Post by Roanoke on Feb 13, 2004 20:59:46 GMT -5
I still have fond (I use the term "fond" euphemistically) memories of my fourth grade teacher Mrs. Struthers. She was, if memory serves me correctly, about 4 and a half feet tall, had red hair and a witch's hook nose. She was around 65-70 years old and always wore dresses that looked like something Dorothy wore from The Wizard of Oz.
Mrs. Struthers had this ongoing battle about nutrition with Mrs. Nawrocki (sorry, Jace, I probably butchered her name), the other 4th grade teacher. You see, Mrs. Nawrocki liked to give her students sweets and various junk food snacks. Mrs. Struthers, on the other hand, gave her students fruits and vegetables during a daily session she liked to call "Tasting Time". Mrs. Struthers used to like either to invite the other class over to try her tasting time concoctions (this usually consisted of pieces of celery, carrots, radishes, cherry tomatoes, apple slices, oranges, pears, etc.) or send them a tray of delectables to share amongst themselves. Wisely, Mrs. Nawrocki would accept this food offering. But she would often just give her students candy instead of the Tasting Time.
On one particular day, both of the 4th grade classes went on a walking trip to the library (a few blocks from our school). We were walking down this sloping knoll that led away from the school grounds when it became apparent to Mrs. Struthers that there were troublemakers amongst us.
Francis "Petey" Ferrier and Wade Hoffman were walking much faster than everyone else. Mrs. Struthers would have none of this. She began running after them, in her Dorothy dress of the day, frantically blowing the whistle she had tattooed around her neck. Petey and Wade had apparently decided amongst themselves that they weren't going to listen to Mrs. Struthers or her whistle. They proceeded to continue walking ahead of everyone else.
Naturally, Mrs. Struthers would not stand for this (as you will soon see). So, she redoubled her efforts, more fervently running after them while incessantly blowing her whistle. She didn't make it very far, though. On her way down the sloping knoll, she tripped over a curb and fell in a tumultuous clump onto the pavement, badly cutting up her knees. I can still remember how, on her way down, the whistle's pitch changed in conjunction with her changing breath as panic briefly overcame her.
(Every time I play this situation over in my head, I still see it happening in slow motion, like a masterfully delivered scene from some hit comedy. I cannot remember ever having a more difficult time in trying not to laugh in all of my life. In fact, I was laughing almost continually, on and off again, for the remainder of the trip to, and back from, the library that day. And for about two weeks after that, too.)
Mrs. Struthers, was of course, fuming at this turn of events, but she tried to maintain her composure. That all changed, however, when a big semitruck came lumbering along the slowly downgrading road towards us.
Wade Hoffman decided to signal the truck driver with what was (and still is, as far as I know) the universal signal for a blowing of the horn. Despite all of Mrs. Struthers' anachronistic tendencies, she was wise to Wade's shenanigans and she valiantly tried to put a stop to it. She limped-ran after Wade, wildly blowing her whistle. In the last moments she uttered, " Don't you make him h---!" Just as she had been about to scream the final word of her exclamatory (in that raspy, dehydrated voice of hers), the truck driver obliged Wade with a deafening honk of his horn. The sound resonated so ubiquitously that it completely drowned out Mrs. Struthers' feeble attempt at verbally disciplining Wade.
Mrs. Struthers was crestfallen. And needless to say, I laughed so much that day that, not only did I get a sore throat, but, also, I then know in my heart that there was an especially warm spot being saved just for me in a place called Hell. The whole scenario was also an epiphany for me. On that day I learned just what a twisted motherfucker I could be if I could derive so much sick pleasure out of watching an old lady fall down and seriously hurt herself. HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
Ahh, nostalgia. Yeah, that's the ticket!
Mrs. Struthers had this ongoing battle about nutrition with Mrs. Nawrocki (sorry, Jace, I probably butchered her name), the other 4th grade teacher. You see, Mrs. Nawrocki liked to give her students sweets and various junk food snacks. Mrs. Struthers, on the other hand, gave her students fruits and vegetables during a daily session she liked to call "Tasting Time". Mrs. Struthers used to like either to invite the other class over to try her tasting time concoctions (this usually consisted of pieces of celery, carrots, radishes, cherry tomatoes, apple slices, oranges, pears, etc.) or send them a tray of delectables to share amongst themselves. Wisely, Mrs. Nawrocki would accept this food offering. But she would often just give her students candy instead of the Tasting Time.
On one particular day, both of the 4th grade classes went on a walking trip to the library (a few blocks from our school). We were walking down this sloping knoll that led away from the school grounds when it became apparent to Mrs. Struthers that there were troublemakers amongst us.
Francis "Petey" Ferrier and Wade Hoffman were walking much faster than everyone else. Mrs. Struthers would have none of this. She began running after them, in her Dorothy dress of the day, frantically blowing the whistle she had tattooed around her neck. Petey and Wade had apparently decided amongst themselves that they weren't going to listen to Mrs. Struthers or her whistle. They proceeded to continue walking ahead of everyone else.
Naturally, Mrs. Struthers would not stand for this (as you will soon see). So, she redoubled her efforts, more fervently running after them while incessantly blowing her whistle. She didn't make it very far, though. On her way down the sloping knoll, she tripped over a curb and fell in a tumultuous clump onto the pavement, badly cutting up her knees. I can still remember how, on her way down, the whistle's pitch changed in conjunction with her changing breath as panic briefly overcame her.
(Every time I play this situation over in my head, I still see it happening in slow motion, like a masterfully delivered scene from some hit comedy. I cannot remember ever having a more difficult time in trying not to laugh in all of my life. In fact, I was laughing almost continually, on and off again, for the remainder of the trip to, and back from, the library that day. And for about two weeks after that, too.)
Mrs. Struthers, was of course, fuming at this turn of events, but she tried to maintain her composure. That all changed, however, when a big semitruck came lumbering along the slowly downgrading road towards us.
Wade Hoffman decided to signal the truck driver with what was (and still is, as far as I know) the universal signal for a blowing of the horn. Despite all of Mrs. Struthers' anachronistic tendencies, she was wise to Wade's shenanigans and she valiantly tried to put a stop to it. She limped-ran after Wade, wildly blowing her whistle. In the last moments she uttered, " Don't you make him h---!" Just as she had been about to scream the final word of her exclamatory (in that raspy, dehydrated voice of hers), the truck driver obliged Wade with a deafening honk of his horn. The sound resonated so ubiquitously that it completely drowned out Mrs. Struthers' feeble attempt at verbally disciplining Wade.
Mrs. Struthers was crestfallen. And needless to say, I laughed so much that day that, not only did I get a sore throat, but, also, I then know in my heart that there was an especially warm spot being saved just for me in a place called Hell. The whole scenario was also an epiphany for me. On that day I learned just what a twisted motherfucker I could be if I could derive so much sick pleasure out of watching an old lady fall down and seriously hurt herself. HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
Ahh, nostalgia. Yeah, that's the ticket!
