I was a bawdy youngster.
At eight years old, I possessed a knowledge of all things baby — specifically, where they came from — and it was a knowledge I was more than willing to illustrate for Mandy Jenkins when we were supposed to be listening to Mrs. Ashby read to us from James and the Giant Peach. I was done with rotting fruit and sketchy, over-grown insects. Self-expression was the order of the day. And what a day it was! After my morning drawing session (Mandy was wide-eyed shocked; I felt superior and very, very important. Knowing really is half the battle!), I booked it out to the playground where glory of all glories, I got a swing! Didn’t even have to wait, or bribe Melissa What’s-her-face with some old Lee Press-on nail I found in the dirt.
Like I said, what a day! I was master of the third grade.
I kicked and pumped until I was so high that the downswing made my stomach lurch. Up and back, I smiled at the men tarring the roof of Larsen School. I smiled at the seagulls circling the cafeteria dumpster (that’s a smell that will never leave my memory), I smiled at the waving teacher who had come out onto the playground. Until I realized it was Mrs. Ashby and she was waving at me. Then I stopped smiling.
In seconds I was off my hard-come swing and in the classroom where Mrs. Ashby presented me with a pencil box. My pencil box, open and revealing the… illustrations I’d done earlier. Mandy was soft. The fear of Jesus had gotten to her, and she’d squealed.
“Those aren’t mine,” I said, as Mrs. Ashby loomed over me, so close that her teacher smell strong was in my nostrils. “I mean, I didn’t draw ‘em.”
“Oh? Then who did?”
“Shannon.”
“Shannon who?”
“I don’t know her last name.”
Well, there were a surprising number of Shannons in the school’s six grades, and damn if we didn’t go into every single classroom and meet every single one. Obviously, none of them were the culprit. I wasn’t going to lie. Not to get someone else in trouble, anyway.
“She goes to the older school.” I said, determined to wiggle out. Just do it, I thought. Just go on over to the middle school and find all the Shannons there!
“Now, that’s not true.” The old bat wasn’t falling for it, and she looked a bit annoyed to realize our Shannon scavenger hunt had been in vain. “If you tell me the truth right now, I won’t call your parents.”
Bingo! Plea bargain extended. I took her up on the deal.
After my confession, Mrs. Ashby led me to a small room next to the main office ( the one they used to test kids’ hearing and check for lice) where she left me alone. I sat for a good long while staring at the speech therapist’s beeping machine. Not being trusted with a pencil and scratch paper, I couldn’t even doodle, just stare and wonder about my fate. Mrs. Ashby finally returned. She had lied when we cut our deal because when she came back to the room, my father was with her. And soon my mother, dragged out of work, arrived to confront this ugly problem (the drawings were stick figures — how dirty could they be?). Only then did fear strike my little heart and I broke down in tears of shame and embarrassment.
Later, in the privacy of our home, my parents laughed as they lectured me on age-appropriate conversations and the things that should be kept private. Perhaps I was growing up too quickly, they said, and asked that I forfeit my only pair of dangly, big girl earrings — the ones with the purple stars on the ends. That was more than I could stand. Mrs. Ashby was a dirty rat. To this day — some twenty years later — I am filled with an eight-year-old’s hate for the woman who pulled a dirty trick on a dumb little kid. A child’s trust — not to mention her favorite earrings — is not something to mess with. I returned to school the next day unable to look at my teacher.
Two weeks later, now nervous about everything school related, I got so worked up over having to recite the multiplication table that I barfed all over Mrs. Ashby’s shoes and had to spend the rest of the morning on a beanbag in the silent reading loft. I’d say it served her right.
this is an awesome post, great writing fish:)
i went to a Larsen elementary too. We even had reading lofts. This blog brought back all the memories of when I was in trouble at school lol!
You are awesome. Mrs Ashby was a freak. How dare teachers so destructively wield such power over their little ones!
I can relate; my mom was called twice during my elementary school years– once when I stole yarn to play cat’s cradle, and once when I flashed the boys sitting under the rainbow-shaped monkey bars I sat atop. Ah, good times…
Well, I *AM* a teacher, and I have to tell you, she probably went into the staff lounge and laughed and laughed and laughed about the drawings you did. That’s what *I* did when a grade 7 kid started making plasticine penises (instead of working on his diorama) and started throwing them at the girls. Lecture to him, great hilarity and off colour jokes in the staff room.
I’ve used the “if you confess I won’t call your parents” BUT, you gotta follow through and hold up your end of the bargain. Not cool to reneg. Kids need discipline AND respect. You just got one of those.
Made for a good story, though!
as a new teacher, i feel sorry for you having to go through that. i would never lie to a child like that!
mean mean teacher…
Great story! Am a huge fan of your blog and can definitely relate to stories of mean teachers (mean teachers suck – where is the bumper sticker for that one)?!
I had a first grade teacher in Iowa named Mrs. Bast and I swear to this day that Bast was short for something else… One day she made me sit by myself in the cafeteria, while everyone else was out at recess, and eat three bites of cottage cheese (which I still hate to this day).
Another day she wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom even though I raised my hand and asked permission. So…I peed all over the floor. She was definitely a mean, mean teacher.
