Dear Mr. Franklin

Creativity is too often frowned upon. Stuck up b******s.

Dear Mr. Franklin,

 

Do you remember that first semester, that essay you gave us on the exercise we did in class? Probably not. Well, I remember, because it was the first (but in no way the last) time you gave me a D. You said the only thing that saved it from being an F was that it made sense, but the problem was I had no structure and no paragraphs and altogether too much poetry.

Umm, excuse me? I thought this was philosophy class. Since when do we need any of that stuff to communicate the message? No, you know what, scratch that. I communicated my message. I told you what the f**k I thought about all these questions and answers that sounded like they were pooped out of Charlie the Unicorn they were so random and I was able to make it make sense and you give me a D for not having any structure?

This might seem random. I smiled and nodded as you explained the grade in that haughty, condescending tone you can’t help when talking to those �"ahem- less intelligent than you, I complied with your wishes for the next two years. I made very pretty paragraphs and indented them and spaced them and corrected my grammar and stopped putting. Random. Breaks. Between. All the. Lines. Or semicolons; where they don’t belong and I started prof-reding me peicess and stopped using metaphorical phrases that were as obscure as the not-so-hot mess that’s your head and stopped criticizing your teaching methods (which were practically textbook readings, you lazy son of a b***h) and stopped making run-on sentences so you see, Mr. Franklin, I have a lot to thank you for.

I assume that’s what you’re assuming, anyway (and assuming makes an a*s out of you and me, but you’ve always been an a*s so I don’t think you’ll care much). I hope this gets tacked on your Wall of Shame next to the essay from two years ago I put my heart and soul and, get this, very own thoughts into instead of Latin quotes from some dead guy in ancient Rome (which, if you remember, was when people thought the reason that the sky thundered was because some selfish arrogant b*****d who cheated on his wife by dry-humping [or not so dry-humping] every unavailable female he sees, was angry). I hope you tell your future students that I was the kid who never fit in because my thoughts made too much sense, and that to be accepted in your eyes they have to embrace the social norm. I hope you’ll keep both of them for eternity, even if it’s just in scorn, and I hope you keep them in a folder labeled Bad Examples so that whenever you take them out they’ll be side-by-side. Then, maybe, just maybe, one day you’ll look at both of them next to each other, up there on your Wall of Shame or in your folder of Bad Examples, and you’ll understand the reason you hated me was because there were too many things about me you just couldn’t understand.

 

Elaborately signed and sincerely meant,

Juniper Kratz.

 

PS. I’m graduating your class with an A+. Suck on that, biatch.

Author's Note

If this seems angsty, well, it's in the voice of an angsty graduate. So I suppose that makes sense.
(c) Neko Green 2010