STORY - Middle School Engineering Class

If only teachers would realize what an impact they really have on kids they
wouldn't waste time doing nothing. Funny story.
Roxan
"Kathy N-V" wrote in message
.com...
My daughter goes to the same middle school I attended a couple of years
ago
(30, cough, cough), and some of my old teachers are still there. My first
two years at the school, girls were required to take cooking and sewing
(which was sheer torture, because I do not sew, especially with a treadle
sewing machine) and the boys got to go to woodworking, metal shop and
intro
to mechanical engineering.

Then came 1974, and the law no longer allowed these separate learning
tracks
for girls and boys. So I got to build a little shelf, exactly like the
ones
my brother and sister made, and they all sit in my mother's guest
bathroom.
In metal shop, I turned a piece of metal and lucite into a hammer with a
lathe. My brother got to make whoopie pies and made beanbags in sewing.

My last practical applications course in middle school was mechanical
engineering. The class was taught by a Mr. Solomon, a bald man whose
passion
for educating young minds had long since dried up and blew away, probably
several decades before. From the first class on, we girls sat in the
engineering classroom, surrounded by posters of levers and simple
machines,
while Mr. Solomon read the paper. The boys had already warned us about
this
guy, whom they always called "E-Baby," although I don't know why.

We girls gossiped with one another, and at 11:30 a.m., the teacher would
pull
open a tupperware container with his lunch. I have no idea what he was
supposed to be eating, but this stuff looked and smelled remarkably like
horse manure. His table manners were atrocious, so we got treated to
watching him eating this filth, smelling up the small hot room, and having
half the food drop back into his tupperware container, only to be ingested
a
second time. Ewww didn't even begin to cover it.

We were all disgusted, but were far too timid to say anything. Until one
day
a girl named Paula arrived in class just as the tupperware container
appeared. She started crying and shouting and freaking out (as only a
fourteen year old can), and insisted that Mr. Solomon had us in his class
so
he could torture us with the sight of him eating "horse sh*t." She got
more
and more upset and got loud, finally screaming "Get that Horse Sh*t outta
here right now before I puke, you E-Baby freak."

The teacher stopped, speechless with anger and horror. He went over to
the
antique intercom system and screamed "Carmen! Get your *ss down here
now!"

We other girls were cowering, knowing that the wrath of our Assistant
Principal was coming down like the hand of God. Carmen was a new vice
principal sent to contain those out of control kids at Sterling, and he
was a
total and complete ball buster. I found him terrifying. Paula was still
crying about the "horsesh*t," but her sobs were a little quieter than
before.

Mr Solomon was waiting and twitching, his bowl of lunch forgotten while he
thought about punishments for someone who would dare insult his lunch.

Carmen came in, big, scary and muscular because he was the football,
hockey
and wrestling coach as well as Vice Principal and my advanced placement
math
teacher. He walked over to Mr. Solomon and asked him what was going on,
and
the teacher whispered a sobbing tale of out of control girls mocking him
for
the special diet he needed to stay alive.

Then it was Paula's turn. I assumed that she thought she was dead anyway,
and had nothing to lose, so she wasn't quiet in the least. She ranted,
"First you stick me in this engineering class where the teacher doesn't
want
us, and all he does is read the paper. Then he takes out a bowl of horse
sh*t and you know what he does? He eats the horse sh*t! Every class! I
can't take it anymore." Paula was in tears by the end of her recitation.

We sat for a moment while the Vice Principal evaluated the situation. He
looked at the crying fourteen year old, the bald and irate teacher, and
most
importantly the offending bowl of what may have been horse manure.

Finally, he stood and said, "Paula stop crying. The rest of you girls
will
be going to play Dodge Ball instead of engineering for the rest of the
year.
Go down and report to the girl's gym."

I never saw Mr. Solomon again.