I used to teach at an inner-city preschool, where the vast majority of the students were under the age of five. The things they know could astound you. My personal favorite moment was when I caught two children escaping from their classroom. I told them that they needed to return to their room. Without hesitation, the two turned around and flipped me off… with their index fingers. I tripped in the floor from trying to hide my laughter. They did the same thing to their teacher when I took them back. She told them to show their mother when they got home. I can only imagine THAT conversation… “Mommy? Miss Nala told me to show you THIS…”
I got busted in sixth grade for writing a letter to the editor of the afternoon teacher about her … that actually got printed.
I took my medicine the same way Andy Dufresne in “Shawshank Redemption” took his 30 days in the hole … with a song in my heart.
i wanna see the stick figure pictures!
Crap stunt, going back on her deal like that. I’m glad you barfed on her shoes! I hope they were her favorites! Definitely served her right!
You make me laugh. That is why I come here.
Thanks
Hi Fish!
I read your blog everyday, and normally don’t do the comment thing….but had to today. This bit had me giggling @ my desk first thing this a.m. HILARIOUS post. I had a few teachers that are right up there with yours. Thanks for the laugh.
Super cute story. What a mean trick she pulled! I was hoping that karma was going to come back and get her.
I think my workmates are going to try to have me committed…what with the riotous laughter emanated from the vicinity of my office.
Being homeschooled I never had the whole “mean teacher” thing. Well, maybe I did on occasion, but mostly she was awesome. And very open. Especially about where babies come from. Mom firmly believed in ALWAYS being honest with children. Which is a wonderful thing, but I know of a couple of occasions where my sister and I caused some family rows with the knowledge we shared. Like the time I told my older cousin that Santa was in fact NOT real, and she went bawling to her mommy, who in turn reemed out my folks ‘cuz “how cruel was it anyway to deprive kids of Santa!” (yes, we felt so very deprived lol!)
Then the time my sweet shy innocent sister told my grandma (!) exactly HOW babies were made. Grandma’s eyes widened, but she kept composure long enough to ask where she’d gained such knowledge, and my sister said “my mommy told me”. Grandma hit the roof and the manure hit the rotary ocsillator. End result was another lesson to the effect that just ‘cuz we know doesn’t mean we have to share!
So, in essence, nothing has changed.
She is a witch!!
it soo wasn’t nice for her to promise, then go back. she should have at least come back and explain why she did.
I had a very similar situation in 6th grade where me and another girl went around taking the Smarties candy out of everyone’s desks. We got 2 rolls as a treat and we took 1 from each desk and got caught. I was SOOOOO afraid because I knew my Dad was gonna beat the crap out of me! I BEGGED AND PLEADED for the teacher to not call my Dad. The deal was that I’d have to be the class helper for the rest of the year if he didn’t. He didn’t call on me and I’ll bet I was the best helper he ever had! I would’ve even shined his shoes if he’d asked. I never took anything again.
[[writing a letter to the editor of the afternoon teacher about her ... ]]
= “writing a letter to the editor of the afternoon paper about the teacher … “
‘swhat happens when you comment pre-coffee.
oh man, I can so relate. I remember trying to show off to my teacher and I repeated a very big, grownup-sounding word I’d heard the boys in the back using. I will never forget my teacher’s face when I said “cleavage” to her.
Ah, porn and the elementary school experience. A right of passage that is usually botched by the teacher/principal, doing more harm to the child’s development than good. I can recall my bust. Especially how strongly the principal pointed out that he was going to keep the confiscated Hustler. I wonder why he did that…? Oh yeah, he was a huge perve and was caught “varnishing his paddle” on more than one occasion. And it’s my fault that my schools achievement test scores are down? F YOU!
What a great story! Nicely written- you seem to know just when to throw this charming stuff into your blog!
Your blog is fantastic. I like it a lot. Your blog is fantastic. I like it a lot.
And I definitely had those teachers. In third grade, I accidentally flipped my teacher off in the lunch line. I got in much trouble for that one, let me tell you.
Scroll halfway down this page and spoil yourself – you deserve it! Mr’s Ashby’s an old bag!! lol
God, that’s some ugly ****e. Why would ass-ugly jewelry make Fish feel better about her mean teacher?
great post. mean teacher. she was wrong to betray your trust.
Bribing with the Lee Press-on nail got me. How many times had I done that?!
I think every child has had a Ms. Ashby. Mine was Ms. Gabbard in sixth grade. May she suffocate under a zillion plagiarized reports on Queen Elizabeth.
I think this must be pretty common…I had a similar situation in 2nd grade. It was at a Catholic school, which made it all the more scandalous. All my friends laughed at my pics, but I came back from recess only to find Burt E. had turned me in, pulling the drawings from the trash and giving them to the teacher. Ug. Funny thing is, I was one of the shyest, most quiet kids. I’m not nearly so quiet anymore. Personally, I think it’s the quiet ones who are usually most interesting.
Just laughed so hard I spit a little on my computer screen.
good one.
Great story! I remember that feeling of getting the swing first, and the cafeteria dumpster too…
Also one kid getting stuck trying to wriggle through the hole underneath the one piece desk… I still don’t know how they got him out.
I totally did this as a kid…drew stick figures with big, big boobies and pubic hair. I also got caught, but by my mother. It didn’t go well, and I never drew a pornographic stick figure again….sigh.
LOL
Vengence was yours.
Great post.