high-school rebellion

Something altogether different

Something altogether different

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Prefect

I never wanted to be a prefect. I suppose I just didn’t like the idea of having something forced on me. I was being told what to do and I’ve never taken to having roles thrust on me, by anybody, at any time. At the end of the previous year I’d even rejected my prizes saying that I would not be part of the establishment’s rigged, ego-massaging, prize-giving ceremonies. Despite some attempted and extensive re-assurance to the contrary, my annual placing on the league table of such esteemed nonsensical elite seemed ridiculous to me.

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Wisconsin

It was the sixties – to be exact, the summer of 1969; the sputtering embers of that hot, fervid decade. Of course we didn’t know that at the time. The ‘sixties’ is a later invention – a social, political and cultural inferno that, safely over, has been elevated to the realm of untouchable saintliness. It's what happened to Martin Luther King, Muhammad Ali and John Lennon. Now they are celebrated but ‘at the time’ they were a menace to J Edgar Hoover and all things decent. They became truly good only by being truly dead. Like the ‘sixties’.

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