Worst Teacher 9/1 assignment

Worst Teacher
If I close my eyes and think real hard I could probably envision myself back in Mr. B’s class room. But I’m not going to do that. Why bring such discomfort and irritation upon myself? In my humble opinion Mr. B was and most likely still is a horrid human. Granted, I wasn’t the role model student, just a long haired skater punk with my fair share of attitude and angst. However, I did pass in my assignments on time and kept my mouth shut and head down for the most part. But for some reason Mr. B took an immediate disliking to me. Was it the hair? The tar-scuffed Jncos? Maybe he just needs a focus for his anger every year and I was it.
I could almost smell it in the air when he and I were going to have it out. It would usually start after he’d given his speech and instructions for the day and open the floor to questions and comments. He knew how to get it started and foolish I always bit. “Did you get it McPherson or do we need a picture today?” The other kids even my good friends would chuckle. I don’t blame them, I probably would have too were the name McPherson switched out and replaced. But I didn’t chuckle, like I said before I always took the bait. I would come back at him with a juvenile retort, along the lines of “No, B I don’t get that but I did get your moms last night”. Like I said, very juvenile but that’s what I and my peers were so it got the class hooting and gasping. Like a check list, the next step, B’s face went through the five shades of red and then he’d verbally blister me and escort me down to the main office where I’d spend the next half hour.
If it wasn’t the out and out verbal arguments it was giving me lousy grades base on items that the other kids got passes on. Like handwriting , Obviously he could read my papers as he’d make comments on the subject matter , so my writing couldn’t have been unreadable. There were kids with far worse handwriting than mine. A lot of times he’d just hover over my desk for extended periods of time, trying to bird-dog me until I, again, bit and responded with anger.
The pinnacle and final showdown of M vs. B was the second to last day of school. After the school day my best friend and I were having a water gun war with our new Super Soaker 3k water cannons. On the street that ran by the school. Mind you, we were off school grounds by sixty feet or better, and not bothering anyone. B comes running out of the school and demands we hand out guns to him or he calls the police. I guess in my eighth grade mindset, threatening me with the police was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I informed him of my father’s three rules of fighting: “Can’t see-can’t fight, can’t breath-can’t fight, Can’t walk-can’t fight”. I know he wasn’t scared, I was 13-14 years old, and he would probably have squashed me like a bug. However for whatever reason he stormed back inside, we continued our gun battle, the cops never showed. The following day, (the last day of school), he blocked me at the door and wouldn’t let me in class without an apology to him if front of the class. He did not get an apology, what he got was me doing an about face, walking to the office, asking them to call my mother up here for an impromptu Parent –Teacher meeting. My mother (a very smart woman) came right up, listened to both sides of the story, and told B and the principal as a punishment for my crimes we were going out to lunch and ice cream for the day.
Mr. B, 18 years have passed and I hope life has treated you the way you treated me that year, every step of the way.