April 7: In Support of Teachers, Bill Dodds, "Mrs. Stein"

Over this past week, teachers have been getting pretty bad press from some people.  They're being criticized for standing up and asking for decent wages, decent funding, decent school conditions.  Teachers want to teach kids.  If they can't pay their bills, they can't focus on our kids.  If they don't have the money for books and supplies and school functions, they can't focus on our kids.  If they're worried that ceilings are going to collapse in their classrooms, they can't focus on our kids.

Teachers are heroes, getting paid very little money to do one of the hardest jobs that exist.  When there's a school shooting, we praise teachers for protecting children.  I think it's time that teachers get the respect and support that they deserve.

If you don't agree with me, send me a comment.  Make sure that comment is grammatically correct.  Check your spelling.  Review the logic of your argument.  If you can do all that, thank a teacher.

Saint Marty is thankful today for all the teachers in the world.

Mrs. Stein

by:  Bill Dodds

The school bell rings, we go inside,

Our teacher isn’t there.

“Maybe she’s sick!” her pet cries out.

Yeah, right. As if I’d care.

 

I have a D in Language Arts,

My grade in math’s the same.

And now my teacher might be sick.

Could be I’m part to blame.

 

She doesn’t like me, that’s a fact,

I wouldn’t tell a lie.

She says stuff like: “You’re very smart,

But you don’t even try.”

 

I start to laugh—my teacher’s sick!

And boy, I’m feeling fine . . .

When someone knocks the door right in,

And there stands Frankenstein.

 

She’s six-foot-eight, her dress is black,

She’s wearing combat boots.

I start to gasp, she growls and says,

“I’ll be your substitute.”

 

The teacher’s pet is whimpering;

She doesn’t stand a chance.

The smart kid stares and points and faints.

The bully wets his pants.

 

“My name is Mrs. Stein,” she says,

And every student cringes.

She leans the door against the wall,

She’s knocked it off its hinges.

 

“Now let’s begin. You there! Stand up!”

She looks me in the eye.

I try to move, my legs won’t work.

I know I’m going to die!

 

In one big step she’s next to me,

And she does more than hover.

She blocks the sun, it’s dark as night,

My classmates run for cover.

 

“Now get up to the board,” she says.

“I’d like to see some action.

Pick up the chalk, explain to us

Division of a fraction.”

 

I leap away to save my life,

This time I really try.

I think and think and think and croak,

“Invert and multiply.”

 

“Correct! She says. I breathe again

And head back for my chair.

“You, FREEZE!” she shouts, and I stop cold.

“And don’t go anywhere.”

 

This all begins at nine o’clock,

I fight to stay alive.

It seems to last a million years—

The clock says nine-o-five.

 

That’s just three hundred seconds,

And then my turn is through.

She points at every one of us—

“Now you. Now, you. Now, you.”

 

We all get nailed this awful day,

There’s nowhere we can hide.

The lunch bell rings, we cannot eat,

We simply crawl outside.

 

We can’t believe the other kids

Who run and play their games.

Not us, who have big Mrs. Stein—

Our world is not the same.

 

The bell has tolled, I must go in,

My time on earth is through.

I’ll leave this on the playground—

Here’s what you have to do.

 

You must listen to your teacher

And pray her health is fine,

Or one day soon you’ll hear the words:

“My name is Mrs. Stein.”