Leroy (not his real name) and I were in the same class in third and fifth grade. You could tell from the start that he was NOT the scholastic type. It wasn't so much that he didn't get it as that school and teachers and principals and counselors and textbook writers and standardized test makers (and you get it) just didn't "get" him.He was the class clown, but in a way that would make Jack Black look highbrow by comparison. Granted, we <were elementary students at the time, so I should apply a sliding scale on what he and his target audience would agree was funny. Similar adjustments for inflation of his teachers' blood pressure should be made as well since for the most part they found his antics thoroughly unfunny. Every generation thinks they invented armpit fart sound effects. Leroy worked it like he had a claim on the patent in that case.
He just wanted everyone to have a good time, was that so wrong? Our fifth grade teacher didn't think so. Maybe it was because this was a Catholic school (note the uniform), but she foresaw a dim future for him and made no secret about it. "Leroy," she said to him in front of the whole class after interrupting his partying that was interrupting her lesson, "I really worry about you. I cry myself to sleep wondering what's going to become of you."
The feeling was mutual. Leroy felt sorry for her, too. Not because he couldn't live up to her expectations. It was because here was this poor woman forced to try to teach kids irrelevant things like science and grammar and computers, and he didn't know any easy way to distract her from her troubles long enough to make her happy.
