Teach Me, Why Don't You...

I work with some brilliant people. Like sometimes I find myself waiting for the electricity to start flickering or the light bulbs to start spontaneously bursting brilliant. I believe that is what the Brits might call "bloody brilliant". But I think that may be a curse word, so let's move on.

Last week I took a page from a colleague's book and wrote my own idiosyncrasies essay. It was so much fun I challenged some of my colleagues to do the same. I charged them with an assignment, if you will. And, being the ardent lovers of school that they are, they came through. Here is a sampling of what I got back (names have been changed to protect myself from copyright infringement):

Professor McGonagall:
I will never eat a hotdog. Moreover, you will not find me eating anything stuffed into a casing. If my mother tries to show you a picture of me in a high-chair with a hot dog on the tray, cry “Fraud!” and don’t believe any subsequent tales of my adolescent endeavors.

You might find me sounding my barbaric yawp from the top of my desk wearing the latest fashions, leaping across rooms with my perfect jeté, tiptoeing around my kitchen so as not to disturb my prize-winning soufflé, or expertly solving Sunday’s crossword in a yellow taxi on my way to perform in the matinee show. Just don’t put me on a bike, in a luggage car or in a banana forest. If so, I might go all mimsy and slithy about your mome raths and you’d have to read about it all...

Professor Lockhart:
Growing up in harsh climate of these bitter, soul-crushing suburbs, the sweet milk of childhood soon curdled into the bitter cottage cheese of adolescence. Why couldn’t my fellow middle school students accept that I enjoyed wearing pantaloons and a cape?

And today, my life is like a sheet cake, made from sugar, unicorns, happy thoughts, and candy-colored rainbows. As I awoke this morning, and stood on my veranda, apostrophizing the dawn, I smiled inwardly at my dashing, idiosyncratic, and, dare I say, insouciant wittiness.

Professor Slughorn:
Born in L.A., raised in Electric City. And Pissed off about it until college. I wanted blond hair and a surf board. Instead I got a shotgun and friends wearing Wranglers. Half of my town was on a reservation which meant we had Native American Day once a year and suicides and drunk driving deaths year-round. Native American Day was a chance for native kids to celebrate their culture and a day off from school for the white kids. Wranglers and arrows and ne’er the two shall meet. Except for the occasional fistfight. The best thing I did in high school? Being Robert St. Pierre’s “favorite white boy.”

Professor Grubbly-Plank:
I love to go to the zoo and sit by myself and draw pictures of the animals. I love the pure beauty of their design. Sometimes I cry when I look at them because I am in awe of the artistry of evolution or God or aliens. Whatever force shaped life on this planet is miraculous.

My greatest lesson in life is that life can change in an instant. Sometimes it changes for the better. Sometimes it changes for the worse. It is what it is. What makes all the difference when these changes come? Family and friends. Surround yourself with friends and embrace their idiosyncrasies.

Professor Trelawny:
I always leave boxes in the cupboard even though I know that they are empty. I think it is because I was spoiled as a child.

Professor Sprout:
I was not an only child during my vicissitude of childhood – I had an older sister who was more than willing to trail blaze the abyss of mischief making and get in trouble first. She was, however, quite mean on occasion (as most older sisters are) and was prone to throwing forks at me – I’ve always thought my glorious naïve innocence was hard for her to abide. One hit me in the forehead – thank goodness it didn’t scar.

Professor Sinistra:
My lack of being able to see most of my childhood led me to have horrible hand-eye coordination. So, I was terrible at sports. I couldn’t hit a ball or catch one because I couldn’t see it flying at my head until it was a foot away. I became a runner.

Professor Flitwick:
My sneaking suspicion that I was a foundling was finally confirmed at the tender age of 11. My mother incorrectly referred to a faux lace tablecloth as white. It was the holidays. I was outraged. I adamantly insisted the covering was of a cream hue and impatiently demanded an explanation for her inability to make this simple distinction.

Madam Hooch:
I have a bilateral lisp; an unfortunate speech impediment that was diagnosed when I was 21 years old. I have not quite outgrown this condition; probably because I never quite finished therapy. There was something horribly uncomfortable and embarrassing about attending a group therapy lesson with a 60 year old thumb sucker and 7 year old mute. Two lessons sounded like progress to me. Ironically I love reading books out loud. I am now okay with admitting that I stutter after reading too many s-sounding words. Drew Barrymore has a bilateral lisp too.



Hats off to these fine folks. And a big thank you to the public school system.