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My oldest grand niece is graduating from high school next week. I was trying to think back to my early days in school this past weekend and realized I could not remember much. There was so much routine that it all fades together. But a few things I can remember.
The first day. The school district was growing by leaps and bounds, so the first-grade classes were held in an old two-room school house away from the "new' grade school that was supposed to replace all the one and two room schools scattered over the country-side. There were no lunch facilities in the old school. So we had to ride the bus every day to the new grade school a couple miles away to eat lunch. I was still five when school started that year, and there had been no kindergarten to go to the year before. But felt I like an old timer anyway. A friend and I laughed in the playground about the few kids who'd cried that day.
My worst teacher. I had a history teacher in high school who was nearly unbearable. A raucous voice, a bad personality, a rigid thinker with no comprehension that other people might operate differently than she did. To top it off she was pregnant and shorter of patience than she would have been otherwise. She gave lots of advice about how one had to study. The class was so boring I didn't take notes much at all. Naturally she was a stickler for taking notes, and was the only teacher I ever had who checked our notes once in a while to see whether we were taking any. She once declared I'd do badly in college because I didn't take good notes. I showed her, LOL!
My most hated teacher. The same year I had a teacher everyone hated. He taught the American Government class everyone had to take. He was an ex-NCO military man. Didn't know squat about anything, really. He'd had a hand mangled in an airplane accident. When he taught he'd wave his stump of a hand around, I suppose to show he was comfortable with his disability. He was a flag waver and an ultra-patriot at a time when such things were old-fashioned, but not yet sneered at like they would have been just a few years later. He meant well and wasn't at all bad tempered. But everyone still hated him. (Despite these two teachers it really was one of my favorite years in school because the rest of my teachers were very good, and I also had my first real girlfriend that year.)
Worst luck with teachers. A history teacher died early in my freshman year of high school. My English teacher really wanted to teach history, instead. So they had her take over the deceased man's classes. They brought in a retired teacher to teach us. She was a very fine person, as well as a fine teacher, but she hadn't taught younger high school kids in a long, long time. I think the strain was too much for her. She only lasted about three or four months before she quit due to illness. The rest of the year we had substitutes. My senior year our English teacher got married and quit after the first semester. Her replacement wasn't as friendly or popular, but she was definitely a good teacher, something it would be hard to say about the substitutes I had the last few months of my freshman year.
Best teacher. I had a teacher for two Spanish classes and one English class who was very good at what he did. I think he mostly just treated us fairly, respected us as far as we deserved it, and did a good job of presenting the material. He'd have done fine as a professor if that's what he'd wanted instead. Once in my Sophomore year, I really was tempted to cheat on a pop quiz he'd given because I hadn't studied at all. I sat there weighing how bad I'd feel if I failed the quiz, and decided I'd feel far worse if that teacher lost respect for me because I'd cheated. I turned in a blank quiz, got an F, and still did well enough that term. That was the last time I ever even thought about cheating in school.
Worst trouble I was in. In fifth grade we moved into a new school building. It was a nice place and naturally they wanted to keep it that way. Unfortunately, between the floor surface and the plastic heels that were on many, cheap, boys' shoes that year, there soon were black scuff marks all over the school, that the janitors were having a difficult time removing. At recess one day in the gym a couple of friends and I were waiting around for the dodgeball game to end so we could start another. We were bored and started practicing sliding as if into second base in baseball. The teacher said to quit it, and we should have stopped, but we didn't. We got taken to the principal's office. The principal huffed and said, well that's where our scuff marks must be coming from. We, three boys, sheepishly looked at our shoes. One kid was wearing sneakers, so he was safe. Another kid was wearing shoes with some light reddish-brown plastic heels. No marks that color anywhere, so he was safe. I was wearing shoes with black leather heels. Ah, ha! It must be me! I tried to demonstrate that my leather heels wouldn't leave a mark on the floor, but it just made things worse. Each of us was supposed to miss recess for a few days, how long we were not told. The teacher worked it so that I was still banned when the other two got to go back. Then the next week I was very sick. I could not take recess when I got back, because I wasn't well enough. So I missed about three weeks of recess that winter. I think the teacher was sorry about the whole thing when it was over, but those things happen.
Teacher most likely to get fired. My sixth grade teacher was above average as teachers go, but he would get violently angry once in awhile. When he did, he would pick up the kid that had made him the maddest and literally throw him around. He'd often throw the kid so hard into his chair that the kid would fall off. Then he'd pick the kid up and throw him down again. It never happened to me, but it did happen to a couple of my friends who really weren't that badly behaved. I suspect if the same teacher were teaching now, they'd have to fire him, because I don't think parents these days would put up with what he did.
Teachers who knew my siblings. The best teacher, I talked about above, had had my brother in a couple classes as well. In fact, whenever I was asked if I was so-and-so's brother, they were all talking about my brother. I even regularly said hello to a teacher I never had for a class because we knew each other through my brother. However, one teacher, who my brother had, asked me if I was related to my sister instead. She'd had the teacher for driver's ed and apparently her first efforts behind the wheel scared the pants off him!
