School's Out

A friend and I were discussing a teacher from junior high.  He was a band director.  I wasn't in the band and I don't think she was, either, but this teacher had the ability to reach all the kids in the school with his fun personality.  He was also young, and in the mid 60's, a young teacher was still somewhat a novelty.  He seemed to understand us and our young teen social miseries.  There was another teacher at our school who also understood teen angst, but those two were NOT the norm.  Most of the teachers were old, even elderly, and although some of them were excellent teachers, some of them really should have retired before we arrived.  We had a music teacher who drank alcohol on her breaks.  Music class was ALWAYS crazy.  I never saw my math teacher not knitting.  I take that back - she would sometimes get into a rage and throw books out the 3rd floor classroom window.  I had an elderly science teacher who only talked about the airplanes he flew; especially the plane he flew under one of the local bridges in town.  He also let us draw all over the chalkboards.  My 9th grade civics teacher was the meanest woman on the planet, but had a mental breakdown in class one day, screamed obscenities at us and disappeared forever.  I spent one year in a sewing class and I don't believe the instructor ever called any of us by our correct names, but we did make triangle scarves and aprons from NO patterns!!!  How cool were we....  My 8th grade history teacher spoke in a monotone voice that made all of us stare at her the entire first week of school.  She truly looked like a ventriloquist's dummy.  We had an art teacher who could look at you and not look at you.  You know what I'm talking about - one eye looked left and the other looked right - at the same time.   We had fun in art class.  "Class, we're watching a fill-um today."  That was another science teacher. And my poor algebra teacher.... we would ask her to explain the problem over and over so we could watch the loose skin under her upper arm swing back and forth.  But with all their quirks, they had the ability to hold a large group of kids at attention because in those days, we generally behaved.  Talking was probably the biggest infraction of the rules.  Talking and throwing paper balls into the light fixtures.  Well, maybe a few other good tricks.  Gee, I'm so glad I didn't ever have to make a living as a teacher of junior high/middle school kids.  No wonder Mrs. Moses drank..... 

Ch Ch Ch Changes

Tomorrow I go to the town of my birth/childhood to pack up my mother's belongings in preparation for her move to the town in which I now live and have lived for 46 years.  It will be a difficult transition for her, mostly because everything associated with her is difficult, but also because she's leaving the house my dad built for our family.  What a great house it is, too.  Dad wasn't satisfied to have just a house - his house had to be a fortress.  It is a cinderblock house faced entirely with brick.  I can only assume he was not going to let the wolf come to our door and huff and puff and blow down the house.  All the little piggies inside would always have a roof over their heads.  My dad built that house entirely by himself, with a bit of help from my uncle and one of my dad's friends.  The house was always something we were proud of as my dad put so much of himself into it.  Because of my mother's OCD, the house is in excellent shape.  She has always anticipated a problem and called Mr. Fixit.  "Hello, my furnace has a 20 year warrantee on it and I'm already in year 5.  I just know it's ready to explode so can you come and replace it?"  "Hello, my roof hasn't been replaced in the past 3 years, can you come and replace it?"  "Hello, all my toilets innards need to be replaced as I've used them exactly 100 times since they were last replaced."  That's really just about the way it goes.  This is the home of my childhood and as with all homes, it has good memories and bad memories.  Unfortunately, some of the bad memories have scarred the house.  Yes, my mother and her inability to handle things out of her control ......  All those screaming fits inevitably led to throwing fits.  All those throwing fits led to scars on plastered walls.  My sister and I can lead tours through the house, pointing out the scars and what particular fit is associated with each mark.  Of course, the biggest scar is still on my mother's psyche and will be there forever.  She never learned to go with the flow and let loose of the things out of her control.  So you can imagine her attitude about moving to a new apartment/town/surroundings, etc.  Lordy!  I can't imagine what fireworks the next few months will bring, but I'm going to be patient and positive.  Of course, you all know I'm a liar.  I'm going to follow my usual path - wear a suit of armor and always assume the worst.  If you do that, you're always prepared and many times, you'll get a lovely surprise.  I'm looking forward to lovely surprises in the near future.  Whatever happens, I bet you'll hear about it.  Remember, I don't lie to my friends.