joe caputo is my dad

My fourth grade teacher thought it was wrong for my dad to be teaching me complex math because it fascinated me.

My elementary school music teacher hated the way my piano teacher taught me, and how I was more advanced than many of her students, and so told me, in front of my peers and my mother, that I was not good enough to participate in the state solo festival. She would not give me the form. We had to procure it from the district instead. She also hated how I excelled at reading and playing music for the recorder, and so she refused to give me my “belts” (colored beads to signify our level) and humiliated me in front of the class repeatedly.

My eighth grade algebra teacher used to fail me on take home tests because I didn’t solve problems exactly the way she showed us in class; I used methods that we had learned for other types of problems that also applied to these. She took points off my tests because I didn’t bring a calculator even though I got 100% without it, because I was able to do it by hand. I had to call my father, who is an engineer, down to the school to shout her down and give me back my A in the class.

My 10th grade Spanish teacher yelled at me in front of the class numerous times because she didn’t like the way I took notes; she thought that since I didn’t write every word off the slide, I wasn’t getting it all down. I had to explain to her that people who have taken advanced courses, like AP or IB classes, know that in a fast-paced learning environment you need to take quick shorthand notes that contain the necessary information rather than wasting time writing every word. She almost gave me detention.

My 11th grade English teacher gave me a poor mark on my first short essay because she believed that I was looking up unnecessarily complex words in a thesaurus to try and get better marks. The phrases in question: “laced with expletives” and “bombarded”. She wouldn’t hear any defense from me.

My 11th grade history teacher failed me on an essay about the 1950s because I misread the prompt. Except the prompt wasn’t words; it was a political cartoon. One of the figures was clearly president Eisenhower, but the other I couldn’t place. My teacher would not tell us who it was. I labelled him as the governor of Little Rock Arkansas during the integration period, and wrote an essay about that subject. My teacher said that no, it was Joseph McCarthy, and that there was a small picture of the man in our textbook and therefore I should have recognized him instantly. Half the class, apparently, did not.

So yesterday my grandparents found a big box of old 78s that they’ve had in an attic for years, and wanted me to transfer them to CDs. Most were in pretty great shape, no cracks and few scratches. Lots of 1930s sweet/hot jazz, British big band & swing and a few Decca classical ones. This one had its label peeled/scratched off on the a side, on the reverse was a Parlophone march.

I saw this meme on Twitter that said “okay ladies now let’s gentrification” and y’all…it stuck with  me hard.  I’m trash, yes, but I really be entertaining myself.

*sing with me!*

Y'all Negroes corny with all that anti-protest mess Get some sheetcake, yell into it if you feel stressed This statue drama ain’t important, let’s do what’s best These guys aren’t racist, they’re just proud of their heritage

My daddy drives a tractor, Mamma can’t stand those rappers, You mix that pumpkin with that spice and get some All Lives Matter

I don’t like spicy just give me some avocados A venti skim latte with double shots espresso Earned all this money but to sing on key is far beyond me I got mayonnaise in my bag, swag

I see it, I want it Forreal tho, I want it You dreamed it, I stole it, appropriate til I own it My single sounds like Peaches, but y'all still hope it reaches The top spot, to cockblock that Bieber snot from achievin

Got my pussyhat (pussyhat), safety pin (safety pin), Marching ‘cause (marching 'cause), Hill ain’t win (Hill ain’t win)

And I’m stale (stale), I’m stale (well), I’m stale (oh hell), I’m stale (oh hell) Big Fail (oh hell), I’m stale (oh hell), I’m stale (oh hell), I’m stale (oh hell) We so stale (stale), so stale (oh hell), we stale (oh hell), I’m stale (oh hell) I’m stale (oh hell), oh hell (oh hell), I’m stale (oh hell), Oh hell, oh hell, oh hell, oh hell

Okay Harlem, here’s some gentrification, cause I’m stale Okay Oakland, here’s some gentrification, cause I’m stale Woodridge DC here go some gentrification, cause I’m stale Raise rents cause of gentrification

When the fuck is decent we go get some Panera When I almost came it’s cool, he tried, he’ll get better If he make me come, just once, I'ma call a win for that session Hasn’t happened yet, but I pray one day, it’ll get better

You gon hear my song played on the radio station You gon wanna die cause it’ll be on rotation My song is whack but y'all don’t care cause I’m Taylor You’re gonna buy my album just cause I’m Taylor

I see it, I want it Forreal tho, I want it You dreamed it, I stole it, appropriate til I own it My single sounds like Peaches, but y'all still hope it reaches The top spot, to cockblock that Bieber snot from achievin

Got my pussyhat (pussyhat), safety pin (safety pin), Marching 'cause (marching 'cause), Hill ain’t win (Hill ain’t win)

And I’m stale (stale), I’m stale (well), I’m stale (oh hell), I’m stale (oh hell) Big Fail (oh hell), I’m stale (oh hell), I’m stale (oh hell), I’m stale (oh hell) We so stale (stale), so stale (oh hell), we stale (oh hell), I’m stale (oh hell) I’m stale (oh hell), oh hell (oh hell), I’m stale (oh hell), Oh hell, oh hell, oh hell, oh hell

Okay Harlem, here’s some gentrification, cause I’m stale Okay Oakland, here’s some gentrification, cause I’m stale Woodridge DC here go some gentrification, cause I’m stale Raise rents cause of gentrification