Sixth Grade at Elizabeth Haddon School: There Ought to Be a Law!

I hated sixth grade and everything about it. I wanted to like my teacher, Mr. Holman, but he didn't seem to think much of me. He was such an awfully big man, though he was not fat. Oh, why don't I tell you some of the things he put me (and sometimes the class) through!

First, My Roman Poem

Well, I won't spend much time on that. He made us do something relevant in the way of a project about Rome. Who cares about Rome? I had no way out. So I made a carved cake of ivory soap into the Parthenon. Wouldn't you know I dropped it and it cracked? I had to "glue" it back together with water. I also had to write a poem. If you really are a masochist, read that beauty here - The Most Awful Verse Ever Written.

The Song

Oh, Good Grief! The song... I had nearly forgotten. Mr. Holman made his sixth grade-now keep in mind I said the sixth grade, and not the second grade-sing a song for a day in which all the classes performed for each other. Want to "hear" the lyrics? Tell me how YOU would feel if YOU had to sing such a song...

I see you, I see you
Tra-la-la-la La-la-la La-la-la
I see you, I see you
Tra-la-la-la La-la-la La-la la

You see me and
I see you and
You see me and
I see you and
You see me and
I see you and
We all see each other

(Repeat first stanza)

Oh, please! Let me die, but don't make me sing that!

Conjugating Verbs

So I do enjoy the English language now; I rather take pride in knowing it fairly well. In the sixth grade, however, I didn't have a clue. The kid just before me was told to stand and conjugate the infinitive: To Swim. He or she declared, Swim, Swam, Swum.

'OK, Vincent, please conjugate To Dig,' Mr. Holman said.

Basing my thinking on the previous student, I responded, "Dig, Dag, Dug." Have you ever been declared or felt like it was declared-albeit politely-that you are a fool? Well, then you know how I felt, as I sat down.

Keep in mind that all these things I am telling you are forever etched or burned in my memory. No other class I ever had provides so many memories, so clearly!

The Steam Engine

Mr. Holman, in all fairness, was probably a fine teacher. He was not unfair, even though he was strict. He took his job seriously and clearly did his best. I would rejoice if I could see him again and talk to him (I'm rather sentimental, you see.). But he was decidedly different. One day, a kid named Bob brought a steam engine to class. Mr. Holman had this beauty, all filled with alcohol, and he lit it with a match, as he was supposed to do. Fwoom! It caught on fire. Mr. Holman yelled for the window to be opened, took his jacket off (all the male teachers wore a suit and tie) and wrapping it around the engine, heroically tossed it outside.

Then came the fire engines... How could *any* of us forget that day?

My Decision

Despite all this, I have to think Mr. Holman was special. All of my former teacher either praised me for my gifts, or lamented my failures. Still, they all liked me. Mr. Holman clearly favored the kids who did well in his class. This might seem unfair, and perhaps it was. It worked in my favor, however. All the kids I was inclined to like were the better students in his class. It was during his class one day, that I determined I was going to excel, and work hard to be a smart person. Although I have not shaken the sensibilities of Society with my greatness, I made remarkable improvement. Allow me to say that if I could be with Mr. Holman, he being alive and well, I would approach him and tell him, "Thank you, Mr. Holman." I didn't like your class, and I wasn't happy there, but you taught me one of life's most important lessons. You are, at least in part, what you make of yourself."