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16. NNWM Day 01
I will be writing more tonight but I'm just going to post up what I have now because I'm incredibly distracted and need to focus on some other things for a bit. What else I write tonight will be updated into this post. (Hoping to update once a day - we'll see.)
This thing has a thin, vague plot and no flow whatsoever. :Db
Clarence K. Fisher, Teacher and Secret Agent Man
The first thing they always asked him was, "Why are you teaching middle school?"
Clarence always replied, "I like kids. This is the age where they're old enough where you don't have to talk down to them, but where they're still young enough to look up to you. And," he added, "they haven't hit the hardcore drugs and sex yet."
It usually resulted in the questioner nodding and smiling at first and then staring at him for the last bit, their gaze an accusation. What kind of high school did you go to? What kind of childhoods was he trying to ruin? Should he be allowed to come near their kids?
"Absolutely not," Janet said when he recounted the most recent tale, "you'll ruin them all with that sarcasm of yours."
"They should be caught and inculcated young."
"I can't believe the state allows you near impressionable kids."
Clarence flashed her a grin, all white teeth. "Not only that, the state pays me to ruin their impressionable kids."
"When you get sued," she said, "don't come looking for me." And that was how he knew she'd make a stunning corporate attorney, the way she looked out for the little people. He told her as much, as often as possible, just to see her roll her eyes at him. They had interesting relationship, the two of them, but they had developed a relationship that was comfortable and familiar after five years.
She was Korean, of average height, and strongly opinionated on a multitude of topics; he was your typical American boy, except tall (and laughably skinny for his height), and preferred to watch the world roll on by while he made comments under his breath. They had met in a university philosophy class and been the thorns in each other's sides since then. Now she was fighting her way through law school (complaininga all the while to his unsympathetic ear) and he was signed up to teach his very first class on his own: seventh grade U.S. history.
At least they shared the need for coffee in their bloodstream. Clarence rather felt that they bonded over that. It was why they tended to meet in cafes when they caught up with each other, because good company was nice, but good coffee was better.
"Here's to us," Janet said, lifting up her current cup of coffee in a minature toast. "May we successfully ruin humanity with our careers." Her eyes wrinkled at the corners, amused.
He could drink to that. Those twelve-year-olds had no idea what was waiting for them.
--
Blog post: 20xx/08/10
Benjamin Franklin Middle School is proudly named after "the greatest American thinker of his time", or so says the plaque in the principal's office. What it really means is that he was the only "great thinker" of the time whose face also pays the school's expenses. To be fair, though, those Benjamins have done a good job with Ben Frank - it's easily touted as the best middle school of the district, if not the entire state. It boasts the most modern facilities and teachers who truly love making more than a living wage: all the trappings of a successful, knowledge-based school.
And they hired me, new, young, and green, because I came with a recommendation from the Great Margaret Hillings, a math teacher who has received national recognition for making her students hate math just a little less. That kind of skill warrants national recognition and an award or two, in my opinion, but that could just be the bias of the numerically-challenged. I chose to teach history for a reason; my head reserves space for numbers only when they involve the date of the War of 1812 (1812-1815, actually) and the year Abraham Lincoln was assassinated (1865).
Despite my fantastic resume and stunning good looks, the first thing the principal said to me was, "Oh, Mr. Fisher - you're young!" She quickly qualified that with, "The students will love you. They'll think you can relate to them."
There was judgment in her eyes and I suppose it's something to accustom myself to now. There are young teachers everywhere, of course, and twenty-six is (as my younger friends are happy to remind me constantly) closer to thirty than to twenty, but to someone who has been teaching for thirty years or more - twenty-six is practically a baby.
Well babies end up walking and talking far quicker than you expect. Here's to surpassing her low expectations with my blinding good looks and winning charisma. Failing that, I could suppose I can try to impress her with my knowledge of US History. She looks the type to be charmed by a good debate about the true motivations behind the American Revolution.
It was fought over you, Mrs. Pine, in the blossom of your youth.
--
Blog post: 20xx/08/12
Today, I was at the grocery store buying nonperishables because I've long given up the pretense that I can cook, and in the checkout line in front of me, a preteen boy was arguing with his sister. She called him stupid and immature, and he retorted, "Well your mom's stupid and immature."
There was a moment of silence while that sunk in and his sister started laughing at him. The fight continued but I tuned out. Is this what's become of the youth of today? He looked like he could be in 7th grade - it would do him good to be taught the art of a good retort.
History is a good medium to teach this.
UK: You're supposed to do what I tell you!
US: You're not the boss of me!
UK: I am so!
US: Are not!
UK: Am so!
US: Are not!
UK: Well you smell funny!
