the f-bomb. Today in school we had an assembly with a group from the circus that's in town for a show. I used to love the circus but lately the clowns and the acrobats make me scared and sad just the same way the high wire guys and trapeze people make me nervous and jumpy thinking they'll fall and I can't watch and soon it's not even worth going even for the cotton candy and the popcorn, and that's bad.
Acrobats and clowns and jugglers were all over the stage in their bright stretch pajamas and funny hats. After what seemed like ten hours of stupid gags that would've been funny to the first graders but not to me since I'm grown up now, one of the little flipping acrobat guys came up to the microphone by the side of the stage where our principal, Mrs. Milbran, stood looking like a dork.
"Sank ee-yoo so, so, match for yore velcomes." He sounded like he could be Boris Badinov's little brother or Natasha's son if she and Boris even have a son. (Rocky and Bullwinkle--now that's funny stuff!)
The applause died down and that's when Terry shouted out real loud, "F--- the French."
I shrank deep into my seat next to him with my sweatshirt up over my head because I didn't want the principal or my teachers to think I yelled it. It turned out there wasn't any chance of that happening, 'cause Terry stood up and pointed his bad finger at the confused looking little guy and yelled it again, and then again and again, giving the finger with both hands and double pumping his arms before Mr. Ritzman came and dragged him away as the jugglers and clowns and tumblers all watched, looking sadder than usual.
It turned out he got four days suspended, and in order to even get the bus driver to pick him up he has to write a letter of apology to be posted on the bulletin board at the principal's office and he has to write another special apology to the Ukrainian performers from the circus he offended by calling them French.