TEACHER, TEACHER

(sigh)

Was talking with a friend the other day whose daughter is principal at a local high school. She was relating some incidences that have occurred in various teachers' classrooms, and I have to say that I continue to be appalled at how public education has deteriorated. I started to think about some of the teachers I had in public school eons ago; and as bad as some of them were, I believe they were dedicated (for the most part) and truly interested in seeing us succeed. They were a quirky bunch though.

There was Mrs. Johnson, from whom I learned an amazing amount of English grammar when I was staring at her pendulous breasts and wondering if they were, in fact, going to reach her waist before I graduated.

There was Miss Eubanks, who also had breast issues since she could NOT keep her bra straps in place. Within a 50-minute class she would have tugged those straps up two dozen times. She ended every other sentence with "there for it." For example, "Congress is composed of the House and the Senate, there for it," or "The President only rarely exercises his veto power, there for it," or "These bitchin' straps are gonna' drive me nuts, there for it." I don't remember learning much in her classes, there for it.

There was Coach Nichols who was tall and blond and cute and in whose class I sat mesmerized by him. I have no idea what he taught, except that it was the one class I never missed attending.

There was Miss Evans, all 4'10" of her, who was a catbird if there ever was one. Never having married, she brought no moodiness to class. She was bright and perky in her fifties, laughed easily and knew her stuff. She had more energy than I did.

Mrs. Thorpe was a hulk of a woman, a no-nonsense kind of person, who had her own interpretations of English literature. I didn't particularly enjoy the reading, but she was so different that one couldn't help but be engaged by her. She was tough but fair, suffered no fools and I learned a lot.

Miss Birchett had to have been a closet lesbian. She taught P.E. and could be a ball buster (pardon the pun). In the good old days, girls having a period could exclaim "O.C." at rollcall, which laughably meant "Out of Condition." You could then enjoy a less strenuous P.E. class. The problem was that I truly believe Birchett counted 28 days from every girl's "O.C." days, so you'd best not be fibbing about that. She scared me.

The next P.E. teacher was Miss Zachary, who looked and acted like a crone. She had long, stringy, dyed black hair and she kinda' floated around the school. An airhead she was, and she really did seem like she'd just stashed her roach clip.

And then there was MISS DIXON! Miss Carolyn Dixon was about 25 years old, had a terrifically curvaceous figure with -- guess what -- huge breasts. She had a wicked little come-hither smile. She was a cool drink of water and knew it. Her favorite spot to perch was the edge of her desk where she would tantalize the guys by crossing her legs and subtly swinging them ever-so-provocatively within a couple of feet of those in the front row. That was probably the one class where the guys didn't rush to claim the seats in the back of the room. It was laughable even then, but Carolyn Dixon knew how to get and keep the attention of at least half the class.

Now we hear about teachers having sex with the teenage students. Boy, times have changed -- there for it.

(sigh)