Wednesday, February 27, 2008

59 - 63 x365: Elementary Teachers

*I have been lax in my 365. Actually, I got bored. But, although it may take me an extra year, I am working on it.*

#59: Mrs Drexler

My grade 7 teacher, she was very thin with dark wavy hair that went almost to her waist. She was a French teacher by trade, but taught us everything else too. She wore long flowing skirts every day and her toes pointed slightly outwards. She was very quiet and soft and kind. And, she let me play with Plasticine during class because she knew it helped me absorb things better.

#60: Mr. Mumford

He was my principal for most of my elementary school career. When I first met him, he jokingly asked if I was 19. I looked at him like he was stupid and said "I'm seven" in a voice that backed the look. I remember him being in his 50s, balding with a little pot belly. Twenty years later, he is still in his 50s so I think my perception of him was a little off. We called him "Amazing Mumford".

#61: Mrs Hippo

Tell you the truth, I have no idea what her real name is. She was my city Grade 2 teacher. (Not to be confused with my town Grade 2 teacher whose class I was so cruelly ripped.) She was a very wide lady - big bum and hips and little top. We called her "Mrs. Hippo". I only hope we didn't call it to her face.

#62: Town teacher

It's been almost 25 years here people. Don't expect me to remember names. She was a kind old lady (I say old. She might have been 40 but I was sure she was at least 60). She was tough and strict but fair. She gave me detention once for crab walking out of the reading corner with my two best friends Lane and Daniel, but she defended me fiercely when her boyfriend accused me of running my bike into his truck.*

*I didn't actually run my bike into his truck. I was still learning and my balance was a tad precarious and I might have fallen sideways and grabbed onto his truck to support myself but at no time did the bike actually hit it. It was my face.

#63: Mrs B

Prim, proper and British. She was born during the war in Europe and the story is she was sleeping in her cradle the night bombs fell on London. The wall next to her crumbled and she continued to sleep through the entire thing. She was my Grade 3 teacher and she could kick some serious butt with just a look and a disapproving "ahem". She encouraged us to make up plays and explore our creativity. How she sat through that many 8 year old kids making up crap I will never know. I made her a ceramic turtle candy dish when I got older and years later she told me she still had it. It made me really proud.


  1. Love this post. Oh, the details we remember. And your child misperceptions of age are cracking me up.

  2. Ha I love that you did this. I remember my third grade teacher. I swear she was a witch that ate little children.


Crap monkies say "what?"