Miss Jurgens, 5th Grade Teacher

I wrote this for a journalism class back in the day and my professor told me to submit it for publication. I thought that since my creative energy is at an all-time low (due to my job searching), I'd start recycling old papers on my site. If you happen to want to publish the thing... let me know (Ha!)... otherwise, enjoy!
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(copyright 1996, Anthony Selbitschka)

I hated Miss Jurgens, my fifth grade teacher. She confiscated my whoopie cushion and kept it in her desk for the rest of the school year. She gave me a "3" in art (on a 1-4 scale, 4 being the lowest) for drawing "too many cartoons." She didn't buy my excuses for late assignments. She lectured the class on deodorant. She represented change in my content fifth-grader life.

I hated Miss Jurgens because she made us keep a daily writing journal. On top of it, we had to do "Creative Writing" once a week. She said that she would keep all of our writing exercises, then give them back to us at the end of the year so we could keep them and when we got old we could look at them and see what we wrote like when we were in fifth grade. Bah! What a stupid idea.

The introductory type of creative writing exercises had fill-in-the-blank questions on the front to help us brainstorm, and lines on the back to write out our ideas. I was not thrilled by the whole writing experience yet:

PRINCIPAL FOR THE DAY!
THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE IS ALL YOURS! YOU ARE THE PRINCIPAL FOR THE DAY!!! WRITE THE ANSWERS TO THE FOLLOWING STATEMENTS...

1) The first change I would make in the school is: It will be 16 hours a day.
2) Three classes I would add to the program would be: dissiplin, How to have respect, and jokes that are funny. 3) Just for fun I would decorate my office by: Putting in my computer, and my TV.
4) I would add: spinach, gizzard, and liver to the cafeteria menu.
5) If a student were sent to my office for being bad, I would handle it by: shooting them with a bee-bee-gun.
6) The part I would like best about being principal would be: being mean.
7) The worst part of my job would be: being nice.
8) One thing all the students would agree upon is that I was the most: mean principal they have ever heard.
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WHAT FUN SITTING BEHIND THE PRINCIPAL'S DESK! I CAN HARDLY BELIEVE IT! I GET TO BE THE PRINCIPAL FOR THE WHOLE DAY!!! ONE OF THE VERY FIRST THINGS I PLAN TO DO AROUND HERE IS TO:
Tell the teacher to have more work. Then, put my computer in and start playing! Then, put my T.V. in. Put my "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door. Last, start relaxing on my chair. If anyone disturbs me, I FIRE THEM!!! the end.


I was hostile. I had an attitude. Give us back our crosswords and our seek-and-finds! Give us back our color crayons and safety scissors! I didn't want to grow up. What right did Miss Jurgens have, giving us a blank sheet of paper, expecting us to fill it up with words? I left my pages half-filled and incomplete. When Miss Jurgens told us that we had to fill the whole page, I wrote "THE END!" with letters that filled a quarter page. When Miss Jurgens gave us word counts, I subscribed to the "very" strategy (e.g.: Miss Jurgens is a very, very, very, very, very bad teacher). This attitude of mine persisted until parent-teacher conferences.


I won't get into the details of my punishment, but let's just say that--from then on--I was a changed young man. I promised my mom that I'd put some effort into my creative writing assignments. I promised my dad to turn in all of my assignments--on time. I promised Miss Jurgens that I'd have a talk with her after class.

I expected a reaming. She had me alone... no witnesses. Class was over and I stayed in my desk, hoping that Miss Jurgens had forgotten about the whole thing. She was wearing that blue dress with the blues scarf-thing around her neck with the blue pantyhose that inclined me to draw a picture of Miss Jurgens with a Smurf hat, holding hands with Papa and Brainy Smurf, in the Smurf Village, saying, "I'm Miss Jurgens, I'm a Smurf. La La La La La La..." I laughed.

"This isn't funny, Tony."
"Sorry."
"I am disappointed in you, Tony. Do you know why?"

Why? Where did she want me to start? She took away my bus-patrol badge for not turning in my homework. She made me eat lunch in the principal's office for the rest of the year for spitting out mashed potatoes and screaming, "Mad Dog! Mad Dog!" She made me stay indoors and write, "I will cooperate in the classroom by following the classroom rules" 200 times while the rest of the class went outside and saw the total solar eclipse. So, why did I disappoint her?

"Um... because I goof off?

"No..." Her voice was cold and monotone. Her sentences were short. Her raspberry-lipsticked lips puckered tight in between each of her rhythmic phrases. Before she started with another set of words, her lips smacked. I hated that smacking. She smacked, and continued. I cringed. "You have potential, Tony." Pucker--Smack. "But you fail to apply yourself." Pucker--Smack. "Pretty soon, Tony, you'll fall behind." Pucker--Smack. "I'd hate to see your talents wasted by your apathy."

