I abandoned the hot sticky afternoon air where the sun had seared even the gums, and escaped the cacophony of crows’ caws, as I crossed the threshold into the classroom. The air conditioning enveloped me like a cool glove, which cajoled me out of the haze back into my realm.
The door was pulled back. Another student stood as if to attention and invited me in, so very pale he could not be separated from the white washed walls, only the list of our Australian values gave an outline to his white skin. He beaconed me, begged me and I strode forward. As I moved past him, we were like Ying and Yang.
As was my convention, I turned my head to nod, to acknowledge my teacher, my favourite teacher. He was my ‘brother’, part of my mob, my people.
But instead there was an absence.
A ‘janitor’ sat in the chair, or maybe he was a teacher. His stretched and crumpled coat was strewn over his chair, his trousers two sizes too small, held up around his frail waist by a thin black cord. His briefcase lay on the floor in near disrepair, with papers and rubbish overflowing, betraying many battle scars of failed expeditions. The complexion on his freckly face revealed a person who had attempted to comprehend the list of ‘to-dos’ set out by my teacher. The first 30 seconds of class and I was already instinctively sceptical.
I swivelled on my heels and briefly surveyed the room for my command post set in the middle of the class, accompanied on both sides by boys who had both eagerly watched me as I slowly paced towards them. I felt every bit of movement as I walked; the crunch of my new business style shoes, the compression of my socks, my cardboard stiff trousers and shirt, tailor made to fit my well-chiselled and strong stature.
I dragged out my ch...
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... this timeline is diminishing due to your destruction of the earth, upon which you heavily rely.”
He stood like a child, dazed and confused. As I thought to continue he broke out of his trance, and continued his politically correct sermon. ‘I believe that we should all be, are a-a-all, equal and we should be equally respected, based on who we are on the, er, inside. That’s what I believe in.”
No one could discern the red heat of anger rising up my neck and face. My brows were furrowed hard together, challenging. This teacher had insulted who I am, what I am. We had barely been in here for five minutes and already I longed for Mr Yuin. I looked around the classroom again and I observed many of my cohort, no one my peer, boxed in this tiny, suffocating room, the sweat had trickled down their blanched faces, in the air conditioning, none of them as dark as mine.
Mr. Prud’homme, a substitute teacher for the summer session, went to Gene and Finny to discipline them the next morning for missing dinner, but he was soon won over by Finny’s ebullient talkativeness and leaves without giving punishment. Mr. Patch-Withers, the substitute headmaster, held tea that afternoon. Most of the students and faculty conversed awkwardly; Finny, on the other hand, proved he’s a great conversationalist. As Mr. ...
“The teacher’s desk was supplied with drawers, in which were stored books and other et ceteras of the profession. The children observed Nig very busy there one morning before school, as they flitted in occasionally from their play outside. The master came: called the children to order; opened a drawer to take a book the occasion required; when out poured a volume of smoke. “Fire! Fire!” screamed he, at the top of his voice. By the time he had been sufficiently acquainted with the peculiar odor, to know he was imposed upon. The scholars shouted in laughter to see the terror of the dupe, who, feeling abashed at the needless fright, made no very strict investigation, and Nig once more escaped punishment. She had provided herself with cigars, and puffing, puffing away at the crack of the drawer, had filled it with smoke, and then closed it tightly to deceive the teacher, and amuse the scholars. The interim of terms was filled up with a variety of duties new and peculiar. At home, no matter how powerful the heat when sent to rake hay or guard the grazing herd, she was never permitted to shield her skin from the sun. She was not many shades darker than Mary now; what a calamity it would be ever to hear the contrast spoken of. Mrs.Bellmont was determined the sun should have full power to darken the shade which nature had first bestowed upon her as best befitting.
...e still talking and laughing.” The crowd only pauses to criticize him when he mentions social equality. Even though the men are honoring him by allowing him to give his speech, he is reminded that they are belittling him and his race because he is being honored for obeying them rather than trying to further his race socially.
As I walk to the front of the classroom, time seems to slow to a crawl. I take a glance at a sea of blank faces staring back at me. You would have thought I would be use to this sensation by now. I know what to expect and have been through these motions a hundred times, but as I walk up to the stage, determined not to cower in defeat, the notecards I grasp firmly in defiance quiver slightly exposing my sense of dread. So while I often triumph over this battle, I now stood atop that classroom stage preparing to recite the merits of James Madison that I had poured myself over the past few weeks. I had the lingering thought that throughout the sea of faces there were those who were paying less attention to what I was saying and more attention to how I was saying it.
The reader is put in the middle of a war of nerves and will between two men, one of which we have grown up to learn to hate. This only makes us even more emotional about the topic at hand. For a history book, it was surprisingly understandable and hard to put down. It enlightened me to the complex problems that existed in the most memorable three months this century.
