She knew a lot about science and had been teaching at the middle school for over twenty years, making her one of those teachers both parent and child had sweated the periodic table with. She wore stylish clothes and was long and thin, her hair professionally cut and dyed as compared to most of the other rounder, purple-red, Loreal gals who had perfect lines of roots and extra downy white feathering from where their readers nestled. But, these, of the awful dye jobs, had husbands that occasionally came to see the Christmas production, or drop them off while their Acura’s were in the shop.
Some of the students whispered that Ms. Klemp used to be a model and that things in New York hadn’t worked out so she had to become the science teacher at the middle school--the kind of woman who refuses to give students the answer and forces them to use the triple-beam-balance all by themselves. Afraid to ask questions because her high expectations were insanely difficult to understand and you really had no way of convincing her that you weren’t just playing dumb, you really were that stupid when it comes to buoyancy and the Cartesian diver that was cool and fun to make, but the write-up was proving impossible because no matter what you put down, she’d send you back to your table rolling her eyes, in come on! fashion.
I heard the younger social studies teacher, the one that hung his football jersey on the wall, the one who shuffles around like a hamster and used entire class periods to talk in the dark about samurai swords, real museum photos interspersed with slides of dragons and Darth Vaderish Japanese masters from Xenoblade Chronicles & Dragon Quest, say to another, “she’s an old spinster.”
“You mean sphincter?” The misshapen math teacher asked while Wayne’s World snorting.
“Well, he’s doing great in my class, but she’s gonna fail ‘em,” and they both looked back in genuine concern at the tallish soccer star. Mr. Hamster flips the pic with his mouse, legs crossed on his desk, the wall-length screen, now glowing a solid gold Cadillac Escalade, thirteen year old boys pumping their arms, eyes gleaming and the breast budding girls love it too because in this process there is a revealing of the powers of masculinity, their studied focus, while the fuzz above boys' upper lips thickens through every lesson.
A fictional, but based on truth snippet here. My high school son is telling me Mr. Hamster was the best and most engaging teacher he ever had and everyone loved him and that Ms. Klemp was a good teacher too, but most of her students hated her.
Photo Credit: mpasho.co.ke
