Sepia suggestion –
Original Post.
Sepia Scenes
What was cool about that one, there’s been no retouching. No reordering of the color scheme. Bleak February day and true urban decay, as the garage was torn down. Part of why I’m a good tourist.
Who was your favorite teacher?
Biggest impact, most important? Thinking about a Tim Dorsey literary character, and an awards ceremony, all brought it back. Three, four teachers. Two in high school, one in college, one at the university. The first, the most vibrant, the one I recall the clearest? Algebra. High school algebra. I got an A. Sailed through it and trigonometry.
I couldn’t even spell “trigonometry” without an electronic dictionary – although I do know what a quadratic equation looks like. Sort of.
It wasn’t his style, he looked like Geraldo Rivera. I googled his name a few times, out of curiosity, and it is some rockstar-caliber athlete who has the same name. No luck there, and it wasn’t worth more than a cursory search. I might never know.
He brought life and energy to a dry and boring topic. That, and I’d enhance my study methodology with a natural herbal blend. The numbers on the chalkboard were brought to life. I still recall his excitement at making the myths and stories the numbers could tell, making sense out of dull figures.
I recall none of the formulas, other than how to measure a tire’s circumference and figure out speed based on the motor’s RPM. That’s not even algebra, that’s just simple figures.
The second teacher, same year, a mousy, quiet, nebbish and bookish English teacher, yes, I recall her, too. Thick, big, round hippie glasses. Long, stringy blond hair, a wisp of a woman, probably, a freak of some kind. All us literary types are freaks. These days, I’d peg her as a Virgo/Gemini. Mostly Virgo.
The college professor was a lit teacher at a community college and for years, I’ve figured him to be the most influential, but I have to dig further back to High School, first.
There was one other professor, mostly American Lit, and he was huge influence, too; however, I always figured I never got an A in his classes because I lacked breasts (and had a pesky penis). But that was just a feeling from that one professor.
That high school English teacher, she gave me a single line that’s stuck with me, “You have a golden tongue.”
“What do you mean?” I asked innocently.
“It’s more like a golden shovel.”
Bet teachers can’t make statements like that anymore. Or grade based on how a student looks in a tight t-shirt. Those were the ones I remembered.