School Dayz

I've always had a special place in my heart for September. First my late August birthday signaled the end of summer, usually pretty boring by then. I was always ready for Labor Day and back to school. There is something about a fresh notebook, a new pen, a freshly brown papered school book that called to me.

My favorite subject in high school was English. I had the same English teacher for three years in a row, Ken Robinson. When we first met, he had just graduated college. We were his first class. He had a shock of red hair and an easy manner. He was funny and irreverent, exactly what we needed. He also had a MBG which served as my late bus one memorable afternoon. Too bad teachers can't drive kids home anymore, it was quite the thrill.

We called him Robbie, we called Ken. We even called him Red, but never to his face. It was the late sixties and alternate teaching techniques were the rage in our high school. He taught us poetry using the lyrics of Simon and Garfunkel. He played us his favorite music and accepted comic books (the first graphic novels?) as term papers. We decorated the room and put on plays. We played pranks on him, having him paged to the office and rearranging all the desks. He never got mad, always finding the humor in our efforts and getting us back on track with our schoolwork. I know we tested his limits and taught him as much about teaching as he was teaching us about English.

Somehow he taught us valuable lessons amidst the chaos. That we were unique and valuable. That the jocks didn't rule the school. That poetry-and poets-mattered. He always had time for a confused teen and a kind word. His smile was enough to make you hit the books harder.

He was the first teacher that showed me the depth of literature, how stories could be read for different meanings. He taught me to look beyond the obvious.

i write stories now because of Mr. Robinson had an unerring faith in my talent. He died way too young, thirteen years ago, younger than I am now. My mother sent me the story of his memorial service from the school paper. Seemed like he never changed. He was still the most beloved teacher at my high school. His picture is on my refrigerator and every day when i set off to work, I glance at his smiling face and doff an imaginary hat.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme. Remember me to one who lives there. She was once a true love of mine.

Can you take another contest this week? Sure you can. I'll send a cell phone holder that I made out of crime scene tape fabric to a random commenter. You know we like knowing you're out there. Contest ends Saturday night, midnight EST.