Dear Miss. S,
I’d like to say to you that upon hearing of your demise; no one on the world could be more happier than me.
My peers that were enrolled in the same year and had the pleasure of sharing a class-room with me and you; think of me as a cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch.
But I tell them what you once told me; “Death doesn’t necessarily earn you the license of respect or forgiveness.”
Hell, the human race definitely was not crying when Hitler committed suicide — those were tears of joy of realising their sheer suffering had now ended.
Most of all, I’d like to talk to you about how much you contributed into my upbringing — and how much of a better human I became because of you.
For a Teacher, who should’ve protected me when I complained I was bullied — you sent me to the Principal’s office under the impression that I interrupted the class with tomfoolery and prevent you from teaching. I thank you for not mentioning the fact that the other children were throwing pencils at me.
You were kind enough to keep that fact to yourself.
I would also like to thank you for the time when another student once started smoking in the class room and you responded with a flirty smile and told him, “He looked cool, but a class wasn’t the place to smoke a cigarette.” And then turned your attention to me and caught me looking out the window at the cigarette the gentleman had just thrown out.
You were so clever. You knew by looking at that cigarette being chucked out the window; I too could become an addict — so you yet again sent me to the Principal’s office under the pretence that I fail to pay attention during the class and urged him not to listen to a word of lie that came out of my mouth.
It obviously made an honest man out of me.
I never really understood what I did to deserve so much of your time and special attention; until recently that I saw your son and came to the realisation really just what it was that made you the you were.
Your son, much like me, appeared to be suffering from a Learning Disability. Whilst mine was a little less obvious; his wasn’t.
And it was then that I realised why you despised me so much.
Because why should I, an obviously failure of a student have a normal life when your son couldn’t. So you did your best to make sure I got the same reward.
You did so by making damn sure I never got promoted to the next class and got left behind — but oh how I outsmarted you when I crossed out the word “NOT” from the “Not Promoted To” Section of my report card; and bravely walked into the class room I was so undeserving to be promoted to.
Oh how horrifying it was when the School simply recognised it was a “Technical” error when you protested I was not to be promoted.
For your attempts had now failed; you’d lost control over me.
And I went on with my life; never thinking of you again — until recently that I got word of your demise.
If you were alive today; I would’ve liked to sit down with you and share my tale with you of how I’d made it.
Of how every time you sent me to the Principal’s office; his assistant would let me read books from his private library.
Of how far beyond your imagination and your attempts to convince me I was worthless; I’d succeeded in life.
Of how for every act of scrutiny I suffered at your hands; I learnt how important it was to forgive.
Of how I learnt to find kindness in the most darkest of places.
Of how important it was to let go of all the hatred, because hatred blinds us — in ways we cannot imagine.
Most of all I’d like to tell you how sorry I was that I, at the age of Fourteen, was unaware of the condition your son was in.
Of how I could’ve never known until recently of just how much you’d suffered.
Of how happy I am that your suffering has now ended.
Your Favourite Punching Bag,
May you rest in peace; you heartless bitch.