“Poetry is not meant to be appreciated,” continued Headmaster Nolan with a sneer blossoming upon his haughty lips. “It is meant to be viewed in the same way that a man views a rodent–with cautious contempt. Now if you’ll turn to page fifteen…”

Headmaster Nolan’s words trailed off as he heard the muted footsteps on the tiled floor behind him.

There was silence as Professor Spicer entered into the classroom.

“And just what are you doing here, Professor Spicer?” demanded Headmaster Nolan, his face flushed with rage.

“I came to pick up my things,” Professor Spicer muttered in a soft undertone. “Then I’ll be gone…” He paused for dramatic effect and then continued, “…Forever.”

“Very well,” muttered Nolan furiously, returning his focus to the class: “now if you’ll turn to page fifteen–”

Just then, young Todd Anderson, his face flushed with the temerity of his own impetuousness, stood atop his desk and cried out:

“O Spicer! My Spicer!”

There was silence. Deafening silence.

And then a violent eruption from Headmaster Nolan who screamed: “SIT DOWN ANDERSON, OR I SHALL HAVE YOU EXPELLED!”

There was another pause, longer this time. And then an act of bravery.

“O Spicer! My Spicer!” repeated Anderson, his voice stronger now. With the confidence of a grown man who had just discovered that some things in life… some things in life are worth fighting for.

“Anderson, SIT DOWN!” repeated Nolan, furiously. “Or shall I remind you of what this man has done to your ONCE-SANE class?”

And yet, young Thomas Anderson remained atop his desk, a timid grin growing slowly out from the edges of his once-boyish lips.

Headmaster Nolan continued, but a tinge of desperation peppered his voice now… “I mean, children please! Don’t you remember how, on literally his very first day, he said that your class was three times larger than it actually was? Didn’t you ever wonder where all those students went? Did that ever bother you? There was photographic proof-”

“O Spicer! My Spicer!” announced young Charlie Dalton as he too stood atop his desk. A single tear went down his face as he nodded proudly at Anderson, two rows in front of him.

Headmaster Nolan was starting to get worried. A lilt of terror entered into his voice:

“And kids, don’t you remember how he tweeted out his internet password  in his very first week? Or when he hid in the bushes so that he could avoid talking to the school paper?”

“O Spicer! My Spicer!” said Knox Overstreet, standing on his desk–he too had found his courage!

Headmaster Nolan tried to recover. Desperately. “Look kids, no one is saying that Mr. Spicer had the easiest job in the world… but he’s only been here for, like, 192 days and he spent one of those days claiming that our school’s superintendent doesn’t own a bathrobe. OF COURSE HE OWNS A BATHROBE, IT WOULD BE INSANE IF HE DIDN’T”

“O Spicer! My Spicer!” announced young Richard Cameron as he stood on his desk! The class began to cheer!

“I-I just don’t know if it’s prudent to retroactively compliment someone’s performance just because his job was difficult,” stuttered Headmaster Nolan. Like the coward he was.

“O Spicer! My Spicer!” yelled Steven Meeks as he got on his desk.

“And I haven’t even talked about that time he banned the BBC and the New York Times from visiting our school. Like, that was… super messed up, right?”

“O Spicer! My Spicer!” screamed another one of the students. Right into Nolan’s face.

“W-what about that whole chemical-weapons-Nazi-Germany stuff he said? That was really bad! And he was only your teacher for four months! How do you do that much in just four months?” stuttered Nolan.

But the battle was over and the children had won.

“O Spicer! My Spicer!” the class chanted in unison as Headmaster Nolan fell into a dead faint.

“O Spicer! My Spicer! O Spicer! My Spicer! O Spicer! My Spicer!”

This chanting continued uninterrupted for another 30 minutes until finally Mr. Spicer, with tears in his eyes, began to speak.

“Thank you boys. Thank you.”

The class was silent now. And they saluted their former teacher, fully aware that his replacement, Professor Huckabee Sanders, was (without a doubt) going to be far, far worse than Spicer could ever be.

And then, with a spring in his step and the scent of Orbit cinnamon chewing gum still on his lips, Professor Spicer walked out of the classroom and disappeared from the children’s lives forever.

 

DRC