I have tried for 2 years to come up with a chapter with adult Tony because the story is supposed to go back and forth between childhood and adult Tony. I have written a lot of scenes that I really like and want to share. But none of them seem to quite fit with this section of the story, so screw it. Here is another kid chapter I wrote years ago. I may post several kid chapters before getting back to adult Tony. Sorry, but hopefully kid Tony is entertaining on his own.
Tony, Age 6 Boarding School Part 4
One unhappy soul
Can transmit discontent
To all around.
Week 6
School Staff Meeting
They completed their discussions regarding fieldtrips, guest speakers and lesson planning, then Mrs. Principal queried, "Are there any specific students we need to discuss."
Almost in unison, the name Tony Stark resounded from many throughout the room.
"What seems to be the issue?"
"He's opiniated and obstinate," stated Ms. 5th grade instructor.
"What has your reaction been to this?"
"Removal of recess time." Mr. 2nd grade, Mr. 4th, Ms. Kindergarten, and Ms. 1st all nodded or vocalized in agreement with Ms. 5th grade, both on her opinion and reaction to it.
"So, between all of you, and due to his obstinance, he is getting little to no free time with his peers. Though I do agree with a reprimand for poor behavior, the fact that you're bring this up during our meeting indicates to me that the punishments are not influencing him to more favorable behavior. Perhaps we should analyze the cause. If we can change the cause of his obstinate behavior, his behavior may improve. Children often vocalize their needs. It is we that must make the effort to listen. What has he been saying?"
Mr. 4th informed the group, "He insist that Q&A assignments are useless and forgettable and wants to know the real-world use of practically every sentence in the book. Sometimes I rebound the question back to him, asking how he'd use the information. The kid may be 6, but he's already got his Dad's salesmen skills. You give him the floor for half a second and he's selling. The other day, one sentence in the book was about the 3rd amendment, stating that citizens are not required to house soldiers. He asked and I replied, 'How would you use this in the real world?' He…
The actual event…
Tony turned to his personal assistance, "Ms. Anderson, if you would, please take notes. Ordinary citizens are not required to house soldiers, other than to pay taxes to help pay for their housing. Therefore, it is up to the government and the businesses that work alongside the government to provide for said housing. The class should be designing scale models for barracks and determining the best materials to withstand natural elements. We also need to write a proposal for the senators and representatives, both a detailed one with cost analysis and a more general one, such as an advertising campaign. If we make a commercial we'll need music, and people pretending to be soldiers doing exercises."
Returning to the meeting…
"Then he actually started delegating, saying that Robert, being the tallest in the class, should be the drill sergeant for the commercial and I think he was about to designate Alicia as head musician, when I put a stop to it. It is one sentence in a book of over 200 pages! We don't have time for all that. He went from excited to dejected and has spent most of his class time since then, arms crossed, glaring daggers at me."
Ms. 5th grade chimed in, "We're reading the Hatchet. He wants us to chop down trees, build a fort and figure out how to make a campfire without matches. Also, you can tell he really likes having Ms. Anderson as his aide, or as he refers to her, as his personal assistant, and is nothing but polite to her. But he has pulled me to the side and requested a personal computer, or at the very least, a typewriter, stating that he could get his thoughts out much faster through typing than it takes for Ms. Anderson to write notes for him, and certainly faster than it takes him to write by hand. Personally, I think she needs to be re-assigned. She should still walk him to class, but he should be writing on his own. Though he does either write very slow, or fast and illegible, it will only improve with practice and he could do with something that slows him down."
Mr. 2nd grade added, "He thinks re-writing boring sentences into proper sentences needs a more detailed purpose. He wants the class to write and perform either a movie or play script and then perform it, with a full, and accurately made, set created by the students."
Ms. Kindergarten just shrugged and said, "When I had him, all he demanded of me was extra copies of the handwriting pages so he could earn his way out of "hell week" as fast as possible. It was the first time I had to reprimand someone so young for inappropriate language. His look of disbelief indicated to me that he is aware of far worse words and that that one was mild enough that he was shocked I considered it to be a word he shouldn't be using."