The first day. The school district was growing by leaps and bounds, so the first-grade classes were held in an old two-room school house away from the "new' grade school that was supposed to replace all the one and two room schools scattered over the country-side. There were no lunch facilities in the old school. So we had to ride the bus every day to the new grade school a couple miles away to eat lunch. I was still five when school started that year, and there had been no kindergarten to go to the year before. But felt I like an old timer anyway. A friend and I laughed in the playground about the few kids who'd cried that day.
My worst teacher. I had a history teacher in high school who was nearly unbearable. A raucous voice, a bad personality, a rigid thinker with no comprehension that other people might operate differently than she did. To top it off she was pregnant and shorter of patience than she would have been otherwise. She gave lots of advice about how one had to study. The class was so boring I didn't take notes much at all. Naturally she was a stickler for taking notes, and was the only teacher I ever had who checked our notes once in a while to see whether we were taking any. She once declared I'd do badly in college because I didn't take good notes. I showed her, LOL!
My most hated teacher. The same year I had a teacher everyone hated. He taught the American Government class everyone had to take. He was an ex-NCO military man. Didn't know squat about anything, really. He'd had a hand mangled in an airplane accident. When he taught he'd wave his stump of a hand around, I suppose to show he was comfortable with his disability. He was a flag waver and an ultra-patriot at a time when such things were old-fashioned, but not yet sneered at like they would have been just a few years later. He meant well and wasn't at all bad tempered. But everyone still hated him. (Despite these two teachers it really was one of my favorite years in school because the rest of my teachers were very good, and I also had my first real girlfriend that year.)
Worst luck with teachers. A history teacher died early in my freshman year of high school. My English teacher really wanted to teach history, instead. So they had her take over the deceased man's classes. They brought in a retired teacher to teach us. She was a very fine person, as well as a fine teacher, but she hadn't taught younger high school kids in a long, long time. I think the strain was too much for her. She only lasted about three or four months before she quit due to illness. The rest of the year we had substitutes. My senior year our English teacher got married and quit after the first semester. Her replacement wasn't as friendly or popular, but she was definitely a good teacher, something it would be hard to say about the substitutes I had the last few months of my freshman year.
Best teacher. I had a teacher for two Spanish classes and one English class who was very good at what he did. I think he mostly just treated us fairly, respected us as far as we deserved it, and did a good job of presenting the material. He'd have done fine as a professor if that's what he'd wanted instead. Once in my Sophomore year, I really was tempted to cheat on a pop quiz he'd given because I hadn't studied at all. I sat there weighing how bad I'd feel if I failed the quiz, and decided I'd feel far worse if that teacher lost respect for me because I'd cheated. I turned in a blank quiz, got an F, and still did well enough that term. That was the last time I ever even thought about cheating in school.
Worst trouble I was in. In fifth grade we moved into a new school building. It was a nice place and naturally they wanted to keep it that way. Unfortunately, between the floor surface and the plastic heels that were on many, cheap, boys' shoes that year, there soon were black scuff marks all over the school, that the janitors were having a difficult time removing. At recess one day in the gym a couple of friends and I were waiting around for the dodgeball game to end so we could start another. We were bored and started practicing sliding as if into second base in baseball. The teacher said to quit it, and we should have stopped, but we didn't. We got taken to the principal's office. The principal huffed and said, well that's where our scuff marks must be coming from. We, three boys, sheepishly looked at our shoes. One kid was wearing sneakers, so he was safe. Another kid was wearing shoes with some light reddish-brown plastic heels. No marks that color anywhere, so he was safe. I was wearing shoes with black leather heels. Ah, ha! It must be me! I tried to demonstrate that my leather heels wouldn't leave a mark on the floor, but it just made things worse. Each of us was supposed to miss recess for a few days, how long we were not told. The teacher worked it so that I was still banned when the other two got to go back. Then the next week I was very sick. I could not take recess when I got back, because I wasn't well enough. So I missed about three weeks of recess that winter. I think the teacher was sorry about the whole thing when it was over, but those things happen.
Teacher most likely to get fired. My sixth grade teacher was above average as teachers go, but he would get violently angry once in awhile. When he did, he would pick up the kid that had made him the maddest and literally throw him around. He'd often throw the kid so hard into his chair that the kid would fall off. Then he'd pick the kid up and throw him down again. It never happened to me, but it did happen to a couple of my friends who really weren't that badly behaved. I suspect if the same teacher were teaching now, they'd have to fire him, because I don't think parents these days would put up with what he did.
Teachers who knew my siblings. The best teacher, I talked about above, had had my brother in a couple classes as well. In fact, whenever I was asked if I was so-and-so's brother, they were all talking about my brother. I even regularly said hello to a teacher I never had for a class because we knew each other through my brother. However, one teacher, who my brother had, asked me if I was related to my sister instead. She'd had the teacher for driver's ed and apparently her first efforts behind the wheel scared the pants off him!
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