Report card day
Jul. 18th, 2009 06:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeSo I got a couple of questions about Sean's high school experience, and I thought maybe a flashback was in order-- not only to show a glimpse in the life of sixteen-year-old Sean, but because there are a couple of worldbuilding details that were easier to work in here than in the main storyline. I'll probably keep doing flashbacks here and there, for the same reason.
Also, I had a request for an index post, for ease of organization and reccing-- that's coming right up after this.
Thanks for reading and commenting, everybody. :) More specific replies to comments coming soon.
Sean wished the most boring period of the day at school, and the one where it was most crucial to pay attention, didn't come right at the end, when all the boys were tired and fidgety, wanting to go home. Almost everything at school was actually pretty fun-- hands-on practice for various kinds of labor, with male teaching assistants who were usually too nice to send you to the principal for discipline. Of course, your written reports had to be turned in to the actual teachers, who were always lurking in the background taking notes, but Sean could usually get lost enough in whatever he was doing to forget about that, and he hardly ever got in trouble anyway; he liked getting things right.
But world history-- sitting and listening and taking notes till your hand cramped while the teacher talked about the atrocities women had suffered over the millennia before the Enlightenment, and the brutality of men's essential nature, and the care that had to be taken to prevent them from reverting to type-- Sean had to restrain himself from staring at the clock on the wall, counting down the minutes before he got to go home. He did restrain himself, though; it wasn't even remotely worth the danger of getting caught. Time would pass whether he counted the minutes or not.
"Once men realized the implications of the new female power," the teacher droned, "there was massive panic. Brutal reprisals were made-- girl children were stabbed and strangled before they could reach menarche, or held hostage to try to extort restraint from their mothers. Women quickly realized that some form of organization was necessary, including a radical re-structuring of the family unit as it existed at that time. In almost all countries, a form of marriage-- the official, governmentally sanctioned authority of a given man over a given woman and any children she managed to bear-- was recognized at that time."
She paused ominously, and most of the classroom tensed, except one boy, who was-- oh, shit-- asleep on his notebook, in a puddle of inky drool. His neighbor belatedly kicked him, and he woke up, blinking slowly, the look of puzzlement on his face slowly shifting to one of utter and unconditional panic as he stared up at the teacher.
"Am I boring you, David?" the teacher asked coolly. "Perhaps you'd find the principal's office more entertaining."
David went to his knees beside his desk, pressing his forehead to the floor.
"Or are you simply tired?" the teacher went on. "Do you not get enough sleep at night, David? Should I send a note home to your mother?"
David quivered on the floor, his whole body a silent plea.
"Get back in your seat," said the teacher, "and let's see if you can stay awake this time."
None of the boys were stupid enough to murmur or sigh aloud, but a nearly audible rustle of relaxation went through the room at the realization that she was going to let David off with a warning. Nobody relished the prospect of another boy's punishment, and although David's probably wouldn't have been public, you couldn't have helped knowing. The teacher's mercy gave Sean a good feeling that wasn't marred even by the slight apprehension when she distributed the skinny red envelopes holding their report cards for the quarter.
"We'll need your mother's or legal protectrix' seal on these when you return them on Monday," she said, and one boy raised his hand. "Yes, Chris?"
"My mother's out of town all weekend," he said nervously.
"When will she be back?"
"Wednesday."
"I'll write a note to verify that," said the teacher, "and you may return your sealed report card on Thursday or Friday. Any other questions?"
There were no other questions.
"Class dismissed."
They rose, row by row, and filed quietly from the room.
Once they were outside, a little more running and rough-housing was tolerated, though not encouraged. Some of the boys had girlfriends waiting for them outside, ready to slip a hand into theirs and lead them off somewhere, but Elise was nowhere to be seen, and Sean wasn't really surprised; moreover, as he admitted to himself, he wasn't disappointed, either. He climbed the steps of the bus, his bookbag pulling only slightly at his shoulders-- he had hardly any homework for the weekend, which added to his feeling of general wellbeing as he nodded to the male bus driver and settled into a seat with a small, unobtrusive sigh of relief. The bus lurched into motion, and he was on his way home.
