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School daze in America. Part three
I must admit the last part of my first day in an American school is a
bit hazy at best. It's been 25 years, so much has been forgotten. It was either English or US History that was my first class after lunch. But either way, it doesn't matter much. US History, I figured 200 years... this won't take long. LOL Actually, I enjoyed this class. It was nice to find out the John Wayne movies were not very accurate in the historical sense. Mr Petro was a splendid teacher. He explained about dictators. He told us HE was the dictator of the class. I raised my hand and said in humour "yes Mr Petro, and a big DICKtator you are". A cheap laugh, but the class thought it was funny coming out of a "limey's" mouth. He always enjoyed a bit of fun in his class, so he didn't hold any grudges. I got a B+ in US history for the semester. Thanks Mr Petro, you big dictator you.  English class was well, English and of course a bit on the boring side. The teacher was a wonderful lady called Mrs Jones. She was probably in her early to mid-thirties and she took a shine to me (an English kid in an American English class, big surprise there). Mrs Jones was also responsible for my overnight "fame", which for a few weeks by high school standards, made me a bit of a celebrity. More about that later. When in England and the teacher was female, those who used to raise their hands would call out "Miss...Miss" to get the teacher's attention. I tried this on Mrs Jones by habit, only to be told sternly,"I'm married, it's Mrs". That never stopped me calling her "Miss", I think she just gave up in the end. One of my most embarressing high school moments happened during English class. For some reason (which I don't recall) we were instructed to write in pencil. The pencil I was using had an eraser on it's top. Unfortunately for me it had been worn down, beyond the metal collar that held it in place. After making an error on my in-class assignment, I needed to erase and correct my mistake. I decided to ask in a loud voice, my classmates for some assistance. Very innocently, like I did many times in my classes in England, I yelled out "someone got a rubber I can borrow?" Well, the whole class just burst out in hysterical laughter. Poor Mrs Jones was in shock and borderline laughter herself, at such a request. I just sat there, not understanding the humour my question had brought to the class. It was explained to me, by a fellow student that a "rubber" was an American slang term for a condom. I left that classroom a bit red-faced to say the least. I made sure to use the term "eraser" for the rest of my school years. Mrs Jones never liked my spelling. I would always use the English spelling for many words. She would point out I must use the correct American versions. My point of saying "it's not American class, it's English class, and I'M English" seemed to fall on deaf ears. Her red pen of "correction" worked overtime on the papers I turned in. My final grade for this class was a "B". Not bad, considering the year before I could only pull a "C" in England for the same. Now back to my brief celebrity. Mrs Jones mentioned me to the school newspaper. Needless to say it was a matter of time before I was dragged out of a class(I thought I was in trouble for something) and had to report to the newspaper editor for an "interview". After answering some questions and getting my picture taken, I left thinking nothing of it. A few days later, my picture and accompanying article was on the front page of the school newspaper. For three weeks I was the most popular person in school. My lunch periods were a bombardment of questions and requests to say things in a cockney London accent. I ate lunch surrounded by more than a dozen giggling young ladies everyday! It was a good time to be British...God save the freakin' Queen! But alas, all good things come to an end eventually. After the hubbub of celebrity, I found some friends out of the chaos. I never sat alone for lunch again. The last class of my first day was softball/touch football/soccer. There's a story in itself to tell on this one. But that's a story for another day. |
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