Derek called you Shoutin' Houton, but you didn't need to shout. Your voice possessed a certain tone that could silence everyone, so that your insults, delivered to an eight year old in front of the entire class, were delivered in complete silence. First you didn't like me because I was given accelerated English material. Then I disagreed with a mark you gave me on a spelling test. You didn't like my cursive, and chose to mark me incorrect. You informed me that my parents thought I was clever, but I wasn't. It occurs to me now that if you'd really thought there was a problem with me, you would have spoken to my parents. I'm not sure how lasting the satisfaction can be from insulting children, but I imagine you wrung as much pleasure our of it as your grim heart could allow.
That was 1979. You're probably dead, and that saddens me, because I'll never have the chance now to hurt you back.