When I was around eight, our class teacher made us do this exercise one language class. She said we could write any three things about one person from the class, bad or good.
After a lot of struggle and pencil sharpening and erasing, we were all finally done. Even Turhan had finished. We all had bones to pick with someone or the other. What a great opportunity to legitimately voice them.

We all read out our essays.

They were hilarious. Everyone had a ball giggling on the criticisms of their classmates. Then one boy stood up. His name started with a U so he was towards the end. He didn’t have too many friends, and actually was the son of some teacher, which was probably how he could afford the tuition. His bags were always local and way uncool, and his shoes had the terrible worn out look of hand me downs. Social suicide to a eigth year old.

His essay was different in two ways. One, he had written about a girl who was his friend. Second, he spoke about three good things instead of bad.

He was the only one in the class to do so either.

I remember briefly pausing a moment in awe. In awe of his indifference to social custom, in awe of his ability to just say exactly what he felt like saying without worrying about which classmates would laugh at him. In awe because it was so many years before teenage rebellion would become cool. But that was just a moment. The snickers started, then the teasing, then the “X & U, sitting on a tree, K.I.S.S.I.N.G”. he had tears in his eyes before home time that day.

Many many many years too late, I salute him. I’m sorry U.