Mrs. Principal half smiled, half frowned. "So he is Howard Stark in miniature. Intelligent, ambitious, and business savvy. The question is, do we stick to the rote teaching by which we all learned, or do we step into the murky waters of complex, but memorable projects, from which our students may carry with them life lessons? It's not such an easy question. I didn't even hear his speeches in person, but at the moment I feel inspired to swing a hatchet to make a fort and to come up with a jingle to sell army barracks. But such activities are easy to say, but complex to implement. Time, money, inter-subject or inter-grade planning meetings, modifications to schedules to allow for the time to complete certain task. As fun as it sounds for the students, it would be a time-consuming headache for all of you. It is far simpler to continue on as we have. But that would still leave us with an obstinate little boy who wants more from his education than we may be able to provide."
Mr. 4th grade added his two cents, "When I've said that one of his ideas would cost too much, he just shrugs and says, 'Have Dad pay for it.' Howard Stark is financially capable of indulging any and all of his son's educational whims, whether that be for supplies or extra personnel. The question is, would he want to fund them on a school wide level in order to keep his son here, or would he rather pay tutors and allow Tony to indulge his whims at home."
Ms. Art Teacher's lips twitched, "Actually, I don't think Mr. Stark considers them whims. The other students were painting pictures of pumpkins to decorate the hall. Tony was using a ruler to draw a perfectly measured scale model of the barracks you spoke of. I asked him about it. He said that it was homework from Dad. It was such an odd statement, so I asked.
Memory…
"Your dad gives you homework?"
"How can Stark Industries benefit from what I learned today?" Tony continued to add to his design while explaining, "I either have to tell him my ideas or create something. He isn't here, so I'm creating something I can mail to him. Usually, I'd build something, but it's hard to come by supplies around here."
Ms. 5th grade took the staff back to an earlier point in the afternoon's discussions, "As fun as his ideas sound, I don't have the time or energy to implement them. They sound like things to do at a summer camp rather than school."
Like a summer camp, or not so dis-similar from a Montessori school, thought Mr. 2nd grade, but those schools were few and far between and it was unlikely any of them were boarding schools.
The principal concluded the meeting with, "I will speak with Mr. and Mrs. Stark regarding this matter."
The Starks were unreachable.
Tony's POV
There was a ticking time bomb on the desk in my en suite. I'd set it there and backed away, fearful that if I tried to disassemble it I'd explode. My heart raced. Should I open them? The white envelops seemed to reflect every drop of light in the room, leaving the rest in darkness. I took a step forward, then one back.
Chatter in the halls. Too many civilians around. My eyes sought the clock. 5:18. They'd clear out for chowtime soon. My stomach rumbled. I ignored it. There were more important priorities. Tick, tick, tick. The minutes went by and the chatter dissipated.
I took another step towards the envelops. I closed my eyes and clenched my fist, intending to iterate: Be brave. But a tear came out instead. They'd written. All 3 of them: Jarvis, Mom, and Dad.
My hand trembled as I tore into and read the first one, my fingers brushing across Mom's cursive to give me a tactile connection to her.
Hello Darling,
I hope things are going well for you at school. We miss you.
Last week, we traveled to Spain. A potential business partner insisted on taking us to the running of the bulls. It was ghastly with gore, as one man's leg was pierced by a horn just feet from where we watched. It is not an entertainment I understand, but as you know, business dealings are often solidified outside of drab offices.
I've had the walls of the longue in the California home sponge painted blue and green. It gives the effect of being under the sea. I am debating whether to have a mural of sea creatures painted on the walls. Currently, I've placed some truly brilliant photos of orca, coral, and seahorses, along with those of other sea creatures on the wall. I've included a photo, though you must see it in person to get the full effect.
What have you been up to? Have you made any friends? I know Jarvis left a camera for you. Please send photos.
We'll see you for Thanksgiving!
Missing you,
Love,
Mom
I read it 3 times until I couldn't figure out if it was blurry because my tears were making the ink run or if it was because they just kept coating my eyes. I couldn't figure out if I should be sad or mad.
