Welcome to a series of stories that basically make up my autobiography. It’s not entirely thorough, but I’ll do the best I can with the memories locked away inside my head. Could be therapeutic for me. Could be humorous for you. Either way, enjoy…
Previously on Life Story… I sang in a prestigious, yet somewhat joyless choir during 3rd grade. On the bright side, I got to hang out with my best friend and his family a lot.
I did not like the 4th grade. I think it was because I did not like my teacher, Mrs. Hall. She wasn’t a pleasant woman. I had said that my 2nd grade teacher didn’t like me because I was too smart. I really don’t think that was the case with Mrs. Hall. In fact, I was under the impression that she just didn’t like children.
She was an old woman. She may very well have been in her 4os, but she didn’t wear it well. Looking back, I picture one of those old ladies you expect to see teaching in one of those one-room schoolhouses from Little House on the Prairie. She had big, thick glasses that magnified the creepiness of her eyes. The bone structure of her face was so defined, I’d swear she was a skeleton wearing a wig.You probably don’t believe me when I say she didn’t like children. Why would someone go into elementary education if they didn’t like children? I’m just going on what I remember of this woman. I don’t remember ever seeing her look as if she enjoyed her career. She constantly had a look on her face as if someone had just forced her to suck on a lemon. The only times I remember seeing a smile, I remember thinking it just looked unnatural.
I know, that’s big talk from someone who, himself, rarely smiles. But at least I’m man enough to admit that I’m an emotionless automaton. Okay, maybe she went home and complained to Mr. Hall about how much she hated the cretins she tried to teach every day. And don’t tell me she didn’t call us names behind our backs. I know that’s what you grown-ups do when the kids aren’t around! Because now that I work in a school, I’ve been a part of it!On the bright side, 4th grade introduced me to a girl named Sarah. Now, even though I had already had a girlfriend early on in my life, I did not consider myself an expert in women’s studies. But I did enjoy making Sarah laugh. No, she wasn’t laughing at me. Though I wouldn’t necessarily say she was laughing with me either. In 4th grade, Sarah was the epitome of female perfection. But eventually, 5th grade came along and changed all that.