The past two summers, I challenged some of my students to help me with some columns over the break. They gave me the first and last lines of a potential fictional short story. My task was to take those lines and write the middle. It was a lot of fun, so I’ve asked my students to help me again. This week’s inspiration was provided by Sidney Schultz.
The reason my 8th-grade Honors English class was my favorite was the delightful mixture of great personalities they brought to my room every day. They were always going to bring their best, which is one reason they had been elevated to the honors group. I also knew that, even though it was the first class of the day, they’d be on top of things and ready to learn.
It’s difficult to stay motivated all the time, but usually in my honors groups, I found a group of eudemonic kids who wanted to earn that A in class to stay happy. These were the kids who would come to my classroom before school to ask questions; that is, if they hadn’t e-mailed me the night before as they did some work on their latest project.
I developed a good rapport with many of the students in my classes, and the honors kids were quite often the ones who would come back and visit during high school, long after they had gotten free from my class. Sometimes I’d get a request to look over a paper for a high school class, and I was happy to help, finding it fun to see how much their writing had progressed over time.
My wife got to know these kids vicariously since, like most people, I would talk about my day during supper. Trying to stay positive, I’d expound on the students who were making good strides in class or who had done something amazing or who had made the class laugh. Occasionally, after a tough day, I had to vent about a difficult situation. I tried to limit those.
At the end of each school year, I’d receive some graduation party invitations. Being old-fashioned, I only went to parties where I got an actual invitation handed to me. None of this Facebook invite stuff; that was too easy just to pick everyone and send it out. If I meant enough to a student, they’d find a way to stop by and drop off an invite.
My wife enjoyed going to these parties. Sometimes it was the first chance she had to see some of the kids she’d heard so much about over the years. One year we arrived at the party of one of my former honors English students, Sidney. She had been a good student who really put forth her best effort (most of the time) and was usually one of the first to redo an assignment on which she hadn’t met her normal high standards.
We greeted the graduate and offered congratulations before moving through the food line. As my wife and I sat and enjoyed some pulled pork sandwiches and potato salad, we visited with other party guests around us. It was a nice day outside Sidney’s garage, where the party was being held, and we were sitting at a picnic table in the driveway.
Suddenly, a very loud motorcycle pulled up to the house, right between picnic tables. As we coughed on the exhaust, people turned to see who could be so rude. Once he removed his helmet, it took me a moment to recognize the young man. After all, it had been four years since he’d been in my class, and he had transferred to a different district the following year, so I hadn’t even seen him in passing in the hallways.
“Hey, Sidney!” he shouted as he turned off his bike. It was apparent he wasn’t in the best state, perhaps having imbibed a bit before arriving. “Congrashu…congrabu…congratulations!” he stuttered out. Yep, he was drunk.
Sidney looked appalled. And then I remembered that she had dated… Herbert – that was his name, I finally remembered – back in 8th grade. Apparently, he wasn’t over that.
“Herbert, get out of here!” she shouted at him. “I told you I never wanted to see you again!” So it hadn’t been a good break-up.
He started moving toward her. “Ah, come on, give a guy a third chance?”
The situation was escalating. I stood up, blocking Herbert’s way. “Why don’t we get you a ride back home?” I suggested.
His eyes narrowed. “Hey, I know you! You’re that jerk of an English teacher. Get out of my way!” He shoved me aside, and I tripped over a picnic table, smacking my head on the side of it.
The next thing I knew, my wife was helping me by wrapping some bandages around the gash in my head. Sidney’s parents had stepped up and gotten Herbert to back off after he shoved me. The cops had been called.
But I wasn’t going to be around to see all that. I needed to make a trip to the emergency room after being knocked out. That’s how we ended up having to leave the party.
Word of the Week: This week’s word is eudemonic, which means relating or conducive to happiness, as in, “The morning comic strips were eudemonic for him, starting his morning off right.” Impress your friends and confuse your enemies!