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By W. Christopher Epler (about the author) Page 1 of 5 page(s)
For OpEdNews: W. Christopher Epler (Bill) - Writer
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A star rose in the East . . . or was it the West? Of course, it didn't really rise anywhere, did it? Ah, geocentrism! Ah, egocentrism! Which is more out of touch with reality?
Mrs. Thomlinson came to work ready to dump. She was the school's dumper queen and her students were resigned. She hadn't been laid for several decades and it showed. Not to the kids, of course, they were 3rd graders and they just knew she was their mad woman teacher. "Johnny, SIT down! How many times do I have to tell you people to come into my room like little soldiers? Now let's see if you've forgotten the Pledge of Allegiance." Johnny was frightened and never understood how his play world of friends and games got snuffed out like a match in Mrs. Thomlinson's classroom. But Mrs. T was no fool. She was politically correct around parents and rarely raised her voice past a certain point in the classroom.
"Mary Ann, I just don't understand why you can't color INSIDE the lines. You're a 3rd grader now, my goodness; you're not in the 1st grade. I wonder if you'll EVER learn how to do this!" Mrs. T ruled with sarcasm. The children's parents never dreamed how relentlessly she hacked at their little darling's self esteem and self confidence. She talked to them like a midget army of enemies. She knew she was outnumbered, but was more than up to the challenge to make them pay for her life disappointments-and yet everything she said had a pedagogical spin to it, so it was nearly impossible for the children to explain to anyone (including themselves) how their little wings were being broken by Mrs. T.
Jenny whispered to Tommy, "Gee, she's in a grouchy mood again today, isn't she?" Tommy raised his 'so what else is new' eyebrows and took a deep breath. As the days and weeks progressed in this Stalag 17 for 3rd graders, the children sensed something was wrong and that it had something to do with Mrs. Thomlinson, but that's as far as they could go with it. Mostly, they just suffered and waited for recess and the end of school.
Mrs. T had long since decided that SOMEONE had to be to blame for her vapid existence and children were at the head of the line of least resistance. She hated their innocence and even more she hated their futures, their uncashed checks of adventure and romance, so she took every opportunity to make sure they wouldn't have any.
She did have three cats at home though and always looked forward to returning to them. They slept with her and she bought them a rug covered playhouse. She liked to watch television in her living room while eating TV dinners on a flimsy fold up TV table. In point of fact, her life companion WAS television and she often talked to newscasters while eating and chatting with her cats about sitcoms. The cats seemed to agree with her (at least they never said otherwise) and that pleased her. "Oh, my babies, you're not like those naughty little boys and girls I have to put up with so we can live here, are you?"
And then one day she was 'saved'. She was ripe for it, of course, needing validation for her lack of intimacy with anyone and now she could see the rest of the world as unbelievers not deserving of her consideration. In fact this became her vocation, gossiping with like minded scolders of the human condition.
Life after this event became more agreeable for Mrs. T, since she now had TWO things to live for, i.e., television and condemning the damned. However her zealotry pushed the righteousness envelope uncomfortably far even for her porky companions (who, like her, were usually overweight), prompting the minister to generously intone, "Even homosexuals and Democrats are God's children too," but Mrs. T was unconvinced.
Finally, she started talking about God in her classroom and how God loves obedient children. She was careful about using the 'hell' word though and managed to find all kinds of ways of suggesting that outside her classroom was an abyss of unimaginable and DESERVED fear and suffering. The children in their innocence gave her the benefit of the doubt about this and had bad dreams accordingly.
In short, Mrs. T was on a roll. She sensed she was getting through to the 3rd graders and her salvation permitted her to demonize the human race. "Many are called, but few are chosen," became her mantra and she shared it with everyone.
But then one day, a new student walked into Mrs. T's world and things got interesting. His name was Billy Brownstone, an amazingly centered little kid who wasn't in the least intimidated by what he immediately sized up as a basket case teacher. All the children's jaws dropped on their desks the moment he piped up he thought Mrs. Thomlinson was nuts after she finished a sermonette about the hell waiting for anyone who didn't subscribe to her designer Ten Commandants.
"You WHAT!" She choked a little as she exclaimed this, causing muffled tittering which she chose to ignore, for the moment, while snapping her face like around it was pulled by a rubber band to glare at Billy.
"No offense," said Billy with composure, "but what you're saying is irrational."
Looooong silence. "I see," she said, "so that's what you think." She said these words to buy time-she might just as well have been reading the ingredients of one of her TV dinners. Billy made no comment and the room collectively held its breath, but the children sensed an 8 year old Galahad had come into their midst.
www.theliberationofrealism.blogspot.com
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