A nine year old never expects to have an ongoing relationship with evil. When I was nine, if I heard the word evil, I usually thought of Star Wars villains, or Iranian terrorists holding Americans hostage. A nine year old never expects their fourth grade teacher to be on the same level as Darth Vader. Well, in retrospect she was more Jabba than Vader.
My teacher was a woman by the name of Mrs. Boyd. She was just over five feet tall, with an ass just about as wide. Her eyes were the size of bull testicles, and her hands resembled dry, cracked old pork chops. She moved her hips with the grace of a Dodge pick-up, and consumed Baby-Ruth candy bars in massive quantities like they were her last meal on death row. Charming.
Mama and Daddy felt that a private school would be the answer to my academic troubles, and that's how I found myself in Mrs. Boyd's graces. I was a good student, but supposedly demanded too much attention of my classmates and teachers, and the school district wasn't capable of handling such a child. Who knew that one nine year old could polarize an entire school district? Well done. Kudos me.
My new school was called Virginia Christian Academy. It was located just outside of D.C., and I suppose that you could define it as an academy, but Christian? No. Unless of course if by Christian you mean praying to Jesus before eating a hot, grey lunch prepared by an angry German woman who smelled like rubbing alcohol, then "yes" Christian would apply.
As we pulled into the gravel drive heading up the hill towards the school, I sat up in my seat to get a look at my future alma mater. Given how Mama and Daddy spoke of the place, I was expecting something collegiate with pillars and landscaped lawns. A place where I would find Tootie, Blair, and Joe from The Facts of Life. In reality, the academy was a series of three sickly, green trailers that served as classrooms, a cafeteria, and a daycare facility.
The landscape (loose term) included two dying elm trees, and patches of weeds that managed to work their way through the gravel. It was ugly on a scale that I had never experienced. I was my Mama's son after all, and in my family "ugly" was not a term we associated ourselves with on a regular basis. This was a place so revolting, and so obviously miserable, that the only conclusion I could draw was that my parents were sending me to a form of day school prison. A place of cruelty, torture, and ugly people. Was Berthalee in attendance?
Despite my horror I dared to ask, "This is it? I have to go to school here?"
Daddy promptly told me to "shut up", and threw out some pseudo-psychological bullshit about how I should "never judge a book by its cover", and then tossed in a "you should be grateful" , followed by, "Boy, you better get yo' head outta yo' ass." What nine year old wouldn't find such eloquent words so inspirational?
Mrs. Boyd greeted me, and I made every attempt not to stare. At the time, I had no idea you could get polyester to stretch like that, or that human eyes could resemble that of amphibians. Would she be able to move freely about the classroom without causing injury to herself, or others? Would she lick her own eyeballs? I was horrified, but I had to know.
If the point was to provide me with more of a one-on-one education, my parent's logic was lost on me. I was sharing the classroom with fifteen first graders, three second graders, one third grader, another fourth grader, and a fifth grader. There would be no time for my star to shine in this desolate, filthy, musty, dusty old mobile home. Why not just send me to school in the Black Hole of Calcutta? Eee Gads!
All students were supervised by Mrs. Boyd, and her teaching assistant, Diana. Diana who held more resentment, and contempt, in her anorexic six foot frame than Fred Phelps at a gay pride parade. She defined bitter, and given that she hated anyone she came in contact with, I was drawn to her. This would be an occupational hazard for most Southerners as we are compelled to charm anyone we come into contact with. Rejection is never an option. It is simply an aphrodisiac.
To Be Continued...
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