She is not the brightest bulb in the lamp!

I have not always been the brightest bulb in the lamp, tis true. I wanted to fit in, really I did, I wanted to think people had my best interests in mind.. but, alas, not so.

In 8th grade I had this art class, the teacher, Mrs. Hall, was eccentric to be sure, She couldn't walk and talk at the same time. This she confessed to. She wore her long long long red hair in this huge bun at the back of her head. This is where she stored her pencils. She lost several in each class, in her "pencil eating bun". She made her own Batik fabric for her flowing clothes. If she could have 'drifted' from place to place, she would have.

This class was at the top of a set of stairs that doubled back on itself, so you could see the back of the head of the person coming up..(see where this is going?) One day she was late and the kids were having a wet-sponge-fight in the back of the room. I was designated as "stair guard". So I waited and waited...oooh 'bun-sighting'! "HERE SHE COMESSSSSS!". "Jeez, Candie could you be any more subtle?" (what does subtle mean?) Class ran to desks..She walks in and quietly says.. "Thank you Candie!". um.. sure.. um.. (random laughter and razzing).

There was Home Ec, where the teacher tried desperately to teach us to be good "homemakers". She must have been going through menopause because she'd turn bright red for no apparent reason. And, though I never personally was responsible for this. could be made to cry, also for no apparent reason, and go running from the room..at least once a class. It became a contest to see how long it would take to send her out. Did we actually cook anything? I remember washing a lot of pans and dishes. She was all about beautiful table settings. Lots of doilies and colorful paper place-mats. The only thing I remember making was "fruit ambrosia" Canned fruit cocktail with whipped cream and coconut. I dislike fruit cocktail..except the grapes. I love the grapes.

But it was my typing teacher "Mrs. M" that took it, for all time. She was a mild mannered, 'old-school' type of teacher who's chin was connected to the bottom of her throat by long folds of skin. "Time to learn the keys without looking. We learn by feel!!" She was soft spoken and polite and totally professional.. however...

"Today, class we are going to learn the 'Y' key". Umhum. "OK, now stretch your first finger of your right hand up to the 'Y'". (chuckles). "Really stretch your finger up to the 'Y'" (louder chuckles). "Really get the feel of the 'Y'!". (loud laughter) "Did you get the feel of the 'Y'?". OMG the boys in the back of the class yell "OOOH YEAH!" She was totally non-phased. The boys were literally on the floor. No hope of gaining control the rest of the class.

Every now and then when I sit here and hit the 'Y' I think of her. I keep wanting to type "poor woman" she had no idea.. or did she? I really think not.

I have had some remarkable teachers that have helped me reach above and beyond. Mrs. J in 4th grade, you have my heart and my eternal gratitude..

And to the Principal at the first of two schools in Winnipeg.. I wish I could remember your name.. It was my first day of class. third grade. There was frost on everything. I was the "Dumb Yankee". So one boy says to me "have you ever tasted the frost on the tether-ball pole?" "No". "Well you should, it's yummy." So I did. I froze to the pole. I stood there.. all alone, my tongue frozen to the pole. The bell rang. What was I suppose to do? So I did the only thing a girl not wanting to be late for class would do.. rrriiipppppp.. ow. ow. ow. blood. blood. blood. The dear Principal found me standing there.. had me stick my tongue under the water of the main drinking fountain. In the main hallway. With all the kids walking by. Sigh.

I made it to class, swollen tongue and all. It gave me an excuse not to answer anything! I'll take it!

In seventh grade Linda and I were standing in the aforementioned stair well, there's a teacher there, too. She says.. "why don't you hit him in the butt with your purse?" So I did. Not hard at all, but he about yanked my arm out of my socket he spun me around so fast. There was no punishment. I said it was a accident. I looked very sorry.

I got him for math in eighth grade. My paybacks happened in his class. Some boys were fooling around, he was watching. One hit me in the head, knocked off my glasses, shattering them. He told my folks he didn't see anything. I heard he committed suicide a few years ago.. I doubt it had anything to do with this. I hope not.

I have never needed a lot of outside help to come across as 'slow' but teacher help is not such a good thing. I'm not sure how you go about teaching a child not to be so gullible..so easily led astray.. I sure was an easy mark..The boy that broke my glasses and his "mean girl gang sister" tried to make my life miserable for 3 years after that.

I sure hope I've grown out of it a bit!! I really do like these memories. Except the glasses. I just shake my head and chuckle over my innocence.

I got my chance to pay back the glasses 2 years ago. By payback I mean I had some friend information they wanted and I sat for a week thinking about sharing it or not. Then I said to myself "Grow up, get over it". I hadn't realized I had hung on to it. I gave them the information they needed. She sent me 5 notes saying "thank you". Maybe they don't remember me, remember the glasses, maybe they treated everybody this way.

I'm thinking I got the last smile on that.. I can draw, I know what a "focal point" is Mrs. Hall! I know where the "Y" is Mrs. M and I can make fruit ambrosia...and I, um, 'understand' menopause Mrs Morrison!

It's all good!