US: Well you're old.
And war ensues.
I hope that kid's in my class. I will teach him well. Janet would be proud.
--
This thing has a thin, vague plot and no flow whatsoever. :Db
Clarence K. Fisher, Teacher and Secret Agent Man
The first thing they always asked him was, "Why are you teaching middle school?"
Clarence always replied, "I like kids. This is the age where they're old enough where you don't have to talk down to them, but where they're still young enough to look up to you. And," he added, "they haven't hit the hardcore drugs and sex yet."
It usually resulted in the questioner nodding and smiling at first and then staring at him for the last bit, their gaze an accusation. What kind of high school did you go to? What kind of childhoods was he trying to ruin? Should he be allowed to come near their kids?
"Absolutely not," Janet said when he recounted the most recent tale, "you'll ruin them all with that sarcasm of yours."
"They should be caught and inculcated young."
"I can't believe the state allows you near impressionable kids."
Clarence flashed her a grin, all white teeth. "Not only that, the state pays me to ruin their impressionable kids."
"When you get sued," she said, "don't come looking for me." And that was how he knew she'd make a stunning corporate attorney, the way she looked out for the little people. He told her as much, as often as possible, just to see her roll her eyes at him. They had interesting relationship, the two of them, but they had developed a relationship that was comfortable and familiar after five years.
She was Korean, of average height, and strongly opinionated on a multitude of topics; he was your typical American boy, except tall (and laughably skinny for his height), and preferred to watch the world roll on by while he made comments under his breath. They had met in a university philosophy class and been the thorns in each other's sides since then. Now she was fighting her way through law school (complaininga all the while to his unsympathetic ear) and he was signed up to teach his very first class on his own: seventh grade U.S. history.
At least they shared the need for coffee in their bloodstream. Clarence rather felt that they bonded over that. It was why they tended to meet in cafes when they caught up with each other, because good company was nice, but good coffee was better.
"Here's to us," Janet said, lifting up her current cup of coffee in a minature toast. "May we successfully ruin humanity with our careers." Her eyes wrinkled at the corners, amused.
He could drink to that. Those twelve-year-olds had no idea what was waiting for them.
--
Blog post: 20xx/08/10
Benjamin Franklin Middle School is proudly named after "the greatest American thinker of his time", or so says the plaque in the principal's office. What it really means is that he was the only "great thinker" of the time whose face also pays the school's expenses. To be fair, though, those Benjamins have done a good job with Ben Frank - it's easily touted as the best middle school of the district, if not the entire state. It boasts the most modern facilities and teachers who truly love making more than a living wage: all the trappings of a successful, knowledge-based school.
And they hired me, new, young, and green, because I came with a recommendation from the Great Margaret Hillings, a math teacher who has received national recognition for making her students hate math just a little less. That kind of skill warrants national recognition and an award or two, in my opinion, but that could just be the bias of the numerically-challenged. I chose to teach history for a reason; my head reserves space for numbers only when they involve the date of the War of 1812 (1812-1815, actually) and the year Abraham Lincoln was assassinated (1865).
Despite my fantastic resume and stunning good looks, the first thing the principal said to me was, "Oh, Mr. Fisher - you're young!" She quickly qualified that with, "The students will love you. They'll think you can relate to them."
There was judgment in her eyes and I suppose it's something to accustom myself to now. There are young teachers everywhere, of course, and twenty-six is (as my younger friends are happy to remind me constantly) closer to thirty than to twenty, but to someone who has been teaching for thirty years or more - twenty-six is practically a baby.
Well babies end up walking and talking far quicker than you expect. Here's to surpassing her low expectations with my blinding good looks and winning charisma. Failing that, I could suppose I can try to impress her with my knowledge of US History. She looks the type to be charmed by a good debate about the true motivations behind the American Revolution.
It was fought over you, Mrs. Pine, in the blossom of your youth.
--
Blog post: 20xx/08/12
Today, I was at the grocery store buying nonperishables because I've long given up the pretense that I can cook, and in the checkout line in front of me, a preteen boy was arguing with his sister. She called him stupid and immature, and he retorted, "Well your mom's stupid and immature."
There was a moment of silence while that sunk in and his sister started laughing at him. The fight continued but I tuned out. Is this what's become of the youth of today? He looked like he could be in 7th grade - it would do him good to be taught the art of a good retort.
History is a good medium to teach this.
UK: You're supposed to do what I tell you!
US: You're not the boss of me!
UK: I am so!
US: Are not!
UK: Am so!
US: Are not!
UK: Well you smell funny!
US: Well you're old.
And war ensues.
I hope that kid's in my class. I will teach him well. Janet would be proud.
--