If this was poker, you’d throw your cards in!
So, this is the first time you have more than 1 teacher. Talk about re-aligning your consciousness. No more teacher as semi-friend, guardian of your future (yawn). Now, every day you have multiple personalities/different shades of phobias. I couldn’t remember all these names! Hell, it was hard to remember the names of all the hot girls.
I think that we were so absorbed (ahem) in our hormones to deal with the radical changes of long bus rides, multiple teachers, antiquated buildings, and over 100 strangers who now surrounded you.
English teacher Mrs. Frye. VERY old, dumpy lady. Never smiles. Losing hair. She waddles from side to side, one leg is damaged. Thick calves show she is retaining fluid (I never saw that before; mom, why are her legs fat and hard looking?). No one raises their hand, so she just picks you out at random and subjects you to cross examination. At the ‘let’s get together’ teacher’s meeting that summer, my mother reported that Mrs. Frye was without a doubt, the most bitter and angry person she’d met in years.
Social studies: Very tall, dark skinned Italian stallion. Very good-natured guy, tolerated some wise cracks and giggling. He taught European history. Really odd thing was we learned about the Nicene Creed, but not what the Creed said. In a future episode we will discover, to our horror, his dark side.
Math: Nice middle aged lady, went to my church. Tough, but fair. Only downside was the bullhorn from the firehouse pointed at her room. When it went off, your sphincter hemorrhaged.
Science: A short woman from the high school. Her assignments sailed way over our heads, tests so tough, no one got an A. End of year projects had a minimum word count–if it was below, you automatically failed. After years of protesting parents, she finally resigned in the late 70’s, before the Foon disciplined her. First time I heard someone talk about ‘marking on the curve’; she said it, explained it, then said she’d never used a curve in her 25 years of teaching. Bend over, guys!
Gym: we traded one old pot bellied guy for a younger pot-bellied guy. I have to say that despite his cliche appearance (worn sneakers, protruding belly, whistle/talisman, buzz cut), he was not intense. No more lining up like a barrack inspection and yelling “SIR! YES, SIR!” Gym was always inside–there was no place for us to go (school was in a residential area). More on this later.
Reading. A friend of my mother’s, Adele, who became a teacher later in life. By far the easiest teacher we had–easy for me, cause I devoured books. She was extremely buxom, and a very sharp dresser. I suspect that many boys who said “Ahhh, she’s too old.” secretly gave her the once over several times a day.