“I see you Mr. Adza, I see right through you. You think you can charm your way out of any situation with your big smile and smooth way with words, but you can’t just coast through life with this sort of arrogant, nonchalant attitude. One day its really gonna bite you in the ass,” said Mr. Jansen, as he towered over my desk. Most of the class had scurried out at the sound of the school bell. I was simply trying to explain to the man that my random outbursts in class actually did him a favor because it loosened my classmates up, freeing their mind for the learning process. In fact, Mr. Jansen and I were actually a team. We were the dream team! I was the comic relief and he was the scholar. We went hand in hand.
As the dull scent of chalk dust mixes imperceptably with the drone of the teacher's monotone, I doodle in my tablet to stay awake. I notice vaguely that, despite my best efforts in the shower this morning after practice, I still smell like chlorine. I sigh and wonder why the school's administration requires the students to take a class that, if it were on the Internet, would delight Mirsky (creator of Mirsky's Worst of the Web), as yet another addition to his list of worthless sites. Still, there was hope that I would learn something that would make today's first class more than just forty-five wasted minutes... It wouldn't be the first time I learned something new from the least likely place.
A bead of sweat trickled across my neck like an ice-cold drop of rain running down a windowpane. I stood anxiously, juxtaposed to ten of my fifth grade classmates on a dusty six-inch high platform, each of us in our lint-free suits, as I stared forward to meet the unforgiving eyes of the students and teachers of Main Dunstable Elementary School. A steady stream of parents entered the gymnasium, and I heard chatter as parents and kids conversed noisily with each other. I felt my throat tighten and wished for the emcee, Mrs. Paradis, the principal of our school, to take up the microphone and begin the ceremony.
This would mark day number one of classes. I was not alone as I realized the other number of students were just like me, alone and disordered. The school resembled my old high school, with long hallways and multiple classroom doors, which reminded me that I had no clue where I was going. I figured I would have this problem so I had printed my schedule out the night before to use as an atlas to navigate me toward my multiple destinations for the day. All my prior preparations for this day of classes seemed to be failing me already. While I frantically screened for the right door number and avoided the glares from the upper classmen to hide my embarrassment, I had finally arrived at my first class, Chemistry
The scene is set in New England, 1950s. It is the beginning of a new school year at the prestigious male preparatory school Wellton. There is a welcoming ceremony with teachers, students and parents. The Headmaster Mr. Nolan gives a speech and reminds everyone the academy’s four pillars: Tradition, Honor, Discipline, and Excellence.
Two young men swaggered past me: confident, heads held high, eyes focused on their destination. I leaned over, looking down the long row of benches, curious to find out where they were going. Their confidence lagged a bit as they approached a large group of their peers, including several young ladies. All of them exhibited signs of discomfort as the girls crossed their arms over their nubile bodies and the boys tried hard not to stare.
School had just started; it was the fall of my sophomore year. I was excited about having new teachers and being able to boss around those little freshmen since I had finally lost that ridiculous title of “freshy.” Although one class did turn all that excitement right into knots in my stomach, it was English 10. Ugh I hated English, partially because I could never remember all those rules of writing, which I had just thought of as “dumb.” I figured, “Why would I ever need to know all them? Computers will be able to fix all my mistakes for me!” As I would soon find out, boy was I ever wrong. Surprisingly, class was going good; our teacher Mr. Mieckowski seemed to be a little weird and quite boring at times but all in all not too bad I mean who isn’t boring occasionally? He had a shiny head with very little hair and never wore long sleeves to class. He was also quite tall and skinny, so everyone had his or her own conclusion about Mr. Mieckowski’s personal life. A lot of the time this ended up being the topic of conversation for his students, along with his hatred towards icicle lights, white reindeer, and especially technology; the thing I loved most.
“Oh, why didn’t you say that? It’s over there,” said sheen, pointing down to the class at the end of the hallway. Sheen led them to their class and sat a seat behind from Jimmy. Jimmy sat down and put his ball under his chair. The class was very spacious with 4 rows of 4 individual desks. The desks were all facing a chalkboard that was located in the front of the class. In the back of the class were four computers on individual tables. The chairs near those desks were very low. There was a little space that was dark between the tables.
The echoing didgeridoo invaded the awkward silence, and the chairs scraped the wooden floors, marking the conclusion of the period. I attempted to bolt through the large crowd, squeezing through the narrow doorway of the class. I was shoved into a row of desks, “Step back loser or I will get Bulan to give you another reminder.” I waited, head down, looking at my hideous pale legs, wishing they were dark. When the laughter was fading down the hall, I ...
On the next two sections the same activity and same class discussion. While students are doing their activity I am secretly observing their attitudes; the way they speak, the way they move and the way they perform their tasks. I was very careful with my words that time, for me not to commit mistakes and because I want to get the attention of my students I remained serious all throughout the