At his stop, he flipped his hand up in goodbye to the other boys and headed down the walk at a leisurely stroll-- the localized weather was particularly nice today, balmy with a small, pleasant breeze; he should compliment his mother-- then up the steps to his own small house, and knocked confidently at the door. He was glad his mother didn't make him wait for ages on the doorstep, the way some guys' mothers did. Other guys, even less fortunate, had sisters at home who would refuse to let them in for hours; he'd seen them sitting resignedly on their front steps, getting a head start on their homework. Sean didn't have any sisters, though-- or any brothers, for that matter, which he regretted slightly more-- and his mother let him in, as usual, almost at once.
"Hello, darling," she said, and kissed him on the cheek, then stepped back; he waited until she added, "You are welcome in my home," which was his official permission to come in.
"Thank you, mother," he said, bowing respectfully. "Beautiful weather outside."
"We try," said his mother, smiling, as Sean shrugged off his bookbag and went to hang it up. "How was school?"
"Good," said Sean, unzipping his bookbag. "We got report cards."
"Hand it over," said his mother, with mock sternness; Sean was already extracting the red envelope from between his history textbook and his animal husbandry one. He handed the envelope to his mother, who checked the seal more or less automatically-- she knew Sean wouldn't tamper with it-- before she broke it with a tap of her finger and slid out the single sheet inside. She sat down in her favorite blue chair, glancing it over, and Sean knelt down at her feet, waiting.
"Hmm," she said, putting her free hand on Sean's head and stroking his hair absently. "Not bad. Except for dexterity, but we weren't expecting much there, were we?"
Sean ducked his head, a little sheepishly; he wasn't clumsy, exactly, but he seemed hopeless with all kinds of complicated machinery.
"Maybe your father can help you practice a little at home," said his mother. "Good marks in everything else, though. Endurance, sensitivity, deportment, obedience, attentiveness, punctuality, memory, literacy." She smiled down at him. "Good boy."
He beamed back up at her, and she ruffled his hair before she handed him the sheet.
"Go show your father," she said. "He's in the kitchen, making dinner."
Sean bounced to his feet, turned to bow again to his mother, and then galloped into the kitchen, where his father was, as his mother had prophesied, stirring something on the stove.
"Hey, kiddo," he said, smiling at Sean, and took the report card Sean held out to him. "What's this-- oh, well, look at you! Aren't you just the little well-rounded stud? Well, except for dexterity..."
"My mother said maybe you could help me practice," said Sean, refusing to let the one poor mark ruin his pleasure, especially since his mother hadn't been angry about it.
"Happy to," said his father. "Start by making the salad for me, will you?"
"Sure," said Sean, and headed for the refrigerator to take out a head of lettuce. "How was your day, Tim?"
"I've had worse," his father answered, turning to smile at Sean again. "Got a commendation at work, for diligence. And I gather your mother had a good day at work, too. Something about percentages of cumulonimbal conversion... I don't know, it's all over my head. You?"
"Mine was good, too," said Sean, now washing the lettuce, leaf by leaf. "We're doing apple harvests, in farming, and that's fun. The history of it is pretty interesting, too-- how uncertain the crops used to be, and stuff. Oh, guess what-- David fell asleep in world history."
"Ouch," said his father, wincing in sympathy.
"But the teacher didn't even punish him," said Sean. "She just yelled at him a little and then told him to go back to his seat and stay awake. You should have seen the look on his face. He thought he was dead for sure-- especially when she was talking about sending a note home to his mother."
"Well, that was nice of your teacher," said his father. "I just hope David doesn't make a habit of falling asleep when women are talking to him."
"He doesn't," said Sean, tearing lettuce carefully into the big blue bowl. "I think he was out late last night, with Jessica."
"Ah," said his father indulgently. "Well, I don't know that I think too badly of his priorities. How about you, son? Any big plans for the weekend?"
"I, uh, I might just go to the recreation center early, tomorrow," said Sean. "See if anybody-- wants me. I'm sort of up for grabs right now."
"You are?" His father turned, frowning slightly. "What about Elise?"
Sean's hands paused before they kept shredding the lettuce. "Um-- she's sort of-- mad at me."
