I failed a lot of classes.

Have you ever failed a class? Oh daddy. I have failed classes. Failed hard. Hard as a dick. Not just 'didn't pass', a full blown, disrespectful fail. I ended up graduating high school with honours, but MAN, before the end? I failed a BUNCH of classes. Subjects from east to west. Subjects that you should know and others that don't really matter. I've failed them all! There are reasons for all of these, most notably that at the time I did not care at all about these classes. First class I ever failed? 

Swim Class - YMCA - This was not a class class in the school sense, but I failed it. I was about ten when this happened. I could never swim. I was always horrified of the water. For Christmas, my mom bought me lessons at the Y, and I remembered seeing this and being horrified. I didn't want to go. I did not learn how to swim then. I failed a class at the Y. They failed me. You think they'd go, 'Well, we couldn't teach him. He'll learn someday.' But no, they said, 'We couldn't teach him. He FAILED to learn how to swim. Just awful. This thing will NEVER swim.' I thought at this time, 'what ever. I don't need to swim. Not me, not ever.' 

Keyboarding - Grade 10 - I'm not even sure how I got into this class. I don't know if I had to take it or if I chose it. I'm assuming that I chose it, that I believed in grade 10, 'Hey, this will be an easy credit!' But, I was also smoking weed and not caring about school. Sitting there in that class, pushing buttons repeatedly for an hour, I just didn't care. Just typing the same things over and over for hours. 

'Okay, class. We're going to type 'This class is insanely hard for a 16 year old from a bad place to pay attention to' for the first forty minutes. Then, you're head will explode. And make sure you keep typing when it does!'

Failed this class HARD. I believe I was given a 21. For the year. I figured then that I would never learn to type. Just figured, 'Won't need to do this. Computers are stupid. I'll just stay away from them.' That was dumb. I am typing now. And today, I would pass that class! And now, this class is pretty useless. Today people are on keyboards before they even come out of the womb. 

'Why are you eating an iPad?'

'My unborn is bored. Keeps kicking. Thought I'd send down some candy crush.'

'Do you know how dangerous that is?'

'Do you know how dangerous a bored kid is? Probably not. YOU'RE not a parent. Hand me that Sriracha. This iPad is ROUGH.'

Math - Grade 10 - This class? WOA. I TRULY failed this class. I was given a 5 in this class. A 5. Out of a hundred. At the end of the year, the teacher said he'd be able to give me extra points if I could turn my 5 percent into a fraction. I said I think if I could do that, I think he would've given me a six. He wasn't a fan of that.

'You think this is a joke?'

'Well, no. But a 5 is kind of hilarious. I mean, I thought you'd get more than that just for showing up.'

'You didn't show up a lot.'

'Yes. Yes, this is true.'

This class was interesting. Nobody cared about it. A guy got robbed of his mini disc player during class. No one really paid attention to the teacher. I failed the BALLS off of this one. You'd have to work to get a 5 in a class. I mean, you might have to fight a teacher. Give him a razors edge through his desk. You might have to set your books on fire. Even then, someone might go, 'Well, Jesus. They're troubled. Give them a 10.'

English - Grade 10- Now, as you can see, grade 10 wasn't a good year for me. I was just failing it all. I was skipping school almost daily, smoking weed and listening to Cash Money. This english class? FAILED. Some mark in the 20's. We were supposed to read Catcher In The Rye, and when the teacher said that the man who shot John Lennon had this book in his pocket, I was high or hung over, and I heard that in the book, the man shoots John Lennon. I read the whole thing for this reason, waiting for the main character to shoot this Beatle. Get to the last five pages, and thought, 'Wow, he's going to shoot a Beatle, and they are going to wrap that up quick. This book is.... Oh man. No dead Beatle.' Most of my writing about the book was 'The main character didn't shoot a Beatle!' The teacher pulled me aside and said, 'Nathan, when I was talking about this book you were drunk. I'm failing you.' Another class in the bag. The wrong bag. 

Science - Grade 10 - Now, this one I didn't fail. TECHNICALLY. Should have. Oh baby, should have failed this hard. This one shouldn't have even been a thought. Not even been close. The ONLY reason I didn't fail this class, is that the day we were supposed to write the exam, the teacher had a heart attack. Yep. True story. Since he couldn't get the exams to us, due to his heart attack, the school passed us. I was given a fifty. A barely pass 50. But I'm telling you, if I had to write that exam? FAIL HARD. A heart attack saved my life. I'll never be able to claim that again. 

Chemistry - Grade 11 - The heart attack of the teacher the previous year did nothing to help me here. Not a thing. The teacher I had for this class actually wrote out science book. Serious. One day, he was teaching us something, and went 'oh, that's wrong. It was right at the time, but now, not right.' Wrote the book! I missed a class once, came back, and everyone was talking about 'the mole'. A science thing. Had no idea what was going on, and never caught up. Rest of the year, I wrote jokes in during the class. Ended up with a 20 something. Some good jokes though. Probably not. I was 15. I think I wrote one about how quick girls were developing. That one day they would just be born looking like Pamela Anderson. Failed HARD.

