06E113
Return to The Classroom
Some days one should not think of getting out of
bed. Yesterday was all of them.
I had accepted my Aunt Martha's request to teach her
grade three class while she endured a root canal procedure. Being a man of
letters and editor of our town's weekend newspaper, I thought it appropriate of
allowing today's youth to benefit from my knowledge and experience.
I arrived early at the school and graded the
fifty-word essays that Aunt Martha's students had submitted the day before. I
red-penciled their works with clear and concise comments like 'run on
sentence,' 'dangling participle', 'mis-placed modifier, and countless 'sp'
notations for spelling mistakes. My heart sank below my shoes on seeing one
entry without punctuation and the word 'naybor' used in seventeen phrases.
The Principal found me in the staffroom at eight
fifteen. She seemed a jolly one full of understanding and self control. She saw
the sheaf of essays in my hand and complimented me for having much work for the
students, "that will no doubt keep them quiet for the entire day." We
exchanged more pleasantries over coffee. It appeared that all she wanted me to
accomplish was to maintain a quiet classroom. Hmm, I thought, this day will be
easier than I thought.
At eight-forty-five I opened the classroom door and
thirty screaming little girls stampeded into the room. Thirty desks, each with
four legs of noisemaking terror, were arranged in a circle. Thirty desks, all
used as screeching instruments of
mayhem and thirty howling moppets reduced me to whimpering jelly full of
helplessness and fear. Aunt Martha, please trade places with me, I prayed.
Inside my terrified soul, I begged, "Where is
my *#^^*@ @ #@#!!** Guardian angel."
The Principal, speaking on the PA system in her
sound proof office, asked for quiet in the grade three classroom. THEY laughed.
More chaos followed. After the prayer and anthem, I handed out the essays by
shouting the owners' names. I soon needed throat lozenges and bourbon.
"Hey you geek," cried one, with her eyes
filling with tears, "what do the red pencil marks mean?"
I rushed to her side and held her essay aloft so all
could see. "Dangling gerund … uh,
Ambiguous reference …uh, and uh, incorrect modification," I said
with what I believed was a kindly face. I was now getting their attention, I
thought, and from here on I would help little scholars attain writing success.
Well, that was a nice thought, I said to myself as
crying and wailing ensued. And loud stamping of feet.
And the door opened. Behold, the now snarling
principal, with arms akimbo, and her lower body parts filling the doorway. Such
an entrance, I thought, is she another Lady MacBeth?
The battalion of little girls quieted and the principal
beckoned me. I walked passed her and never stopped until I reached the
noisefree Casey's library bar with liquid relief and far from scholastic hell.