Sorry, in my dreams last night I recalled one of my many angers.
My history teacher at Grammar School was an Intelligence Agent in WWII. He was a hero. He’d even married a Scandinavian Princess.
His trick, with eleven to fifteen-year olds, was to grip the hair of one of the seated boys before him. He gripped the hair just above the ear, and twisted. The idea was to force a boy's forehead down until it hit his desktop. The pain of having your hair twisted and pulled like that is excruciating.
Passive resistance hurts like hell. My head never moved, and, surprise, surprise, by the time I was an older teenager, over 6 foot tall, with lots of bone and muscle, he was as nice as pie to me. I can laugh about it now, and say that's the explanation for my slightly receding hairline.
But now it's nearly 50 years later. Why do I sometimes dream about it and wake up angry?
How strange, the way the subconscious works.
1 year ago