Unfortunately, his mother chose that moment to be passing the kitchen door, and she stopped. "Who's mad at you?"
"Um." Sean turned to face her, and lowered his eyes, feeling his good mood drain away as a knot formed in the pit of his stomach. "Elise."
"Oh, Sean," said his mother, concerned, and coming further into the room. "Why?"
"Well-- the last time she took me home-- her father was there," said Sean. "And she was mad at him-- I don't know why-- and she started-- um, hurting him. And I-- I just said-- maybe she should wait until her mother got home. I mean, isn't it her mother's job to punish him, if he needs punishing?"
"Sean," said his mother, and Sean gulped; her voice was deadly serious. "Son, while that's true, and while I appreciate your tender heart, you must never, never attempt to tell a woman how to use her own power. Her mother may correct her, or another woman, but you do not have-- no male has-- the right to tell any female that she ought not to be using her power as she sees fit. Is that perfectly clear?"
"Yes, mother," said Sean, already kneeling under her reprimand, praying fervently to Gaia that she'd consider a verbal warning enough, and not reinforce it with physical punishment. "I'm sorry, mother."
"Sean," his mother sighed, and he flinched as she stooped down and laid a hand on his back, but she wasn't punishing him, just touching him. "You're such a sweet boy-- but sometimes I worry that you don't really understand how important it is, at this stage in your life, to be pleasing to girls."
He kept his eyes down, grateful for the gentleness of her hand on him, as he answered, "I'm sorry, mother. I'll-- I'll try harder."
"Do," said his mother, and took her hand off him, and held it out to raise him to his feet. He smiled apologetically down at her, and she smoothed his hair back from his face, still looking worried. "Do you think you can make up with Elise?"
"Maybe," said Sean, although really, the last thing he wanted was to make up with Elise, and end up stuck with her as a protectrix. He didn't care what anybody said-- Elise was mean. Better no protectrix than a cruel one, he thought-- after all, how bad could the men's centers really be? All the men he knew were pretty nice. And they certainly couldn't hurt you as badly as women could.
He knew his mother wouldn't like that, though, so he added meekly, "I'll try, mother. Honestly I will."
"Do," his mother repeated, and touched his cheek, once, before she turned abruptly away.
Also, I had a request for an index post, for ease of organization and reccing-- that's coming right up after this.
Thanks for reading and commenting, everybody. :) More specific replies to comments coming soon.
Sean wished the most boring period of the day at school, and the one where it was most crucial to pay attention, didn't come right at the end, when all the boys were tired and fidgety, wanting to go home. Almost everything at school was actually pretty fun-- hands-on practice for various kinds of labor, with male teaching assistants who were usually too nice to send you to the principal for discipline. Of course, your written reports had to be turned in to the actual teachers, who were always lurking in the background taking notes, but Sean could usually get lost enough in whatever he was doing to forget about that, and he hardly ever got in trouble anyway; he liked getting things right.
But world history-- sitting and listening and taking notes till your hand cramped while the teacher talked about the atrocities women had suffered over the millennia before the Enlightenment, and the brutality of men's essential nature, and the care that had to be taken to prevent them from reverting to type-- Sean had to restrain himself from staring at the clock on the wall, counting down the minutes before he got to go home. He did restrain himself, though; it wasn't even remotely worth the danger of getting caught. Time would pass whether he counted the minutes or not.
"Once men realized the implications of the new female power," the teacher droned, "there was massive panic. Brutal reprisals were made-- girl children were stabbed and strangled before they could reach menarche, or held hostage to try to extort restraint from their mothers. Women quickly realized that some form of organization was necessary, including a radical re-structuring of the family unit as it existed at that time. In almost all countries, a form of marriage-- the official, governmentally sanctioned authority of a given man over a given woman and any children she managed to bear-- was recognized at that time."
She paused ominously, and most of the classroom tensed, except one boy, who was-- oh, shit-- asleep on his notebook, in a puddle of inky drool. His neighbor belatedly kicked him, and he woke up, blinking slowly, the look of puzzlement on his face slowly shifting to one of utter and unconditional panic as he stared up at the teacher.
