Return of Memoryfest - Day 25/31

[bironic]

Horror of horrors, I have not written any classroom-related memories except that one about the spelling word mispronunciation when we were eight years old. And school has been possibly the largest shaping force in my life other than my parents. For shame!


25. High School

Most of my favorite middle school and high school teachers were English teachers—not much of a surprise there. Along with P. (see here and here) and the woman I had for creative writing, one of my most dear teachers was Mr. F., close to retirement, a fellow language geek and science fiction and fantasy fan, supporter of my blossoming fanfiction-writing habits and donator of books to my needy shelves. Really sweet, kind, knowledgeable man with a sometimes filthy sense of humor. I had him for Honors English one year and stuck with him for a linguistics elective. We still keep in occasional touch.

Most of which is irrelevant to what I'm about to share. :)

One day in his English class we stumbled upon the subject of the Devil in literature, and he asked if anyone knew the Devil's name in Goethe's Faust, which wasn't in our curriculum. Being me, I'd read the first part of the play two years earlier for fun (because Lestat kept referencing it in Anne Rice's mostly abysmal Memnoch the Devil and I'd been curious) and had picked up the basic plot and a whole host of new words and phrases like "will o' the wisp" and "Walpurgis Nacht." After waiting a few moments for someone else to raise his/her hand and steeling myself to answer, I put my hand up and said "Mephistopheles" and felt that horrible-great combination of shame and pride for knowing the answer when no one else did.


Hey. Anyone have any requests or prompts for the remaining few memories?

Comments

[purridot.livejournal.com]

Oh, well done, Hermione!

I was on my high school trivia team -- useless knowledge sticks to me like gum under one's shoe.

Later in life, when my monsters-in-law used to like to torment me, I would retaliate by correcting their grammar. Can you imagine anything more tacky? Neither can I. But I'm not sorry. Once in a while one's inner bitch just has to get out.

P.S. Everything I learned about slash I first learned from Anne Rice.

[mer-duff.livejournal.com]

I think I mentioned earlier that my mother was one of my Grade 4 teachers. One of the grievances that I fling at her when I want to make her feel guilty about my (not-so) traumatic childhood is that she never picked me to answer a question in class. She claims this isn't true, but I remember desperately longing for her to pick me so that I could show her - and everybody else - that I knew the answer (that was also the year my parents separated, so I was more than a little insecure). When I realised that she frequently asked kids who didn't have their hands up, I stopped putting my hand up and she still didn't ask. When I pointed that out once, she said she knew I knew the answer, so it wouldn't have been any fun catching me out.

Ultimately I was reduced to more drastic attention seeking actions (which apparently included lounging with my feet on my desk and insisting on calling her Mom, not Mrs. E, though I seem to have conveniently blocked that from my memory). Most of them involved writing - a play that the enriched English section performed, my first Christmas pageant, a haiku that I just had to show her when there was a guest teacher in the room - so I guess I have my mother to thank for first starting me down my writing path.

[thewlisian-afer.livejournal.com]

Ugh. I hated that feeling and I thought I'd get past having to feel it once I got to college where people actually CHOSE to be there. Alas, in my very first Composition class, we were revising old essays as a class so we'd know what the professor was looking for and how she graded. There was a repetitive phrase somewhere in one of them, I can't remember exactly what it was, but the professor asked why she'd marked it to be taken out. I replied with, "Because it's a tautological redundancy." Ha ha! Language joke! The professor laughed. The rest of the class looked at me like I had six heads. Nobody else got it. I was still surrounded by idiots. :(

But that's too new. Something older... And unrelated. Because I enjoy being random.

I've always been a clutz and a half (except when I'm in the city, weaving between people in crowds, for some reason) but the first time it ever seriously caused a problem was when I was in third grade. I was being chased around the playground and in my attempt to get away from the boy in question, my stupid foot got caught in some playground equipment. Since I was stuck, he managed to catch me and push me down. My foot stayed firmly lodged where it was and the whole rest of my body rotated and my tibia broke. It didn't really hurt at first. I got up and tried to go back to playing but I couldn't walk right. The playground monitor told a boy named Danny to help me to the nurse. We managed to get all the way inside before I really didn't think I could walk anymore. So Danny carried me to the nurse's office. And he told me my hair smelled nice. :) It's the first time I remember ever being complimented on something that wasn't academic.

[Deleted and edited because the first paragraph sucked the first time around. I was writing porn in another window. Shh.]

[kabal42.livejournal.com]

It's sad, but apart from the Viggo moment on the very first day, I only really recall negative moments as results of these situations - of which I had my fair share...

But here's an example:
In sixth grade in geography we were talking mass transit systems in capitals and our teacher, Sven, had asked the class for examples by using the Danish capital, Copenhagen. I had recently moved to that area of the country and was one of very few who'd actually been to Copenhagen, having lived in farily close proximity to it.
So, someone listed busses, the S-trains and then R. said "underground" and Sven said "we already have that - the S-trains" (this was many years before we built our metro) and I sort of blurted "the S-trains don't run underground". (Speaking out of turn is not such a horrible offence in Danish school *S*) And Sven said "but they do, at Nørreport - don't you know that?" in this very derogatory fashion. And everyone laughed. I tried saying that it's such a short stretch (and it is - less than half a mile *S*) but the laughter was there. Sven never could stand someone else being right...

[elynittria.livejournal.com]

Yay for Mephistopheles! (One of my favorite demonic names. Hmmm...maybe that would work as a name for the next kitty, depending on his or her personality.)

I know the feeling you're talking about. The way I dealt with it in high school was pretty obnoxious: I just stage-whispered the answers to my nearby friends. That way, I didn't have to always be the one with my hand up, but the teacher (if he or she was paying attention) knew exactly where the answer came from. *Is embarrassed*

At least I also told my friends the answers during tests—and then I was very careful not to be obvious!

[daasgrrl.livejournal.com]

The weirdest thing is that I don't have any memories of being called upon or not called upon or anything like that at all. I have a suspicion that the US teaching style is a great deal more 'participatory' than the Australian one, but it's only a suspicion. I do remember that often you got given stuff to do, and then the teacher would walk around the room and you could then grab him/her - or alternatively, go up to the desk - if you wanted to ask something. If it was a good question then it was often relayed to the rest of the class. There was also a lot of 'ordered' activity where one person after the other had to read or respond so everyone got a turn. I mean, there must have surely been some of that random Q&A stuff, but I don't remember it at all.