The Menopausal Misery

Regular readers, anyone who knows me and vague passers by will be aware that The Boy is facing substantial problems at school at present.

You may not, however, be aware of the root cause of many of them.

Despite having been advised by many professionals with substantial expertise of working with people on the autistic spectrum, The Boy's headteacher (re-named, possibly cruelly, by myself as The Menopausal Misery) refuses to take on board anything of real value that has been suggested or submitted in regards to addressing his behaviour.

I have now had countless meetings with this sour faced, dowdy, regret sodden beast, who does not concede that The Boy's violence is due to his disability rather than due to a concious decision on his part.  I have endured such uneducated bile that I have had to pinch myself to stop myself from laughing at her.  I restrain myself from launching a full verbal attack on her, conducted in the most professional of manners of course, as I worry that there may be repercussions for The Boy if I do so.

There is really no forum for me to say what I really feel in regards to her behaviour, in regards to her obvious disdain for my son and others like him; in regards to her insistence that he be forced to adhere to her Victorian and authoritarian views of how a child should behave.

I have, of course, submitted a complaint.  It is very long, very detailed, and very professional.   There are things that I desire to say, and there is no place for them in such a letter.  There is no place for them anywhere really, no forum for me to express how I feel.

Except, I suppose, here.  Thus might I state, categorically and unequivocably from the safety of this blog that goes largely un-noticed by all but a few people, that she is the saddest person I have ever met. 

I severely doubt that she has ever made another person's face light up in happiness, or made someone laugh so hard that they have pig snorted in response.  I doubt that she has ever meant the world to anyone; that her absence has been felt so acutely by another that it causes pain; that someone has chosen her above everything else in the outside world and would rather be with her than anyone else.

I do not concede that anyone would give her their last piece of chocolate; that another would walk to a shop three miles away at 3am to get her a loaf of bread or a packet of chocolate buttons because she was sick and that was what she wanted.

What I do believe is that she is someone who is to be pitied.  Clearly, she has lived a life that has not included a loving parent, and how terribly sad that is, not just for her but for every child who is entrusted to her care as a headmistress.

As an aside, her bosom is also so terribly uncared for that I believe she could sweep the dirty streets with the sagging mound of flesh that she refers to as nipples, and frankly this would be a job that was much more suited to her natural abilities and talents than the position that she is currently employed in.