Red, Gold and Green
Sometime in the early 80s it was a Friday afternoon. The teacher was reading us Roald Dahl's Fantastic Mr Fox. We sat cross-legged on the lurid green classroom carpet, completely enthralled by the story, cheering as Mr Fox triumphed over the evil farmers, Boggis, Bunce and Bean.
It was fascinating how Mr Fox so quickly constructed that complex network of tunnels. In doing so he created a sustainable food source for all those underground creatures. I knew if there was a sequel, they would have kept digging, and he would have dug beneath cinemas and shopping centres and ice-skating rinks, so not only would they eat like kings, there would be light entertainment for all.
The teacher closed the book with a snap. I looked up into her pale and delicate face with the screaming red lipstick and knew she was the coolest woman on earth. Anyone who could stop us from wriggling and punching for a solid hour had to be magic. She also had dangly earrings and this long and crazy skirt. It was made from the same bold fabric as the curtains in my sister's bedroom.
The bell rang and I raced outside, my head still floating inside that book. I would dig an underground tunnel leading to a Cake Factory, and there'd be nothing Mum could do about it.
The teacher was leaning against the front gate when my Dad pulled up.
"Good lord, look at your bloody teacher," he said by way of greeting.
I slammed the car door. "I like her."
"Do you know who she reminds me of with all that bright make up and lipstick? Boy George, that's who. Boy bloody George."
"You are sticking a pin into the lovely bubble of my afternoon," I longed to say.
He started humming Karma Chameleon.
Suddenly the teacher looked up from the gate and their eyes met. They did that Mandatory Presence Acknowledgment thing that adults do. She nodded. He lifted a finger off the steering wheel. She thought, Lowlife Weekend Disneyland Dad. He thought, Weirdo Boy George Lookalike. She went back to making sure the kids got on the school bus safely. He went back to thinking about how she was weird and looked like Boy George.
"I think you should tell her on Monday that her skirt is just too loud."
Then we drove off in his fluorescent orange Valiant Charger.
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Hehehe. There's no substitute for taste, is there!
One of my teachers had a severe hare-lip. My dad used to beg my mother to do the parent/teacher interviews with that one, because he couldn't keep a straight face and would unconciously end up mimicking how she dribbled and slurred her words.
Hmmm...this man shaped my childhood. Explains a lot.
Lovely stuff, kiddo.
Did Chargers come in any other colour than that godawful burnt orange? I'm picking not - it was the same tint as all those Formica kitchen-benches of the same period. That and Tang.
true story? i'm glad that you still liked her. i'm going to teach my kids to like people for who they are on the inside, not for their outward appearance.
lukey - yes! it was that burnt orange. fluro was the wrong way to describe it. just like the benchtops. it was so embarassing to be seen in.
and yeah it's a true story. i dunno why that comment stuck with me so long... "boy bloody george", he said.
What a wonderful teacher she sounds!
My primary school equivalent was a wonderful emergency teacher called Mr Wilkie. He introduced me to Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing and Superfudge by Judy Blume which I read about 40 times when I was in grade two. And just the most wonderful story called Morris Has A Cold, about a moose with a cold.
In grade one, I was keen to impress him when he was teaching our class for a week, and brought in my 'kissing' Barbie doll for show 'n' tell.
"See, Mr Wilkie, when you press this button on her back, she kisses you with her special lipstick!"
And he grabbed Barbie, and made her kiss him all over his face, while he pretended to try and push her away, shouting: "Stop Barbie, stop!" and then finally, "Whoooh! I haven't had a kiss like that in a LONG time."
And all us kids went hysterical. He was the coolest dude.
I had a great teacher like that in Year 3. He read us all the greats like the BFG, The Hobbit and ET, with all the voices and sound effects. He was a huge jolly man that reminded me of Santa Claus. The illusion was ruined when he and my mum became friends (platonically of course) and i woke up to get a glass of water and he was taking a piss off our back balcony after too much cask wine. The horror!!!
I still have a copy of Fantastic Mr Fox--one of the best books ever written, in my opinion. But Roald Dahl will always be the most awesomely fantastic guy ever as far as writing goes. Matlida, for pete's sake!
I have Fantastic Mr Fox in Polish, and it's mine, not the kid's.
Hi Babyhead!
I remember it being hard not to let adults ruin really cool things like that. I always had this moment of blinky realization and I tried to tell myself it wasn't true, but my thoughts were always a little poisoned after that.
Good observation. I never thought I'd forget about something like that. Reason enough to bite my tongue around Frenchie sometimes.
Love that memory...the cool teacher kept us going through the dark corridors of grammar school. Let us praise their memory.
I think your dad was inadevertently cool in his Valiant Charger though.
Mmm, juxtaposition...
Well-told, Shaunybear.
I am taken with this tale.
Though my teacher wore waistcoats and gloves. My old man thought he was the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland.
The old man did have a point. You should have seen the Prof eat carrots.
Ahhh...
This is a little gem of a tale! Thanks for making me smile... certainly beats working!