I saw my 6th or was it 7th grade social studies teacher in my coffeeshop the other day. It’s funny seeing teachers now…now that I’m training to join their tribe. Truth be told,. I’d rather join a surfer tribe, but the knees and the back and the fact of sharks and their very big bad teeth shy me away from being a wave glider.
I’ve gotten off track. Okay, Mr. 7th grade social studies teacher liked his lunch. I don’t know if it was because someone else was enjoying his lunch with him and his Magnum P.I. 70s mustache or because he just really liked lunch, but his love of lunch deeply affected by ability to read a map.
Let me interject. There are things that people assume you know. North South East and the other direction. How to see a color-red is red, blue is blue. Common sense is common sense. But let me let you in on a little secret. To me red is orange. Your common sense is my uncommon sense. And if I didn’t remain within three blocks of the Eastern Lake Michigan, I couldn’t find my way out of a paper bag.
Back to 7th grade social studies. Mr. Mustache didn’t let us leave the classroom until we pointed to a state on a map. I attended an affluent highly intellectual prep school, after transferring from a sub-par, always on strike Chicago Public School. All their preppy cultish knowledge, I didn’t know yet. Everything I didn't know would not be repeated. I would watch these 12 year old aptly-dressed over-vocabularied mini-professors jump up and point at Alaska, Montana, Utah, South Carolina, Rhode Island(are you kidding me?), South Dakota, and I sat there hidden in the back, knowing that if I waited long enough that I could just go. Because, like I earlier said, Social Studies came right before Mr. Mustache’s beloved lunch.
I could actually see his eyes start to pick up light as the minute hand edged towards the 12 0’clock. I could see his eyelashes start to twitter a little in anticipation for either a damn good spinach salad or some very hot 1980s Pat Benatar sex.
I waited. He forgot about me. He didn’t notice I couldn’t point at one state on the map, even Illinois. At the end, at 11:59, the class emptied but one, he remembered me. “Okay,” he’d say, “point out a state.” I’d shrug. “They picked all the ones I know.”
“All right,” he’d say. “Get in there next time.” I’d nod, tuck my head between my legs and leave. I’d like to think that a little part of him wasn’t completely satisfied with his lunch.
I haven't looked at your blog for awhile, Amy. Love the new stuff. Esp Chicago Daley, Mr. Mustache and the insertion of pictures. Great.
Posted by: karen | October 26, 2008 at 06:39 AM