“Be a dentist!” he told me, over and over again, when I was young and impressionable. Uncle Denis was a teacher, as were my parents. He felt it important that someone in the family find financial success and professional respect.
The quest for financial success and professional respect is not what drives people to teach. Altruism once played a role, but these days it’s the chance to roll as Rambo that makes teaching worthwhile – chalk and Glock always at the ready.
Mortar boards take on a whole new dimension.
My fifth-grade teacher would have loved the hell out of a gun. A heavy wooden ruler was her tool of compliance. She wielded it like a billy club. What wonders might she have accomplished with a .44?
Old Mrs. Gobbs went through a lot of rulers, breaking them over recalcitrant hands.
It was the era of initial rings. Boys wore big heavy ones, generally on middle fingers. Ron McMinimum was an unrepentant sinner who learned to use his ring defensively, like a shield. He’d proffer that hand for punishment and then move it ever so slightly to take the brunt of each blow. He yelped with fake pain as the ruler whacked the ring; it rarely hit his hand (Mrs. Gobbs didn’t see too well).
Dentistry was, alas, out of the question, since I couldn’t handle math (the subject both Uncle Denis and my father taught; O’Brien irony runs deep).
Mrs. Gobbs would pull down the big roller maps at the front of the room and write complicated long division problems on the blackboard beneath them. You’d stand under the map for as long as it took to complete the equation. When finished, you could return to your seat. Otherwise, you stood there in the stuffy semi-dark. And stood there. And stood there. The ruler sometimes took a swipe at your spindly little calves if they’d been sticking out below the map for too long.
To this day, simple arithmetic makes me seize up with claustrophobia, shame, fear, and embarrassment. Is it any wonder I checked out? Is it any wonder my checkbook is a mess?
Uncle Denis was right. My kids and I have provided vacation homes for the various dentists, orthodontists, and oral surgeons we’ve dealt with over the years. And I bet their checkbooks balance to the penny.
With online banking, who balances an account anymore? Who even uses a checkbook anymore?
I used to work as a bank teller — I can actually handle addition and subtraction pretty well. Compound interest calculations, even. My grandmother was a bank secretary. My dad ran a credit union at the prison where he taught. And I did, in fact, used to balance my checkbook to the penny and even help customers fix their own hopelessly whacked accounts. But you’re right. In these depraved electronic times, I’ve let my standards go to hell.
I do still reconcile my dad’s accounts. I even wrote a web site for a class project to maintain an electronic check register and help balance checkbooks. I wrote it specifically to help me with my dad’s checkbook.
Hilarious–love the chalk and Glock line, although I’m outta here when it happens–you’re a marketing genius!