In my comprehensive school the best pupils got given special pens. I was never one for hard work, so I didn't receive a pen in any of the weekly presentations. I longed for a pen for five years, knowing that it would take mental strength and courage to gain one, two attributes that I do not have.
In year 10, my politics teacher happened to be the headmaster aka The Pen Giver. An idea came to me; if I ask him for a pen, he will give me one. I asked. He refused. For two years I asked for a pen. Every Thursday at twenty past eleven, my requests were always met with "you have to earn the pen". At times I felt like doing my homework and doing well in class, which would probably have earned me a pen, but my laziness always prevailed.
My final year of comprehensive school drew ever closer. Still I was penless. My final politics lesson arrived, Thursday at twenty past eleven. "Please sir, can I have a pen? Theres not enough time to earn one". Yet again, I met a firm "No".
My final day came, I went through the compulsory shirt graffiti, photo taking and book signing. Still I had no pen. The end of day bell rang in my ears, I was to leave this place and never return, I was penless and depressed. I left the science room, bag on shoulder, tie on head. As I strolled up to front gates, I could see a familiar figure standing at the entrance. It was the headmaster. We exchanged our goodbyes and thank yous in a courteous manner. Once the words had run out, he held out his hand and I shook it. He turned and left, never to be seen again, because he moved to Italy soon after. I looked down at my hand, and there was the pen.
Is there a moral to this tale? Does it mean that you don't have to work hard at anything in life? Did I have the courage and mental strength to earn the pen all along and the headmaster saw this is my two years of begging? Was the pen just a metaphor? Did I even go to school that day?