Although I don't have any photos of myself on my MySpace account (that I created many moons ago - and never use) I get strange messages from people who have either attended or are attending the same high school I went to. Most of the messages are from teenagers who have no idea who I am, but yesterday I received a message from a chic who was in my brother's year (3 years below me).
It didn't take her long to know who I was, and she reminded me of my final year's history class where I had a boom box for a teacher.
And all he ever seemed to yell was my name down the school's corridor - and not once did any teacher ever complain (well he was also the deputy principal, so maybe that had something to do with it?).
See, history class was always straight after lunch. This proved to be quite troublesome considering I loved my basketball and it would take me anywhere between 5 and 10 minutes to get from the basketball court to my locker where I'd grab my books to my history class.
Now history class wasn't the most exciting of classes - especially the way Mr. Boom Box presented it. All he ever did was pull out an overhead transparency, turn the overhead on, and then tell us to write them down. His philosophy was that by writing down his notes it would pass through our brain down to our hand - and thereby we'd be able to recall what he had wrote.
Ah, no dude. Ever heard the saying: "The lights are on but nobody's home"?
Well that was me during history class - I was on autopilot.
It was a shame though, because my history teacher in the previous year was far better - he'd bring history class alive by dressing up as historical characters and every once in a while do a play, or a game.
Yep, I had the teacher from hell for my final history year - and my grades showed it.
To help improve my marks Mr. Boom Box thought that I should be on time to his class as everyone else did and they were getting better marks than me.
Ah, no dude, my grades would improve if you went and jumped in the lake, and brought in my previous year's history teacher.
So every week, without fail I'd be either at my locker, or at my bag, and I'd hear a loud,
"RYAN [SURNAME] YOU ARE LATE - GET HERE NOW."
The first time it happened all the other classrooms stopped what they were doing and looked outside their windows to see what was going on. Was a kid going to get a beating?
Most of the time my ambling to class in plain view would make his eyes pop. Other times I'd pretend to jog to class, stop, pretend that I forgot something and jog in the opposite direction to wherever I had to go to pretend to get that something I forgot - making his eyes pop again.
Then there was the time when I wasn't even at school - I was sick with the flu. According to one of my classmates he screamed my name walked up and down the corridors before eventually being told by the secretary that I was absent. I think I wasted a whole 15 minutes of class time for my mates even though I wasn't even at school!
Then there'd be the times where he'd yell and I'd be right behind him, and other times when I'd already be in class!!?!
I began to think that maybe this teacher had "issues" and that maybe he was ostracised from all the other teachers and after lunch time he'd vent out his frustration by yelling my name out several times. All the kids in my class chuckled every time this happened, in fact, they'd arrive early to class just to see what would happen, and they laughed the hardest on the day he yelled my name and I yelled back from within the classroom!
(And to think that I had that cute red head in my class too - obviously I wasn't creating the best of impressions.)
Yep, history class was up there as one of the worst classes I ever had during my high school years. I remember at the very end of the year my grade mark was 45% - anything below 50% was generally known as a fail. When Mr Boom Box had presented everyone with their grade mark he privately came over to me and said,
"Ryan, I'm supposed to fail you for the mark you have in this class."
Oh great, I thought, how am I going to explain an F on my report card to my folks?
"But I'm going to be lenient," he continued, "and give you a D."
Then he just stared at me hoping I'd kiss his feet, or give him a big hug, but all I could muster was a curt smile and a small unfelt "Thanks."
I still want you to go jump in the lake though.
So, I guess if I ever were to visit my old high school I'd probably hear my name still echoing amongst its halls and corridors.
Ah, the annals of history... or as I'd like to put it - with reference to my history teacher - the anal of history.
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