just got a stern talking to by my mother. I had no idea what I had done. It seemed like a good story at the time.
In retrospect, Wow! It may have been the year after my father died and I may have been a seriously damage child. Nobody cared about a child’s mental state back then. There was no grief counseling or school psychologist. It is likely the reason I am so messed up today.
If I had done that in today’s world it is quite possible that I would have been sent to a high security mental hospital and a special school.
I’m not sure what unrepressed that memory. Sometimes they just reappear when you least expect it.