| The Tampon That Changed My Life |
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Jack from Missouri (the “Show Me” State) … A Teacher’s Journal. I remember that day so clearly. I was still a young man then—not much over forty, as they say in the AARP youth brochures. I had been teaching at Emerald City High for at least fifteen years. I was writing subject-verb agreement sentences on the blackboard and I wanted to proceed slowly and with great care. This particular class was somewhat resistant to instruction. One student had recently bitten a classmate in her biology class (her counselor told me that she had “personal space” issues). Another student was struggling to fart on command, while another was sucking her thumb. They were all part of a college prep program. As we say at Emerald City High, college prep means that you have no definite plans for going to jail…. “Does anyone know which subject you would choose to figure out the verb form?” I had written an example sentence on the board: "Either four cars or a bus (is, are) needed to take the Y group up to Devil’s Lake.” I was about to underline the word “bus” when it happened. Across my shoulder floated the white cylindrical shape; a ghostly missile fired near my head. It hit the verb “is” on the board with a soft “pfft” sound. Then it fell. I stared at the thing as it lay at my feet. A tampon—someone had thrown a tampon at me. I turned around to face the class. Many of them giggled. A few laughed out loud. A teacher’s life is full of indignities. But it’s part of an unspoken American contract that teachers must give of themselves—selflessly, unceasingly—so that one day their students might say to them: “Sorry I kept barking like a dog in your classes. But hey, thanks. It’s because of you that I became in illustrious physicist.” Over the years I’ve actually heard somewhat similar words of repentance from former students. Their laughing acknowledgements of hideous behavior followed by a sincere, “Sorry, dude,” have somehow failed to make me teary. And now someone had thrown a tampon at me. Teacher rage is an interesting phenomenon. It grows from a dark place in the soul. It is an organic thing, with twisted vines and leaves crawling over, and eventually consuming, that shiny advertisement of modern society: “Education can solve all problems.” You can solve this problem right now, said the vein throbbing in my head. Throw some bodies through the window—that will educate the hell out of them. But wait, argued my sane self: That would mean instant dismissal from your job, jail time, ruination. Yeah, that would be bad all right, rebutted my killer instinct. Then again, a few kids would have been thrown out the window before I was sent up the river. A self-pitying voice joined the dialogue. It sounded remarkably like Oliver Twist. Oh, Jack, it moaned. All your education, all those rules you followed in life. And to be treated thus…! Suddenly, a voice stronger than all the others spoke. It was a grave and sonorous voice. “Behold,” it said. “There at your feet lies a tampon. It carries a message, if you will but hear.” I replied inwardly: “I will listen, for I fear I would not do well in jail.” “Then mark my words, youngish Jack Larsen. The tampon has damaged only your idea of who you would be. It has come here to help you, not to hurt you.” “But it is an evil tampon,” I said, “thrown in mockery and contempt.” “Revile the tampon-throwing, Jack Larsen, but not the tampon. What does it tell you?” Like a holy man about to walk on his first bed of hot coals, I fixed my mind upon the tampon, mastering its power, yet submitting myself completely to it. “Do the best you can, under the circumstances,” said the tampon. “After that… fugeddaboutit.” I looked again at my students. “Thank you for reminding me,” I announced happily—I returned to the sentence on the board—“It needs a period.” I added the missing punctuation. I’ve haven’t been the same since that day. My reflexes have become nearly supernatural. The kids finally quit their horseplay when they realized that I had achieved the power of being everywhere and nowhere at the same time. They became depressed and demoralized, and now sulk quietly in class instead of throwing things. Sometimes, just for fun, I throw objects at myself while simultaneously evading them. This does not amuse my students, but it does give me great pleasure. Sooner or later, we all have tampons thrown at us. But I was lucky. That tampon had my name written all over it and I was able to hear what it was saying to me. My name is Jack and I’m a teacher in a small town in Missouri, the “Show Me” state. Donald Gallinger is author of the novel The Master Planets Add this page to your favorite Social Bookmarking websites               
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Stephen,