Two more bombs left to diffuse. I stuffed Mom's letter under my pillow and reached for Dad's. It was a business memo.
Antn'y,
Where's your S.I. homework? If you need supplies, tell Jarvis.
Dad
Ouch. I put Dad's letter back on the desk. Jarvis wrote:
Master Anthony,
The house is quiet without you. But peace can be a dull, empty thing. I'm sure you'll fill the house with chaos when you visit at Thanksgiving. Though I do hope you are not creating chaos for your minders at school. Remember, you may write to request supplies. I have sent you a book on pirates. Be courageous and creative.
Sincerely,
Edwin Jarvis
I read it again. I didn't know how to be all the things Jarvis wanted me to be. How was I to be courageous and creative without creating chaos? Creativity was chaos.
No one came looking for me. It wasn't the first time I'd missed a meal since being at school. I'd get caught up in what I was doing and forget to go. Sometimes I didn't go on purpose to see if any noticed or cared enough to make sure I ate. They didn't.
A few days passed. No one seemed to notice that it had been 4 days since I bathed. I laid down on the bed and my hand slipped under the pillow to grasp Mom's letter. She wasn't here. None of my nannies were here. It was all up to me whether or not to be responsible enough to eat, brush my teeth or shower. And some days I didn't have the energy to care.
But today, Jarvis words were playing through my head. I needed to be courageous. And my brave deed for the day was going to be to write to my family. Afterall, how else was I going to get a computer?
Jarvis was the easiest to write to, so I decided to start with him.
Hi Jarvis,
I'm trying to be creative, but I lack supplies. Please send:
-a computer or typewriter
-a compass
-a hatchet
-paint supplies
-erector sets
-a microscope
-a pocketknife
-an army watering tin
-modeling clay
-tools
-toy soldiers
-2 square meters of plastic, 4mm thick
-the same in steel and wood- oak
-…
Do I have to come back after Thanksgiving? Please talk Dad into letting me stay home. Please.
Anthony
Hi Mom,
I miss you. What have I been doing? The same boring thing every single day. Sit in a desk. Read boring books. They get mad at you if you do anything else.
I don't like it here. Can I come home?
Love you!
Tony
Writing letters was making me understand Dad's letter. What were you supposed to write in these things? Today was a boring day of doing the same boring things. I really didn't get what you're supposed to put in a letter.
Dad's letter actually felt good now. It felt right. He'd only get mad if I whined about all the emotional stuff and I didn't really want to write about all the people here who hated me or didn't care enough about me to like or hate me. It was good to be able to just write about educational stuff. It was sort of like having the type of conversation I'd have with him at dinner or when he'd take me to work.
Hi Dad,
I haven't been able to build anything. There aren't any supplies here, but I asked Jarvis to send me some. I asked for a computer or typewriter too. Writing with a pencil takes forever.
I want to figure out how to live off the land, because sometimes soldiers have to do that if they get separated from their company.
I also want to build miniature army barracks to figure out the best construction materials. Can you let Jarvis know I need a saw that can cut through metal?
Most of the time I'm ahead of the class. They keep giving me more books to read. They aren't teaching me. I'm teaching myself. But you said things aren't truly learned unless you use them. They get mad at me when I try to make use of what we're learning. Please let me come home.
Anthony
Huh. I hadn't expected Dad's letter to be the one where I got all gooey and truthful about why I hate it here.
I sealed, labeled, stamped and mailed the envelopes.
Adult Tony POV, with Nebula, Stuck in a Space Ship
I'd been as creative as the tools available to me allowed. i.e., I attempted to grow plants from alien fruit to increase the oxygen supply after failing to repair the air-filtration system on said alien ship. They weren't growing fast enough.
I'd run out of ideas and out of time. There was no one to order supplies from.
I was alone, with a cyborg, who gave more of a shit as to if I ate and my wounds were cleaned than the neglectful representatives of my first boarding school. But there was only so much she could do too.
All I could do was leave my daily message to Pepper. And hope she'd survived.
"Hey, Ms. Potts…"