The “new school” story is the pinnacle of over used antidote. The tale of an adolescent plucked from natural habitat and thrusted into unknown surroundings. While a bit cliché at times the new school can resonate themes of resilience and the adapting to change — however, this is not that story.
I transferred to Lockhart elementary in the fall of 2004. It was my mother’s alma mater. I remember she would say, “You’ll get to be a cub just like mommy.” I wasn’t sure about this, but smiled anyway out of respect. I attended Lockhart until the winter break, when we left Houston and moved North to Akron, Ohio the city of rubber and the home to some guy named LeBron James.
Mrs. Cannon, was my fifth grade teacher — and she terrified me. She was an older lady probably fifty-something years in age but to the 10 year-old she seemed ancient. Her hair had blonde tint and it rested a top head like cloud. She hardly ever smiled. She grinned at me once and it was the most unnatural thing I’ve ever seen my life-the very thought gives me goose bumps to this day.
The most memorable part of her class was our daily reading. There was no reading corner with colorful beanbag chairs or visits to the school library. Every day, we passed around these plastic bins of magazines. I have never read so many "Jet Magazines" in my life. I always wondered, why am I reading magazines meant for my grandmother? Where’s my "Harry Potter," "Roll of Thunder Hear My Cry" or at least those "Highlights" magazines with the puzzles on the back.
A good turning point of this story would be through some unforeseen circumstances Mrs. Cannon and I would establish a relationship straight out of "Boy Meets World," she being my, Mr. Feeny and I being her Cory Matthews. But that didn’t happen that way. I didn’t like her and she probably didn’t pay me any mind. I was just another strange kid passing through her classroom and one of her last before retirement.
When looking back on those four months in Mrs. Cannon’s classroom, it made me consider how the people who pass through our lives have some type of impact on us. Take me as an example, I wasn’t a fan of my fifth grade teacher but here she is, a center of one of my stories ten years later. The people flowing through our lives leave an imprint-either good or bad. They have affected us in some way. Why is it out of all the other teachers I’ve come across she’s the one that lurks in the back of my mind.
