I like Art, It’s a good lesson and I feel less twitchy when I’m busy painting and drawing.
Mr Mizer our art teacher looks a bit like a farmer and the word around the school is he actually lives on a farm; this earned him the nickname ‘farm yacker Mizer’.
Today the class is busy with everyone doing projects and there is a general hum from everyone, they sound like crafty little bee’s buzzing about on their tables.
I’m Spreading glue and newspaper on a balloon, it’s not hard and I accidentally on purpose get the glue all over my fingers.
It doesn’t take long to dry and peeling it off feels nice.
Mr Mizer is patrolling the classroom like a prison warden. He passes behind me and I can’t stop myself and whisper “farm yacker”.
He stops behind me, I pretend to be busy and I can see him in my peripheral vision begin walking away.
“Ooh argh” I shout, this comes out louder than a whisper and he turns to look directly at me with a strained look on his face, “Williams get on with your work!” he says in his stern croaky farmer voice.
Why can’t I keep quiet, even when I’m on the teachers radar my mouth opens, and things come out, it’s almost as is my mouth is trying to get me into trouble and it often does.
I continue with the gluing of my fingers and blow them to speed up the drying process I hear the footsteps of Sir passing by again, “ooh argh farm yacker” I shout even louder this time.
“Stand up Gordon!” he yells at me red in the face.
I stand quickly, his angry red face is right in front of me and I’m laughing, why? Why am I laughing?
“Do you find yourself funny boy!” he yells in my face while his own goes from red to purple, I can feel his hot breath on my face and bits of spit hit my cheek.
Why can’t I stop laughing? I pinch both my legs it hurts but it’s not working, and I can only manage to get my laughing down to a smirk.
Mr Mizer grabs me by the shirt and drags me through into the next room out of sight of the other pupils. Still holding me by my shirt, he thrusts me up against the wall lifting me off the floor.
Why am I still smirking? this is getting serious. I can see his mouth moving but his words are just noise.
Whatever was making me laugh disappears and the smirk leaves my face. Sir now begins to calm down, his grip weakens, and my feet slowly touch floor, there is a moments silence and we just stand there facing each other.
“Right Williams you will write a letter to the headmaster informing him of what has occurred during the lesson today” he says in a much calmer voice and the redness begins to leave his face.
This punishment is different than usual, writing a letter isn’t too hard and I won’t be there when the headmaster reads it anyway.
He hands me a sheet of A4 paper, and I sit down to begin my punishment. I take out my half-chewed biro and begin to write.
I begin by writing how I was taunting Mr Mizer and the things I said, I can’t help smiling when I write ‘farm yacker and ‘ooh argh’.
I go into great detail of how he dragged me out of the room, thrust me up against the wall and lifted me off my feet. I’m quite good at creative writing when I’m in the mood and for some reason at this moment I am in the mood. I use many descriptive words to set the scene of the ‘frenzied attack of discipline’.
Article complete I pass my work to Mr Mizer. As he reads it, I notice his face now turns white.
“That is a brilliant piece of English work Mr Williams, why can’t you put this amount of effort in all your work?”
“I don’t know sir?” I reply almost with pride for my literary achievement
“It’s a shame nobody will read it” he said screwing up the paper and tossing it into the bin.
I would have been sad seeing my work in a crumpled ball, but I’m more interested in getting out of here and getting my dinner.
“On your way” he said, his tone had changed, and it was almost as if we were friends and that we had bonded over the whole incident, or maybe it was just that I am glad to be getting out of here and going for my dinner.