Math - Grade 10 (Again) - Now, this time, oh man. Failed AGAIN. But actually, didn't end up failing. I tried here. I think. I had a forty something or maybe less before the end of the year. My teacher liked me. He said if you take these text books upstairs, I'll give you the points you need to pass. So, I carried math text books from one room to another. Passed that class, but should I have? Oh no. That was a fail. 

Canadian History - Grade 11 - Now, this one, IS my fault. I believe I was given a 49 in this class. One point from having the credit and being able to move up the ranks of the Canadian History hero's hall of fame. This was because I failed yes, but the teacher did not like me. A 49 is a slap in the face. Rather have a zero. Just come to my house and punch me in the face. Failed this thing though, hard. I talked a bunch, didn't do work, asked a million questions the teacher didn't want to answer, and generally just didn't care. I thought, 'Canadian History? When will I need this? Who cares!' And was given a 49. Which, yes, I failed, but I mean, come on. 

Math - Grade 11 - Me and Math, man. I can do it. Well, I can do it. But did I care to? No. I cannot, or could not, sit and do work without asking questions about it. It was impossible for me to do. I asked a million questions in this class. I was kicked out, had to do my math work in the office. Office, baby. This class? FAIled. Hard. 

Failed eight classes in my life. Kicked out of more and suspended more there over. Good? No. Would I do it all again? Sure. You haven't lived until you've failed a class. This part is not true, but still, you want to pass ALL of your classes, loser? Ugh. 

@nathanmacintosh

Best Dancer In High School.

There was a point in high school where I was drinking a ton and was really depressed. I didn't really know at the time that I was depressed, but I wasn't in a good place. I hated going to school, just hated it. I was showing up to school hung over every Thursday. Me and some friends called Wednesday 'Wasted Wednesday'. I was going to improv classes, then meeting up with friends at a place we called 'The Bar.' The Bar was a flipped over fridge we found in the woods. Every single Wednesday, we'd meet at 'The Bar' and drink. I'd drink a full quart of rum to myself, then go to school the next day. I was going to school every Thursday like I had lost my job at the plant. 

"Nathan, you okay? You look terrible. The factory shut down?"

"No. 'Wasted' and 'Wednesday' sort of go together. That's it."

Every Thursday, the first class I had was english. At 9 am. I would basically be crawling in there. One day after class my teacher stopped me. 

"Nathan, I know you're showing up to class drunk."

"I'm not drunk. I'm hung over. And can you be little quieter? My head is going to explode."

I was in a bad way. One time in this class, I had my head on a desk trying not to spin or whatever the hell was happening, and a girl looked at me and said 'You're hot'. Now, had I not been hung over, my head pounding and this girls voice not destroying my fibre, I might have responded differently. But all of that happening, I said 'Fuck you.' That was my response. 'Fuck you.' Just awful. 

I was really down, and on a path to nothing good. I decided after grade 10 that I wasn't going to go to school for the first semester of grade 11. Just wasn't going to do it. Everyone told me that I'd never go back to school. Every single person told me that I'd never go back and finish high school. I knew that I would. I knew I would go back and finish school, I just needed to change some things. I took the time off of school, got a job, and quit drinking every single week. 

"Nathan, you okay? You look alright. The factory open back up?"

"No. I just decided to stop drinking like my wife passed away in a car accident."

I started to be in a better mood. I started to hang out with people who were fun, didn't need to drink and do drugs, and were into the same things I was. I started to think more positively. And I started to think about going back to school the next semester. Also started to think that I wanted to go back in a different way. I wanted to be that dude at dances. You know, THAT dude, the guy that had people circling him. The guy that was crushing it on the floor. Wanted to go back and be that guy. I remember walking around the dances before I stopped going to school, and I felt weird and out of place. I didn't like it. I would only try to dance with girls that I was friends with, and pretty much only slow dances. Then, 'the dude' would just start tearing it up. People would be excited. People would circle around, jump around and smile. 

So, I set out to do that. At the time I had started to really love Michael Jackson. I don't remember why, or really how it started, but I loved the man. I bought everything, and I'd come home after work and learn the moves in my mirror. I would dance to Michael Jackson, staring at the mirror, thinking of being the dude in school. This went on for months. Me working a fast food job, coming home, tossing on Michael and power dancing in my mirror. 

"Nathan, you okay? You look greasy and tired. The music factory start up again?"

"I'm started not to know what these comments mean. Please stop them."

