Here's the e-mail Dave sent our German teacher:
Dear Herr Phenix,
I hope your absence from school was not serious. The GSA was
announced, and is scheduled for tomorrow. However, it is with great
regret that I must inform you that I am no longer welcome at PRHS,
and, thus, will not be in attendance. You see, Herr Phenix, I have a
sad story to tell. Last Wednesday, the day I wore the kilt, I
received the kind of taunting that might be expected in response to
such a bold statement. A group of ninth graders playing hacky-sack
found my attire to be extremely "gay," and even likened it in gayness
to my mohawk, surely the hallmark of any homosexual. In an act of
retaliation, my good friend, Dan Moore (Me, NeedleRemorse), approached the group and we took their hacky sack and I threw it in the pond. Well,
as I'm sure you have already concluded, the ninth graders were none
too pleased. It soon came into my knowledge that the sacks owner was
in fact Ricky Hackett, who, in fact, I did not know. As I took the
late bus home, I realized that the young man was a relative innocent,
and that my rash actions were poorly thought out and, perhaps,
unjustly executed. The next morning I promptly sought out the
indignant young fellow, and proceeded to give him money with which to
purchase a new sack. I apologized, and, before leaving, shook his
hand. As I left for the long weekend, I felt quite assured that this
rather unpleasant chapter in my life was over, and I could focus on
more pressing issues. However, upon my arrival at school on Tuesday,
a young man approached me in the halls. Recognizing him as one of
Nils's cronies, I became quite worried when he shoved me. "Fagg0t!"
he exclaimed with gusto, "do you like picking on little kids or
something?" After leaving his remarkably articulate question hanging
in the air for several moments, I informed him that there was a
misunderstanding and that I did not know who he or this "little kid"
he spoke of were. "Yes," said he, "my little cousin, you threw his
hacky-sack in the pond!" When he realized that this did not send me
to my knees begging for forgiveness, he became disgruntled and surly.
We parted ways and went to separate classes. It was during the next
locker break that I was confronted once again, this time by a sickly
looking young woman on the arm of the surly boy. "Fagg0t!" she
sneered at me, and her beaux added a stiff shoulder for added
measure, not wanting me to leave, once again, unsure of my sexual
orientation. The next several classes went uneventfully, that is,
until I entered Music Appreciation. Upon my entrance, I had an
epiphany. I realized that not only was Nils in this class, but his
smaller, surly friend was also in attendance. After I took my seat, I
was called upon by Nils. He addressed me, appropriately enough, as
"MOHAWK!" and proceeded to explain to me, in a system of language
that would make any intelligent life form weep, that picking on
little kids was not only retarded, but painted me as a raging
homosexual. Now, with a bemused and tired smirk, I told Nils that his
addressing my with this message was not only the death of irony, but
inappropriate, seeing as how I have never spoken to him before. Nils
assured me that, although he did not know me either, picking on
smaller kids was retarded no matter what. The music class dragged on
for what seemed like hours, often interrupted by threats such as "you
are such a ****1ng fagg0t, dude," or the almost painfully clever
"what size are your clothes, gay?" As the end of the class neared, I
was informed that, and I am paraphrasing, I would come under serious
bodily harm in the very near future. This promise, if you will, was
then supported by a swift blow to the area of flesh behind my left
ear. I explained to Patrick Fandell, for that is the surly young
man's name, that this was juvenile and that I was a pacifist. It
would appear, as the grunts from Nils and his like-minded entourage
hinted, that this is synonymous with "queer!" in Nils-speak. The bell
started to ring, and, as I left the class, my sweatshirt was grabbed
and I was thrown against the wall. "Be a man!" Patrick cried
fervently, explaining that only gay kids didn't fight. Despite his
compelling argument, I reiterated that I was, and always will be, a
pacifist. His brain tired from all of the speaking, Patrick decided
to put this "fagg0t" in his place. He landed a solid blow to my eye.
As I bled from my eye, my nose, and my mouth, I asked "are you done
now?" After a moment of admiring his handiwork, Patrick and Nils left
together, muttering that only pussies take ONE goddamned punch. Well,
I went to the nurses office to get an ice pack, and, upon seeing my
wound, an ice pack was applied and the establishment was called for.