"Am I boring you, David?" the teacher asked coolly. "Perhaps you'd find the principal's office more entertaining."
David went to his knees beside his desk, pressing his forehead to the floor.
"Or are you simply tired?" the teacher went on. "Do you not get enough sleep at night, David? Should I send a note home to your mother?"
David quivered on the floor, his whole body a silent plea.
"Get back in your seat," said the teacher, "and let's see if you can stay awake this time."
None of the boys were stupid enough to murmur or sigh aloud, but a nearly audible rustle of relaxation went through the room at the realization that she was going to let David off with a warning. Nobody relished the prospect of another boy's punishment, and although David's probably wouldn't have been public, you couldn't have helped knowing. The teacher's mercy gave Sean a good feeling that wasn't marred even by the slight apprehension when she distributed the skinny red envelopes holding their report cards for the quarter.
"We'll need your mother's or legal protectrix' seal on these when you return them on Monday," she said, and one boy raised his hand. "Yes, Chris?"
"My mother's out of town all weekend," he said nervously.
"When will she be back?"
"Wednesday."
"I'll write a note to verify that," said the teacher, "and you may return your sealed report card on Thursday or Friday. Any other questions?"
There were no other questions.
"Class dismissed."
They rose, row by row, and filed quietly from the room.
Once they were outside, a little more running and rough-housing was tolerated, though not encouraged. Some of the boys had girlfriends waiting for them outside, ready to slip a hand into theirs and lead them off somewhere, but Elise was nowhere to be seen, and Sean wasn't really surprised; moreover, as he admitted to himself, he wasn't disappointed, either. He climbed the steps of the bus, his bookbag pulling only slightly at his shoulders-- he had hardly any homework for the weekend, which added to his feeling of general wellbeing as he nodded to the male bus driver and settled into a seat with a small, unobtrusive sigh of relief. The bus lurched into motion, and he was on his way home.
At his stop, he flipped his hand up in goodbye to the other boys and headed down the walk at a leisurely stroll-- the localized weather was particularly nice today, balmy with a small, pleasant breeze; he should compliment his mother-- then up the steps to his own small house, and knocked confidently at the door. He was glad his mother didn't make him wait for ages on the doorstep, the way some guys' mothers did. Other guys, even less fortunate, had sisters at home who would refuse to let them in for hours; he'd seen them sitting resignedly on their front steps, getting a head start on their homework. Sean didn't have any sisters, though-- or any brothers, for that matter, which he regretted slightly more-- and his mother let him in, as usual, almost at once.
"Hello, darling," she said, and kissed him on the cheek, then stepped back; he waited until she added, "You are welcome in my home," which was his official permission to come in.
"Thank you, mother," he said, bowing respectfully. "Beautiful weather outside."
"We try," said his mother, smiling, as Sean shrugged off his bookbag and went to hang it up. "How was school?"
"Good," said Sean, unzipping his bookbag. "We got report cards."
"Hand it over," said his mother, with mock sternness; Sean was already extracting the red envelope from between his history textbook and his animal husbandry one. He handed the envelope to his mother, who checked the seal more or less automatically-- she knew Sean wouldn't tamper with it-- before she broke it with a tap of her finger and slid out the single sheet inside. She sat down in her favorite blue chair, glancing it over, and Sean knelt down at her feet, waiting.
"Hmm," she said, putting her free hand on Sean's head and stroking his hair absently. "Not bad. Except for dexterity, but we weren't expecting much there, were we?"
Sean ducked his head, a little sheepishly; he wasn't clumsy, exactly, but he seemed hopeless with all kinds of complicated machinery.
"Maybe your father can help you practice a little at home," said his mother. "Good marks in everything else, though. Endurance, sensitivity, deportment, obedience, attentiveness, punctuality, memory, literacy." She smiled down at him. "Good boy."
He beamed back up at her, and she ruffled his hair before she handed him the sheet.
"Go show your father," she said. "He's in the kitchen, making dinner."
Sean bounced to his feet, turned to bow again to his mother, and then galloped into the kitchen, where his father was, as his mother had prophesied, stirring something on the stove.