After that full semester of working and dancing alone, I went back to school. Before a dance rolled around, there was a karaoke contest in the school. I signed up. Could I sing? Not at all. I hadn't come home after working a fast food job and sang in the mirror. So what did I do? I danced. I danced to Billy Jean. Had all the moves down. I was up there feeling great. I knew I didn't sing so I didn't think I was going to win, but I just wanted to perform. The contest winner was based on audience applause, and I won. I won a t-shirt I'm pretty sure. I was so excited. People were telling me how great it was. Dancing in my mirror alone like a nut paid off. 

"Nathan, you okay? You dance at night alone for the future enjoyment of others. You want a job at a factory instead?'

"I swear to christ, stop this."

Dances came around, and I became that dude. Well, one of the guys. There was another dude in my school who break danced. He was great. We would be the dudes at dances. People wanted me at dances. They'd come around, and people would ask me if I was going. Lots of people. I put on shows at school with another friend of mine who was a pop locker. I had a bunch of confidence and was having fun. I wasn't hurting anybody, mostly myself. Wasn't drinking or doing drugs. I was doing good in school. Having fun with just life. This went on for a couple years, and I was voted best dancer in my high school. Was I that good? No, but I was known. And I mean, how many people are even dancing in high school? 

Now, I didn't think that was thing that would upset anyone, but it did. There was someone in my school who hated that I was voted best dancer. They thought they could dance better than me. When they would see me in the hall, they would start dancing. Just stop mid conversation, and start dancing. 

"Yeah, you know, I'm probably going to go to that par..."

Then he'd see me and just start crushing. I knew he was mad at me, but I didn't get it. He wasn't dancing at school. I asked him once if he wanted to put on a show with me. We could both dance, entertain people. He just stared at me, then was like 'naw, man. I ain't into that.' Okay, well I tried. I thought that would be the end of it, but one time while walking home from the store, a guy came out of nowhere.

"Yo, you think you can dance better than my dude?"

It was winter time. I had a big coat on, was holding some gummy bears I had bought. 

"What? Who is your dude?"

"Yo, you serious? Yo, man, he don't know who you are!"

Then, also out of nowhere, came the guy who was mad I was voted best dancer. 

"You don't know who I am?"

"Yeah, I do man. I didn't know he met you. What's up?"

The other dude jumped back in.

"You think you can dance better than him?"

"Man, I never said that."

"Let's go around the corner and have a dance off."

This was actually said. This guy wanted me to have a dance off with his friend in the winter behind a bar. I'm guessing he'd be the judge? And this was exactly what I'd come up to him about in school! But do something like this in front of an audience, not in the snow behind a bar I used to go watch drunks fight in front of.

"No, man. I'm not doing that."

"Ahhh, look at that. He's scared to go around the corner with us because we're black and he thinks we'll rob him."

Not in anyway was that what I thinking. I was thinking 'it's cold. This is ridiculous. I'm going back to my friends house. Can I just eat these gummy bears.' Thought I'd run the show thing by him again.

"Dude, why don't we do this at school?"

"Naw, man. You scared."

Then, they walked away, and I walked away. We never had an interaction again, and I graduated soon after that. After school, pretty much quit dancing all together, and started doing comedy. In a lot of ways, should have kept dancing. Comedy does not NEARLY make women run like dancing does, and nobody has ever asked me to go behind a bar with them and have a joke off. There's no 'Step Up' movie about punchlines. 

"Yo, he can tell a joke? I bet he's good in bed."

None of that. But either way, for a little while, I was that dude.

Twitter @nathanmacintosh

I was expelled.

I was at one point, expelled from high school. I was told to leave the building for the rest of the year. Told to get out of every class, and the entire school. I was expelled in May. Less than 5 weeks before the end of the year. Expelled. What did I do? Did I threaten somebody? Did I come to school with a bag of kitana blades and hold up the cafeteria?

"Alright, that's it! Give me all the oatmeal chocolate chip muffins or I'm ninja-ing this whole place!"

Nope. I was expelled because I talk a lot. Well, on their side, I was expelled for disrupting class. Disrupting class at that time, with that vice principal, got me expelled. EXPELLED! Grade 12. And wasn't able to fight it. I had to go back the next year and do it again. I needed a bunch of credits. I don't seem like the type of person who would be expelled. Just to put it in perspective, another person who was expelled that year had maced a guy in the bathroom and stole his chain. THAT guy was expelled. AND me. For disrupting class. Not really the same thing. There was a guy that year who punched the vice principal in the face, did not get expelled. I brought that up to the vice principal when she was expelling me. She was PISSED about that.

'I'm being expelled? The guy who punched you must have been deported.'

She stood up, yelled, and slammed her desk. Is that a smart ass thing to say? Sure. Is it crazy that attacking people and talking are in the same wheel house? To me, yes. Here is more of the story. 

