I like Art, it is a good lesson, and I feel less twitchy when I’m busy painting and drawing.
Mrs Mizer the art teacher looks a bit like a farmer and the word around the school is she really lives on a farm; this earned her the nickname ‘farm yacker Mizer.’
Today the class is busy with everyone doing projects and there is a general hum from everyone, they sound like crafty little bee’s buzzing about on their tables.
I’m Spreading glue and newspaper on a balloon, it’s not hard and I accidentally on purpose get the glue all over my fingers.
It doesn’t take long to dry and peeling it off feels nice.
Mrs Mizer is patrolling the classroom like a prison warden. She passes behind me and I can’t stop myself and whisper “farm yacker.”
She stops behind me, I pretend to be busy, and I can see her in my peripheral vision begin walking away.
“Ooh argh” I shout like a farmer, this comes out louder than a whisper and she turns to look directly at me with a strained look on her face, “Williams get on with your work!” she says in a stern croaky voice.
Why can’t I keep quiet, even when I’m on the teachers radar my mouth opens, and things come out, it’s almost as is my mouth is always trying to get me into trouble.
I continue with the gluing of my fingers and blow them to speed up the drying process I hear the footsteps of Miss passing by again, “ooh argh farm yacker” I shout even louder this time.
“Stand up Gordon!” she yells at me red in the face.
I stand quickly, her angry red face is right in front of me and I’m laughing, why? Why am I laughing?
“Do you find yourself funny boy!” she yells in my face while her own goes from red to purple, I can feel her hot breath on my face and bits of spit hit my cheek.
Why can’t I stop laughing? I pinch the skin on my legs it hurts but it’s not working, and I can only manage to get my laughing down to a smirk.
Mrs Mizer grabs me by the shirt and drags me through into the next room out of sight of the other pupils. Still holding me by my shirt, she thrusts me up against the wall.
Why am I still smirking? this is getting serious. I can see her mouth moving but her words are just noise.
Whatever was making me laugh disappears and the smirk leaves my face. She now begins to calm down, her grip weakens, there is a moments silence, and we just stand there facing each other.
“Right Williams you will write a letter to the headmaster informing him of what has occurred during the lesson today” she says in a much calmer voice and the redness begins to leave her face.
This punishment is different than usual, writing a letter isn’t too hard and I won’t be there when the headmaster reads it anyway.
She hands me a sheet of A4 paper, and I sit down to begin my punishment, taking out my half-chewed pen I begin to write.
I start with how I was taunting Mrs Mizer and the things I said, I can’t help but smile when I write ‘farm yacker and ‘ooh argh.’
I go into great detail of how she dragged me out of the room, thrust me up against the wall.
I’m quite good at creative writing when I’m in the mood and for some reason at this moment I am in the mood. I use many descriptive words to set the scene of the ‘frenzied attack of discipline.’
Article complete I pass my work to Mrs Mizer and as she reads it, I notice her face now turns white.
“That is a brilliant piece of English work Mr Williams, why can’t you put this amount of effort in all your work?”
“I don’t know Miss?” I reply almost with pride for my literary achievement.
“It’s a shame nobody will read it” she said screwing up the paper and tossing it into the bin.
I was sad seeing my work in a crumpled ball, but I’m more interested in getting out of here and getting my dinner.
“On your way” she said, her tone had changed, and it was almost as if we were friends and that we had bonded over the whole incident, or maybe it was just that I am glad to be getting out of here and going for my dinner.