But I sure did hear about him. When DD started at Sterling three years
ago,
we met with the principal and he happened to mention both Carmen and Mr.
Solomon. Carmen is now the Superintendant of Schools, and Mr. Solomon
had
recently retired, at the request of Carmen and the principal. I asked
why,
and the principal looked a bit uncomfortable. Apparently, when Mr.
Solomon
brought out his lunch each day, the kids would complain. It had been
going
on for years, but the complaints were considered minor and no one thought
much of it. Then the kids started throwing pennies at Mr. Solomon's head
at
every meal. He finally called it quits, and who could blame the poor
guy -
30 years of having his lunch insulted by teenagers and then the
degradation
of having pennies thrown at his head. (But I know you all really want to
know
if it was horse sh*t. I can't be 100% certain, but I got many good looks
and
whiffs of the stuff, and I feel confident in saying it was horse sh*t or
some
remarkable simulation)

I did get to see Carmen again, and nearly fell on my butt in shock. When
I
was eleven, Carmen was the baddest, meanest ball buster who would give you
detention or make you do pushups at the slightest provocation. Hearing
him
walking down the hall and jiggling his keys was more than enough to make
the
most wild classroom behave and settle down.

I guess I'm not the only one that's changed in 30 years - I discovered
that
Carmen is a little old Italian man, who looks like someone's grandpa. He
recognized me immediately, we talked about my career and this mean, scary
vice principal who made me pick up trash outside for a month because my
library book was late - he gave me a hug and started crying that he had
made
such an influence in my life.

DD was there for the whole spectacle, and she got the "invisible magic
warning pinch," because I would have sunk through a hole in the floor the
moment my child mentioned that I called my former math teacher a
"ballbuster."
BTW, my DD has a real engineering class at Sterling. She built a bridge
out
of popsicle sticks that supported 140 lbs, and designed a magnetic
levitation
car and track, among lots of other things. Her teacher only drinks
coffee,
and doesn't scare anyone with tupperware containers.

Kathy N-V

It's true about the impact... my baby girl (oldest baby girl) just
finished kindergarten today. Me and Miss Lauerman were all tearing up
and hugging each other, and Juliet spent the rest of the afternoon
composing letters to Miss Lauerman to send her over the summer.

I know for a fact that Juliet will NEVER forget Miss Lauerman or the TA,
Kim, and that the positive feelings they bestowed upon her about
learning will stay with her for the rest of her life.

-Kalera
http://www.beadwife.com
http://www.snipurl.com/kebay


roxan wrote:
If only teachers would realize what an impact they really have on kids they
wouldn't waste time doing nothing. Funny story.
Roxan
"Kathy N-V" wrote in message
.com...

My daughter goes to the same middle school I attended a couple of years

ago

(30, cough, cough), and some of my old teachers are still there. My first
two years at the school, girls were required to take cooking and sewing
(which was sheer torture, because I do not sew, especially with a treadle
sewing machine) and the boys got to go to woodworking, metal shop and

intro

to mechanical engineering.

Then came 1974, and the law no longer allowed these separate learning

tracks

for girls and boys. So I got to build a little shelf, exactly like the

ones

my brother and sister made, and they all sit in my mother's guest

bathroom.

In metal shop, I turned a piece of metal and lucite into a hammer with a
lathe. My brother got to make whoopie pies and made beanbags in sewing.

My last practical applications course in middle school was mechanical
engineering. The class was taught by a Mr. Solomon, a bald man whose

passion

for educating young minds had long since dried up and blew away, probably
several decades before. From the first class on, we girls sat in the
engineering classroom, surrounded by posters of levers and simple

machines,

while Mr. Solomon read the paper. The boys had already warned us about

this

guy, whom they always called "E-Baby," although I don't know why.

We girls gossiped with one another, and at 11:30 a.m., the teacher would

pull

open a tupperware container with his lunch. I have no idea what he was
supposed to be eating, but this stuff looked and smelled remarkably like
horse manure. His table manners were atrocious, so we got treated to
watching him eating this filth, smelling up the small hot room, and having
half the food drop back into his tupperware container, only to be ingested

a

second time. Ewww didn't even begin to cover it.