The important thing to keep in mind was that I had no intentions of
telling the administration. However, after a startlingly boring and
sore half hour in Mr. Thornton's office, I admitted who the offenders
were. Once I reached my house, my mother was called and she was told
that Patrick had been suspended for three days. I would like to add
that he was the only one spoken to. So, needless to say, I entered
the school building rather cautiously today. I turned in the GSA
announcement, and then proceeded to go to the nurse, who informed me
that my eye socket was most likely fractured. (Queers get what's
coming to 'em, huh?) With great news like that to start the day off,
I was hardly bothered when I was shoved by the sickly girlfriend. In
fact, I was in such a good mood, I had almost forgotten about the
execution the seniors had acted out directly outside the door of my
history classroom, stopping only to point at me and make "gun-hands."
At lunch, myself, my girlfriend, and her friends were approached many
times. Folks with threats on my life and people curious as to who
Nils's next victim was showed up, one and all. My next class was
Music Appreciation, with Nils. Mr. Thornton was at lunch, so I
approached him and told him that I was not at all comfortable in
attending Music Appreciation. At this he said "You really should go,
if you don't, you let them win." Shocked, I almost expected him to
finish his sentence with the obligatory "queer." Nils entered Music
five minutes late, as his is accustomed to, and glared at me
continually as he sat down. Once seated, he explained to his friends,
falsely mind you, that I had called the cops and "ratted" on him. You
would think that one of his ill repute would at least know that
informing the police is school protocol, but alas, neither he nor his
friends understood this. Soon enough, the phrase "freak!" was uttered
at me by Nils again and again. And, of course, he would be staring at
me with those bright, intelligent eyes the entire time. As the class
progressed, audible threats were made on my life, and a clever system
to punch me every day was created. Fearing my safety, I snuck out of
the class early. I went to Thornton's office and told him that I was
done, and that I felt I was unsafe. He took down a few names, and
said he would call them down to the office and reprimand them,
obviously unaware this would only increase the bounty on my pointy,
orange head. I told him that he had to wait until tomorrow, if only
to secure my safety on the way to my girlfriends car. At this time,
he explained that my name would not be mentioned. He said that he
was, in fact, not stupid, and that he had even heard people
discussing it at lunch. Please keep in mind he heard this, and then
proceeded to "strongly encourage" me to go to Music Appreciation.
Now, I write this having just returned from the hospital. I had my
eye x-rayed four times, and it is believed that my eye socket may be
fractured. If this is so, I'll be making a doubtlessly awesomely fun
visit to the neurologist. Not that I am bitter that my mothers night
was ruined by three hours at the hospital with her battered son, it
is just that it strikes me as somewhat unfair. My mother has taken me
out of school for the time being, and Nils is being suspended along
with Patrick. It seems to me that if i was to return on Monday to be
greeted by Nils and Patrick, that I would certainly die the death of
one who acts as an individual at Pentucke.t High School. The attacks
on me quickly elevated from some demented form of chivalry into what
is quite clearly assault and battery, hate crimes, and, of course,
harassment. So, what's the point of this email, you might find
yourself asking. Well, Herr Phenix, I chose to write to you over all
of the other teachers to write to because I felt that we shared an
irreverence that made your class the saving grace of Pentucke.t, which
otherwise made my life a living hell. I feel that the administration
handled this problem poorly, and that the level of tolerance accepted
in the school is absolutely, completely unacceptable. I'm not asking
you to make a personal crusade of this, but perhaps to raise the
public awareness. Maybe you could talk about this issue at the
gay/straight alliance? Thanks for reading, I hope I might be able to
return, although it looks doubtful. I at least want to stay in touch,
and I want you to know that you have really meant a lot to me as a
teacher and a friend. Thanks for the good german classes, man. I
don't want to put you in a rough position or anything, just to let
you know of what is going on under the watchful eye of our
open-minded administration. Thanks, really. Oh, if you would be so
kind as to write back, my personal email is (removed)
Dave
.
?
), and I'm going to go to the office first period, and if they don't not only get the cops involved but expell the one who punched him and the one who threatened to kill him and is on parole, I'll get the cops involved myself (guess who's parole officer isn't going to be impressed?). One of the teacher's words of wisdom was "I hate to condone violence, but don't be his punching bag." We're outnumbered, outmuscled, and I'd rather not solve it that way, and I think that was a pretty stupid thing to say.
)