Title from: Hot For Teacher by Van Halen.JK has me over a barrel for never answering his accursed "The Best Teachers" meme. Unless I answer him he refuses to answer eclexia's tag for the "weird worship" meme. Gadzooks! So I'll dash something off here and hopefully free myself from this haranguing demon. As I have said before I don't have any teachers that I like. In fact, I'm the only teacher that I can consistently listen to with pleasure. Teachers over the years have called me a plague, arrogant, brilliant but difficult and so forth. I once asked Mr. Betts my eighth grade core teacher, "Why do you keep picking on me?" He replied, "Because you're such a scab." I will mention with fondness E. Bishop my perverse and enchanting Shakespeare prof at UO who had wild librarian hair and a chic wardrobe. Suddenly a light went on one day in my brain as I stood in my medieval studies professor's office and I said, sheepishly, "Do you know Elizabeth Bishop?" He replied, "Know her? I slept with her last night." Quite the dynamic (and married) professorial pair. My first grade teacher, Miss Wilson was a worm and a nasty old bitty. She told my mother that there was "something wrong with David." You can imagine Mom's reaction. Several other elementary school teachers, though, were loved. Miss Anderson emerged from her 3rd grade classroom like Ἀφροδίτη from the foam. (detail, full and article) But it was Mrs. Dufault who nursed the tender seed of a writer. And Mrs. Haasdyk with her Birkies and toes with socks (each little piggie a different shade of the rainbow) who dunked the journalistic sprout with Miracle-Gro.
Most of my teachers these days are bloggers. I watch. I admire. I imitate. Then I innovate. Well, I think I've given the Freudians and the Platonists plenty to ponder. Now will you write your post?
And can someone help Simonetta with her wardrobe malfunction?
Update: Added the link to JK's original post. Thanks, E.