Mr Sugarman and the schoolroom

Mr Sugarman and the schoolroom

It is a strange pronouncement

To recall a school hall

As an amphitheatre

Of cavernous proportion

As I sit, a parent

Preparing to face a teacher

With that same air of trepidation

One gets when waiting outside

The headmaster's study

Even though I knew his son

We had shared so many escapades

Was I such a bad influence?

It looks so small now

The weight on my shoulders

Is of my own design

Still the boy, unfinished as a man

What am I so afraid of

When my daughter is so perfect

Dwarfed by those around her

I know one day she will outgrow them

Growth spurts can come later

They did with me

The runt of the litter

I worked so hard to be noticed

That I forgot why I was there

Until waking up in a remedial class

So many hours of study to catch-up

Before surpassing expectations

A head boy

Without a big head

At least that is what I hoped

It still leaves its scars

Self-doubt still remains

The fear of being found out

As a fraud

A stupid boy

Not worthy of the trouble

To be called a man

Waiting to be caned for the crime of overachievement

How many feel the same way

Sitting here in this small hall

With the tiny chairs

Having peaked into

The cramped classrooms

Full of locker room sweat

The smell of desperation

My science teacher Mr Stubbs

Carried a hip flask

Supped scotch at his desk

Mr Stout smoked Camel cigarettes

In the fug of a stale staff room

His breath smelled of dung

For want of rehydration and mouthwash

He caned Robert Stobey, (whose parents ran a sweet shop

Four fruit salad chews for a penny)

So hard, the poor boy fainted

Mr Stout was hated

But Mr Burdis who taught art

And noticed something in me, was a sweety

Where are they all now?

Long gone

Although Miss Thompson

Who I thought was really old

When I was at school

Lives across the road from my mother’s house

Not much older now, than me…

At least there were no nuns

They were at the catholic school

On the corner

The kids couldn’t wait to transfer over to the secondary school

At the age of eleven

Freedom comes in many guises

I wonder how my daughter will feel

When she returns as a parent

They think she is wonderful

Her Geography teacher Mr Sugarman

Sings her praises

And I leave as proud as proud can be

Even though he thought that she could

Still do a little better

Bugger Mr Sugarman