Teacher Creatures
This piece is meant to be a tribute and reflection of our high school teachers from the ‘90s, so come with me as I bring you back to a simpler time, because hey, who’s gonna turn down a chance at escapism these days, am I right?
In your 40’s you come to the terrifying realization you are THAT AGE – circling the age bracket of your high school teachers, WTF! Truth be told, I considered becoming a teacher for awhile, er, a second… one high school experience was enough for me apparently.
Littering the chalkboards at Duke of York, Patricia and I had the necessary teacher potpourri:
Hot Teacher: Mr. Carnegie, who taught gym and well, was basically just my homeroom teacher but man, it was the best 15 minutes of my day.
Sleeping Teacher: Mrs. Reid who actually had a medical condition that caused her to fall asleep in class, which as an adult I have so much empathy for – I just wish someone could tell that to our ignorant 16-year-old selves who saw it as a key cheating advantage… it was.
Late Teacher: Mr. Damon was always late, which made
us think, why are we rushing? We have a good 15-minute grace period to go to the
cafeteria, grab a bagel or chocolate milk and saunter over to class- yep, we even often had time to eat said
snack… I later learned he was smoking, often with senior students, ah classy
‘90s standards.
The Repetitive Teacher: I remember once, all of us letting Mrs. Burns reteach the same lesson she had taught us the class before. Ironically no one said anything, we all just exchanged quizzical glances and muffled laughs until the bell rang…
The French Teacher: Who went to France every year and talked about baguettes and cheese and drank wine, lots of wine. Hey, she was European, wine is their water, n’est pas?
The Mad Scientist: Patricia and I will always agree that our friendship was strengthened by Mr. Farooqui who taught us chemistry – he almost lit the school on fire, at one point kicked the entire class out one by one, punished you by making you sit in the BACK of the class with your friends, kept a comb in his pocket for his toupee and wore Nike’s because he thought if could draw our attention to his shoes, he could draw it to the chemistry lesson. Um, no.
My favourite Mr. Farooqui story is during our senior independent study which consisted of separating and identifying two chemicals from varying combinations he provided us. If you get one right you get 50%, both 100% - that was it.
I am an admittedly an Arts and English girl, but I gave it my best college try. It was not going well, I kept isolating one chemical but for the life of me could not get the other. Mr. Farooqui kindly offered extra after school time for those of us that were struggling – yeah, I was there, often.
He must have gotten tired of watching me mess it up because after numerous attempts he came over, told me the what the second chemical was and walked off. Okay, I accept. I submitted my two chemicals and skipped off pleased with my impending 100%!
A week later Mr. Farooqui gave us all our grades, and um, wait, what 50%? And the chemical I got right was the one I figured out myself? I waited until after class to approach and politely remind Mr. Farooqui of his “assistance” to which he feigned minimal to no recollection.
What could I do? I took my 50% and chalked it up to even if a teacher helps you cheat, don’t. I know I could have figured it out eventually, but it's like Bobby Flay telling you to take the steak off the barbecue even when you think it needs another five, you take the steak off!
It’s funny now, but I was not laughing at the time.
All this to say, we had a school full of amazing teachers, who pushed, encouraged, supported, challenged (and cheated?) us – it’s a challenging vocation where teenagers don’t see you as human – until they grow up and recognize you as just that, and more.
Love,
Grace
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