Mr. Perspectives walked into the classroom, looked around, read out names of ten students and pointed them to the door. I was one of the ten. He didn’t want us in his class anymore. We wailed and and pleaded for forgiveness but the dramatic and therefore dishonest expression of our remorse just added salt to the wound.
Mr. Perspectives walked into the classroom, looked around, read out names of ten students and pointed them to the door. I was one of the ten. He didn’t want us in his class anymore. We wailed and and pleaded for forgiveness but the dramatic and therefore dishonest expression of our remorse just added salt to the wound. So we packed our Art Books and HB pencils and left to find other electives that would accommodate our general lack of interest in education.
Art, Mr. Perspectives had said, was more than a subject; it was a way of life. Indeed he taught Art as though his life depended on it. With the stench of alcohol filling the surrounding air every time he breathed out, he would stand over us, showing us how to apply different shades of colour to bring out the perspectives of a drawing. Perspectives, he had said, were an important element in Art. It is because he tirelessly repeated the aforementioned statement that he earned his nickname.
Mr. Perspectives was an overly enthusiastic teacher. I think deep down he believed that if he tried hard enough, he would make Picassos out of us. But all his efforts and all the scholastic material in the world were no match for our collective lack of talent. He constantly accused us of not paying attention in class but he couldn’t have been more wrong. We listened when he taught. We listened because if he got the impression that a student wasn’t listening, he would draw close to that student’s desk. That student would have to hold her breath. The stench of alcohol from his mouth was strong enough to cause passive drunkenness.
We didn’t know if Mr. Perspectives came to class drunk or if he had drunk so much alcohol in one lifetime that his body had started its own factory. Nonetheless, he expected us to disregard his contribution to air pollution in our classroom and take Art class seriously. And when the ten of us dodged five consecutive classes, he was offended. We asked to be pardoned. He said he would grant it if any of us could say what his real name was. None of us had a clue.