"Hey, kiddo," he said, smiling at Sean, and took the report card Sean held out to him. "What's this-- oh, well, look at you! Aren't you just the little well-rounded stud? Well, except for dexterity..."
"My mother said maybe you could help me practice," said Sean, refusing to let the one poor mark ruin his pleasure, especially since his mother hadn't been angry about it.
"Happy to," said his father. "Start by making the salad for me, will you?"
"Sure," said Sean, and headed for the refrigerator to take out a head of lettuce. "How was your day, Tim?"
"I've had worse," his father answered, turning to smile at Sean again. "Got a commendation at work, for diligence. And I gather your mother had a good day at work, too. Something about percentages of cumulonimbal conversion... I don't know, it's all over my head. You?"
"Mine was good, too," said Sean, now washing the lettuce, leaf by leaf. "We're doing apple harvests, in farming, and that's fun. The history of it is pretty interesting, too-- how uncertain the crops used to be, and stuff. Oh, guess what-- David fell asleep in world history."
"Ouch," said his father, wincing in sympathy.
"But the teacher didn't even punish him," said Sean. "She just yelled at him a little and then told him to go back to his seat and stay awake. You should have seen the look on his face. He thought he was dead for sure-- especially when she was talking about sending a note home to his mother."
"Well, that was nice of your teacher," said his father. "I just hope David doesn't make a habit of falling asleep when women are talking to him."
"He doesn't," said Sean, tearing lettuce carefully into the big blue bowl. "I think he was out late last night, with Jessica."
"Ah," said his father indulgently. "Well, I don't know that I think too badly of his priorities. How about you, son? Any big plans for the weekend?"
"I, uh, I might just go to the recreation center early, tomorrow," said Sean. "See if anybody-- wants me. I'm sort of up for grabs right now."
"You are?" His father turned, frowning slightly. "What about Elise?"
Sean's hands paused before they kept shredding the lettuce. "Um-- she's sort of-- mad at me."
Unfortunately, his mother chose that moment to be passing the kitchen door, and she stopped. "Who's mad at you?"
"Um." Sean turned to face her, and lowered his eyes, feeling his good mood drain away as a knot formed in the pit of his stomach. "Elise."
"Oh, Sean," said his mother, concerned, and coming further into the room. "Why?"
"Well-- the last time she took me home-- her father was there," said Sean. "And she was mad at him-- I don't know why-- and she started-- um, hurting him. And I-- I just said-- maybe she should wait until her mother got home. I mean, isn't it her mother's job to punish him, if he needs punishing?"
"Sean," said his mother, and Sean gulped; her voice was deadly serious. "Son, while that's true, and while I appreciate your tender heart, you must never, never attempt to tell a woman how to use her own power. Her mother may correct her, or another woman, but you do not have-- no male has-- the right to tell any female that she ought not to be using her power as she sees fit. Is that perfectly clear?"
"Yes, mother," said Sean, already kneeling under her reprimand, praying fervently to Gaia that she'd consider a verbal warning enough, and not reinforce it with physical punishment. "I'm sorry, mother."
"Sean," his mother sighed, and he flinched as she stooped down and laid a hand on his back, but she wasn't punishing him, just touching him. "You're such a sweet boy-- but sometimes I worry that you don't really understand how important it is, at this stage in your life, to be pleasing to girls."
He kept his eyes down, grateful for the gentleness of her hand on him, as he answered, "I'm sorry, mother. I'll-- I'll try harder."
"Do," said his mother, and took her hand off him, and held it out to raise him to his feet. He smiled apologetically down at her, and she smoothed his hair back from his face, still looking worried. "Do you think you can make up with Elise?"
"Maybe," said Sean, although really, the last thing he wanted was to make up with Elise, and end up stuck with her as a protectrix. He didn't care what anybody said-- Elise was mean. Better no protectrix than a cruel one, he thought-- after all, how bad could the men's centers really be? All the men he knew were pretty nice. And they certainly couldn't hurt you as badly as women could.
He knew his mother wouldn't like that, though, so he added meekly, "I'll try, mother. Honestly I will."
"Do," his mother repeated, and touched his cheek, once, before she turned abruptly away.
Oh, backstory!
Date: 2009-07-18 07:40 pm (UTC)