We were all disgusted, but were far too timid to say anything. Until one

day

a girl named Paula arrived in class just as the tupperware container
appeared. She started crying and shouting and freaking out (as only a
fourteen year old can), and insisted that Mr. Solomon had us in his class

so

he could torture us with the sight of him eating "horse sh*t." She got

more

and more upset and got loud, finally screaming "Get that Horse Sh*t outta
here right now before I puke, you E-Baby freak."

The teacher stopped, speechless with anger and horror. He went over to

the

antique intercom system and screamed "Carmen! Get your *ss down here

now!"

We other girls were cowering, knowing that the wrath of our Assistant
Principal was coming down like the hand of God. Carmen was a new vice
principal sent to contain those out of control kids at Sterling, and he

was a

total and complete ball buster. I found him terrifying. Paula was still
crying about the "horsesh*t," but her sobs were a little quieter than

before.

Mr Solomon was waiting and twitching, his bowl of lunch forgotten while he
thought about punishments for someone who would dare insult his lunch.

Carmen came in, big, scary and muscular because he was the football,

hockey

and wrestling coach as well as Vice Principal and my advanced placement

math

teacher. He walked over to Mr. Solomon and asked him what was going on,

and

the teacher whispered a sobbing tale of out of control girls mocking him

for

the special diet he needed to stay alive.

Then it was Paula's turn. I assumed that she thought she was dead anyway,
and had nothing to lose, so she wasn't quiet in the least. She ranted,
"First you stick me in this engineering class where the teacher doesn't

want

us, and all he does is read the paper. Then he takes out a bowl of horse
sh*t and you know what he does? He eats the horse sh*t! Every class! I
can't take it anymore." Paula was in tears by the end of her recitation.

We sat for a moment while the Vice Principal evaluated the situation. He
looked at the crying fourteen year old, the bald and irate teacher, and

most

importantly the offending bowl of what may have been horse manure.

Finally, he stood and said, "Paula stop crying. The rest of you girls

will

be going to play Dodge Ball instead of engineering for the rest of the

year.

Go down and report to the girl's gym."

I never saw Mr. Solomon again.

But I sure did hear about him. When DD started at Sterling three years

ago,

we met with the principal and he happened to mention both Carmen and Mr.
Solomon. Carmen is now the Superintendant of Schools, and Mr. Solomon

had

recently retired, at the request of Carmen and the principal. I asked

why,

and the principal looked a bit uncomfortable. Apparently, when Mr.

Solomon

brought out his lunch each day, the kids would complain. It had been

going

on for years, but the complaints were considered minor and no one thought
much of it. Then the kids started throwing pennies at Mr. Solomon's head

at

every meal. He finally called it quits, and who could blame the poor

guy -

30 years of having his lunch insulted by teenagers and then the

degradation

of having pennies thrown at his head. (But I know you all really want to

know

if it was horse sh*t. I can't be 100% certain, but I got many good looks

and

whiffs of the stuff, and I feel confident in saying it was horse sh*t or

some

remarkable simulation)

I did get to see Carmen again, and nearly fell on my butt in shock. When

I

was eleven, Carmen was the baddest, meanest ball buster who would give you
detention or make you do pushups at the slightest provocation. Hearing

him

walking down the hall and jiggling his keys was more than enough to make

the

most wild classroom behave and settle down.

I guess I'm not the only one that's changed in 30 years - I discovered

that

Carmen is a little old Italian man, who looks like someone's grandpa. He
recognized me immediately, we talked about my career and this mean, scary
vice principal who made me pick up trash outside for a month because my
library book was late - he gave me a hug and started crying that he had

made

such an influence in my life.

DD was there for the whole spectacle, and she got the "invisible magic
warning pinch," because I would have sunk through a hole in the floor the
moment my child mentioned that I called my former math teacher a
"ballbuster."
BTW, my DD has a real engineering class at Sterling. She built a bridge

out

of popsicle sticks that supported 140 lbs, and designed a magnetic

levitation

car and track, among lots of other things. Her teacher only drinks

coffee,

and doesn't scare anyone with tupperware containers.

Kathy N-V