That year, I talked. This is what I did. I had a great time, left my shell that I was in before, and I talked to everyone. People liked me. Teachers liked me. Not all teachers, but most. Some, like my Canadian History teacher, were not fans of me. He really wasn't into me. I used to ask questions all the time. He would hand us a Canadian History textbook, tell us to read chapter four, then get into groups and answer the questions. So, if we're reading and answering questions among ourselves, what is this man doing? That didn't make sense to me.

'If we do that, what are you doing?'

'Just do it.'

The term 'Just Do It' might be cool for Nike, but in school I could not deal with it. I would ask tons of questions about it. Tons. Just do it is not an answer. So I would question this man, and he would kick me out. Kick me out of class. I'd go to the office, they'd say, 'what in the hell are you doing here again?'. and I would tell them what happened. They were not fans. But to me, I just couldn't understand why you weren't allowed to ask questions. Why not? Is this not a school? CAN QUESTIONS NOT BE ASKED?! Written in a Gladiator tone. And yes, I get it, asking a teacher, 'what are you doing?' could be deemed offensive, but this teacher would do this EVERY day. Get us to read a chapter, then get into groups and answer questions. You did this a bunch of weeks in a row, and you go, 'this guys doing nothing! He's not teaching us, we're teaching ourselves. What are we coming to this class for?'

My math teacher wasn't fond of me either. Why? Because I'm asking questions. That's just what I'm doing. One day she said we were doing quadratic functions. I asked when we would need these later in life. Her response?

'Just do them.'

Well, I couldn't do that. Couple more questions later, and I'm in the office. Couple more day of questions and now I'm doing math in the office for good. For good! Kicked out of the class and told to do my work in the office. Just insane. Put by myself like Hannibal Lector. 

'Woa. That kid is in a room alone having math work passed under his door to do. What'd he do? Bite someone's face?'

'No. He asked why we have to do quadratic functions.'

'AAAAhhhhhhhhhhhh! Man that's horrifying. Glad this animal is locked up.'

So, at this point, I'm kicked out of math, and on last legs in Canadian history. Now, an interesting thing happens. One day in Canadian history, our teacher plays a movie. A movie, about Canadian History. That's as boring as it sounds for people from Canada. It's also made in Canada. If it was made by Michael Bay, it might have some kind of budget.

'Get into that birch bark canoe!'

BOOM!

'How the hell does birch bark explode!?'

BOOM!

'Now the maple syrup?!"

Anyway, the movie is on, and I put my head down on my desk. And has sometimes happens when you do that, I fell asleep. Slept through the whole thing. I woke up, and on my way out of class, the teacher calls me over to his desk. I'm thinking he's going to get mad at me for sleeping. Nope.

'Nathan, look at this piece of paper. This is how many times I counted you talking. 2:45, Nathan talking. 2:47, Nathan talking. 2:52, Nathan talking.' 

'Um, I'm not trying to be rude, but I wasn't talking, because I was sleeping.'

'Do you think I'm stupid? I know you were talking. Go to the office.'

So, I'm back in the office. I have to tell the vice principal that I was sent there for talking, which I wasn't doing because I was sleeping. And that was that. She expelled me. I asked her if I could speak to the principal. She said no. She was yelling at me in her office. Very loud. Then, opened the door, and became very calm. As she was walking me to the door, I said, 'I'm calling the principal, I'm calling the school board, and basically fuck you.' I was frustrated. In my head at the time, left no options. I went home, and called the school board. I told them my story, and they told me that she couldn't expell me for being kicked out of class, and that they would call her and call me back. About five minutes later, they called.

'Hi, Nathan. Did you swear at her?'

'Yes. I said fuck you, and that was be...'

'Well, it doesn't take much does it.'

'What do you mean?'

'There's nothing I can do for you.'

They hung up. I sat there very confused, until a few days later when a cop showed up to my door, asking me if Nathan Macintosh was home. 

'That's me.'

He looked at me like I was crazy.

'Well, I don't know what you did, but the vice principal is scared for her life. Said you threatened her. You have a peace bond on you. You can't go within two hundred feet of the school.'

'Are you kidding me?! I didn't threaten her! I said ...."

'Doesn't matter. That's what has happened.'

So, there I am. expelled from school, kicked out of a play that was nine days from that moment. I was sent the expulsion papers, and they said that I had threatened her, and that's why I wouldn't be allowed back. It also said that I was disruptive as I didn't have a father. This letter is one of my favourite possessions. 

This is a longer story short, but basically because I swore at her, she spun that into an actual reason to be expelled. I went back the next year, and graduated with honours. The vice principal had been promoted to principal of another school. I saw her a couple of years ago on a flight. She looked at me, had an acknowledging glint in her eye. Out of the deal, I got expulsion papers that I'll probably frame, and she got principal. We did it. 

twitter @nathanmacintosh