I was able to pick out three words from that barrage of puckering and smacking: first, "apathy," because I had no idea what that word meant; second, "potential," because I knew that was a good thing and Miss Jurgens said I had it; third, "talent," because that made it sound like Miss Jurgens was complementing me! Wow! I had talent!

"I'm sorry."

I meant it this time. I felt an actual hurt inside. Poor Miss Jurgens could do nothing as her most talented student succumbed to this apathy thing and threw his talent away. She had to give "1's" to her mediocre students while here most talented student was only getting "3's." No way would I let her down again! I had potential! I had talent!

"I'll try harder, Miss Jurgens. I promise. I mean it this time."
"We'll see."

I tried harder, all right. My new me had its first literary task: to impress Miss Jurgens with an epic poem filled with flowery language flowing from within the strict syllable restraints of the cinquain poem. While I was at it, I figured that some blatant brown-nosing wouldn't hurt:

Miss Jurgens

Very nice, good teacher.

Smart, in Front, grateful, neat.

Loves fun things to do--I do too!!!

The best

x

She bought it! She hung the poem on the creative writing bulletin board. My work was showcased among Heather Colburn's poem about horses, Sarah Zimmer's poem about daises (with the words that swirled and curled to form a flower), and my best friend Matt Lasure's story about William "The Refrigerator" Perry. I felt dirty, though. I was a sell-out. I compromised my artistic integrity--my talent--for a cheap attempt to win over Miss Jurgens. That poem had to come down.

Months passed, and the poem stayed. It haunted me during social studies. I could see it in my peripheral vision during our sex education film strips. During heads-down time after lunch, I swore that I could see Miss Jurgens staring at it with that odd, crooked smile of hers. With that jet-black hair of hers against that powdered-pale face and that spooky raspberry grin and those glazed over, proud eyes staring and staring, that poem--that poem from hell--that hell poem... had to come down!

x

I wrote a brilliant concrete poem which was sure to take the place of the hell-poem on the wall. My words of world peace were wrapped around a picture of a nuclear missile headed from North America:

x

Let high hopes of peace flow in Earth. Please let peace ride in your own heart. That's good because war is very high and live on Earth is low.

x

I meant it this time. Nothing scared me more than the Cold War and nuclear bombs. Miss Jurgens had in her possession my first attempt of expressing my true emotions. It sounded so cool: "War is very high and life on Earth is low." I had no clue what it meant, but it sounded neat. The hell-poem had to be on its way down.

x

Nope.

x

I continued on my theme of world destruction for a journal assignment entitled, "Problems of the World." My guts poured out into what I thought was a powerful expose of the worlds' horrors, but ended up being a juvenile attempt to save the world:

x

I think having a nuclear war is the largest problem in the world. I also think that any kind of war is horrible. Also, pollution is a large problem. And murders, robberies, and rapes are a threat.

The nuclear war is a problem involving the U.S. and Russia, and other countries. Nuclear power is rushing up. But we are trying to make peace with Russia. So far we met to talk to the Russian leaders.

Also, pollution is a large problem. This leads to acid rain. Acid rain leads to the death of fish and plants. We should try to invent pollution-free cars and factories. We should make smoking illegal.

Lastly, we should put commercials out telling people not to rape people and don't rob. We should have announcements that say don't walk alone at night.

x

I learned how to start with a thesis statement, then follow with supporting paragraphs. I learned how to link my paragraphs with words like, "also," and "lastly." Despite its silliness in retrospect, this was a landmark occasion. I had learned the concept of a structured paper.

My hard work didn't pay off. Screw the structured paper. That poem was still on the wall.

For my next assignment, I wrote a (sort of) haiku about horses. Heather Colburn had her horse poem up on the wall, so maybe the horse thing could work out for me. This time, I was on a mission: I tried to capture a real rhythm, I was struggling for the right words, I played with the rhyming sounds of "plain" and "mane." I found myself falling in love with the writing process as a whole. A picture of a horse, rabbit, and snake in a forest, drawn with my best color pencils accompanied my best cursive writing:

x

Horse

Running in--

The Plain, fast

Hooves and a long

Mane. some are

graceful--some--

Wild.

x

I meant it this time. The hell-poem came down.

Thinking about it now, I suspect that Miss Jurgens knew my ulterior motive behind the hell-poem. She knew it was crap, and she knew that I hated it. Perhaps I am giving Miss Jurgens too much credit in this matter of the hell-poem. Maybe it seems too perfect of a plan for a fifth-grade teacher. In any case, knowingly or not, she showed me how disappointing my writing had become by hanging my most pathetic effort upon a wall reserved for greatness. She displayed my lies on that wall so I could become more honest in my writing. Miss Jurgens showed me my worst so I could create my best.