What did you learn in school today
Dear little boy of mine?
What did you learn in school today
Dear little boy of mine?
I learned that Washington never told a lie
I learned that soldiers seldom die
I learned that everybody’s free
And that’s what the teacher said to me
And that’s what I learned in school today
That’s what I learned in school
And what did you learn in school today
Dear little boy of mine?
What did you learn in school today
Dear little boy of mine?
I learned the policemen are my friends
I learned that justice never ends
I learned that murderers die for their crimes
Even if we make a mistake sometimes
And that’s what I learned in school today
Thats what I learned in school
And what did you learn in school today
Dear little boy of mine?
What did you learn in school today
Dear little boy of mine?
I learned that war is not so bad
I learned about the great ones we had had
We fought in Germany and in France
And some day I might get my chance
And that’s what I learned in school today
Thats what I learned in school
And what did you learn in school today
Dear little boy of mine?
What did you learn in school today
Dear little boy of mine?
I learned our government must be strong
It’s always right and never wrong!
Our leaders are the finest men
And we elect them again and again
And that’s what I learned in school today
That’s what I learned in school
Tom Paxton
Photo by cottonbro studio: https://www.pexels.com
Once off the bus it was only a couple of minutes walk home at the end of the school day for Timmy. It was so familiar to him that most times he found himself opening the porch door having somehow got home on autopilot. Often he wouldn’t even be looking at his phone as he walked, just kind of dreaming. Once in the house he’d shout ‘Hi’ if he thought anyone was in, put the tv on, dive onto the couch and get to work on his tablet.
Today had been a good day at school; not an exciting day (it was school!) but more interesting than some. They’d had a shooter drill lockdown for a start and it interrupted a civics and divinity class as a bonus. He liked shooter drills. Basically, the teacher would lock the classroom door and they all got under their desks and kept quiet. They hadn’t armed the teachers yet but it was rumoured that they would for next term; he’d heard a couple of teachers talking in the corridor. One, a woman, had been protesting that she was a teacher not a security guard. The other, a male sports teacher, had said that if any deranged migrant kid got in with a gun he’d be more than happy to shoot the shit out of him. They’d looked at each other across an immense gulf for a moment and then carried on walking towards the staff room.
A lot of the teachers and other staff who actually seemed to like kids and their jobs had left mid-year. Timmy had come back after a break and found three or four new teachers, none of whom seemed too happy to be there. Some were ex-military and seemed to think keeping discipline was about shouting. The latest to go was the school librarian. She had been nice. She had pointed Timmy towards books he might like and talked to him as if he were worth taking an interest in. There weren’t many books worth reading on the shelves any more though. Timmy guessed she’d gone because more and more of her job had been about weeding out books the school board thought were lewd or left-leaning or woke or just different. His school didn’t really do different. It was a white school in a white community and any black kids who turned up didn’t stay long either in the school or in the community. Anyone who didn’t really fit in moved away. Everyone felt better among their own kind his mum used to say. Timmy knew that was somehow about politics and that people didn’t talk about that so much anymore – they either shouted or did something worse.
Timmy sometimes felt that arming some teachers would be at least as risky as arming a deranged migrant kid. For instance, what about old Mr Vale? He was so old he’d taught Timmy’s mum and dad. He was ok though but if he tried to write something on the board his hand shook so much no-one could read a thing. Give him a gun and he would be as likely to shoot himself or some kids as any invading shooter. Then old Mr Vale left quite suddenly: he was actually escorted from the premises. Word had got out that he was teaching civics in an unpatriotic way. It turned out he was encouraging a discussion of the separation of church and state and he called Christianity and Islam two great world religions. A couple of parents had complained and that was that. As well as Mr Vale, some of the kids in Timmy’s year were seriously weird. One was always talking about things he’d shot over the weekend and claimed he owned several guns of his own as well as being able to use any from his dad’s collection. He was quite a puny kid but no-one risked bullying him just in case. Once he sneaked a gun in, hid it in the flower bed and showed it to them at break. He broke it down, oiled and reassembled it like an expert.
