From an interview with Ingrid Laguna: “I’ve always been driven. I’m a passionate person and I throw myself into my work, whether it’s drumming, teaching or writing. I still have a school report from when I was twelve where a teacher wrote: ‘Ingrid needs to learn to control her natural exhuberance’. Who says that to a kid?”
Well, dear Ingrid, you look a lot younger than I am, but I can tell you now that I unnerved teachers with my very focussed ambitions: writer and astronaut, most likely combining the two to be the first writer in space, and part of the first Mars colony, as chronicler.
From age 12, I made a resolution each January 1 to be that little bit more dedicated to my writing. What that looked like, I couldn’t and can’t say. Presumably, write more. Which, as I edged towards 16, became ‘get published’, then ‘get published professionally’. Had all that in the bag just shy of 18.
Capricorn Sun, Mercury and Mars, bitches.
I also had a school report that said: “Almost too conscientious.”
Who says that to a kid? Who says that, full stop?!
Yes, I do find it a bit of a bugbear these days when I’ve signed up for about 20 courses, and have done maybe 1/3 of one course. Conscientious me wants to complete them all. The greater, lazier part of me wants to say ‘fuck it’ and look for the next Good Thing.
OohShinyGirl says I have ADHD as an autism side dish. Could well be. PTSD has set off the behaviours that were likely lying dormant when I was younger.
So yes, dear Ingrid, I can assure you that teachers do say stuff like that. They write it in reports too. My Year 11 Physics teacher wrote: “Works hard for no result. WHY?” Fuck you, Mr Wragg, and be a kinder teacher. Oh well, you’re probably dead now, so nothing to be done. But I hope that in your old age, you gave thought to your younger self, and how fucking smug you were. Probably not, though. You didn’t strike me as the sort of man who’d think twice about his smugness, his casual humiliation of students, and his ‘you figure it out’ attitude. Not helpful.
I have an image of you standing on the shores of the Styx, and no one giving you a fucking clue that you need two coins to pay Charon the boatman. Good. It means you’ll still be there when I arrive, and I can kick your arse.