When I was in fourth grade our music teacher had us sit in a circle and go around the room telling everyone what music we all liked. So we went around in a circle and kids said things like, "Hall and Oates!" and "Bryan Adams!" and that's the way it went, around the circle. "Foreigner! Phill Collins! Bruce Springsteen! Huey Lewis and the News!" And I liked all that crap too. But when it was my turn, I didn't say I liked "David Lee Roth!" or "Don Henley!"
I said, "Prince."
And this kid, I forget his name but I think it was Mark. And I don't really remember what he looked like but lets say he was a four foot tall Vinnie Barbarino with a peach fuzz mustache, because that's what my brain says would be appropriate.
So I said, "Prince!"
And this kid turns and looks at me and says, "Prince?"
And I said, "...yeah?"
Then he sniffed. Said, "Faggot," and turned back around.
And where the fuck was the teacher? Did the teacher intervene? Did he say, "Mark! I'm a big fan of your tall hair, and I really like the way the denim in your jacket brings out the denim in your pants. So don't take this the wrong way. But that language is unacceptable, so you need to go to the principal's office."
No. No, he did not.
He looked at me and shook his head in a way that made it clear that what he was thinking was, "For some reason Mark has a mustache in fourth grade. But he's right. There's no place for faggotry in public school."
That's how I remember it anyway. In retrospect, Mark was probably maladjusted because his father beat him. I hope.
[wikipedia]
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