A couple of girls had been upset by the drill. They cried and held on to each other under their desk. It didn’t seem to matter that Mrs Heggerty kept shouting that it was just a drill and everyone was safe. Not surprising really; they’d come from another school mid-year. It turned out that an ex-student there had decided to return and shoot anyone he could and they’d seen some of it. Strangely, none of the class made fun of them for crying and some of the bigger boys, not usually noted for their compassion, offered to protect them if it happened there.
The drill was followed by a whole school assembly and debrief. They had all behaved well said the Principal and, while it would almost certainly never be more than a drill in their sleepy old town, it was always best to be prepared.
So they’d missed civics and divinity and he really didn’t mind. He already knew the script. It was mainly stuff about how lucky they were to live in the second promised land with good, god-fearing people and a president who stood for everything that was best about their great country. They lived in the land of the free, defended by the mightiest military in the world, dedicated to protecting them and the constitution and keeping out the huge number of migrants desperate for some of what they had as a god-given right.
Timmy didn’t always feel lucky. Sure his mum and dad were still together but it didn’t always feel like a happy home. They argued a lot. After an argument his dad usually went out and got drunk. When he got home there would be another argument. He would lie in bed listening to the shouting and, sometimes, to a smash as something was knocked over or thrown. The local church had become more and more important in his mum’s life. She attended a lot and often dragged Timmy along. She’d give him little pep talks about how God knew everything and saw everything and then just look at him. Timmy was pretty sure God didn’t know what he got up to but either way, as long as his mum didn’t find out he was not going to lose any sleep over it. Mostly what he got up to was on his tablet or his phone. He’d long since bypassed parental controls and spent time looking at pornography, influencers, stuff about shooting and shooters and conspiracy sites. He got a lot of his opinions and facts that way. He had a couple of aliases which made him feel cool. He’d join in the chat and soon learnt that the more extreme the views he expressed the more appreciated he was. His mum suddenly stopped pressuring him to go with her to church; she said he was old enough to make up his own mind. If anything she stepped up her own attendance though, going more often and for longer.
The pastor thought of himself as a sinner among sinners, doing what he could to support his flock in times of need and keep them on the road to salvation. He was particularly driven to support women, especially those who reached out to him for help and were under forty-five or so. One time Timmy came home from school mid-afternoon because there’d been a teacher walkout about a new school board edict against female teachers wearing trousers. He came in and slumped as usual on the sofa and put the tv on. He heard some dull thumping from upstairs but couldn’t be bothered to investigate. After a few minutes his mother and the pastor came down the stairs and his mum explained that they had been praying together. Timmy knew what sex was: it was what men did to women. He’d read about it and watched it most days for a long time.
He was a quiet, shy boy. He had a couple of friends at school and that helped. If he had to speak to a teacher or was asked to answer a question in front of the class mostly he would blush and panic. Sometimes he would stutter. He got ragged for that both in class and later but he kept his head down when he could and he coped.
Timmy liked science. Being 2026 it was a discipline spreading out from a creationist core so biology was a somewhat restricted curriculum. Evolution had taken six days and that was that. Timmy knew not everyone believed in creationism; he had found an old text book on the bookshelf, long overdue at the school library that had long-since stopped trying to get it back and had deleted it from their catalogue, and he could access web-sites. He had been stupid enough to ask a question in lesson about whether creationism was the only theory out there. First he was told it wasn’t a theory it was a fact, as stated in the bible. He’d been given a detention and a letter had gone home. His mum had read it before he could intercept it and she had given him a very hard time. It didn’t do to voice doubts at school or in front of his mum.
So Timmy had learned to hide what he felt and thought, to say and do the right thing and dissemble.
And one day he couldn’t do it any more.
