The Fourth Grade

My fourth grade teacher was a man. It was the first time I had been left in the care of anyone besides an older woman with a motherly bosom to curl into for safety. I was a nervous and sad little elementary student. I never wanted to go to school, and in the first grade, used to bring a picture of Mom with me that I would look at and cry. (I'd like the record to show that I did get past that low point quickly.) The fact was, I didn't want to be anywhere but at home, which is still how I feel about existence to this day. 

Being a student in Mr Dangerfield's class felt like just that, a danger field; risk, exposure, uncertainty. Even his name was scary. Surely this giant man will do nothing to comfort my grief-stricken heart. And he didn't, though he was a nice person who never gave me cause to eye him with the suspicion I carried for him. On two occasions he looked past my unwillingness to speak to him and help me fix my broken glasses and open a fruit cup that had defeated me. Each time I collected my belongings from him and went back to my seat without acknowledging his help. If anything, I was the cause for suspicion. 

I do have to take points away for his impromptu musical performances. He played a guitar and would sing one of about three songs, but most commonly he selected, "Puff The Magic Dragon." He'd put a lot of emphasis on "puff" and then would speed through to get to "dragon." It went like this, "PUFF! themagic DRAgon, lived BYYY thesea." I eventually warmed up to having a man teacher and viewed him as a big fourth grader himself. We all just existed in that room together. I don't remember anyone getting in trouble or getting too excited. The only memory I have about the fourth grade was my curiosity of having a man teacher. 

What made me think of the fourth grade, you ask? Well I'm not sure. It was my scariest year of elementary school because of my aversion to grown men, apparently. I imagine that Mr. Dangerfield, in real life, is a gentle soul, what with teaching small children for a living and playing soft music on such an amiable instrument. He must have a good sense of humor and a lot of patience. It's a shame I was so hard on him. 

I mean look at my outfit. Who was I to judge?