Ms. M

For some reason, Ms. M called me up from the deepest part of my memory today.

“Wayne, I think you should blog about me.”

So, here I am. I’m going to blog about Ms. M. My 7th grade PE (Physical Education) teacher.

At the tender age of 12, my poor English was at its peak. (Actually, to think of it, Having been in US for only two years at the time, I had no problem communicating with other class mates. I guess my English wasn’t that bad.) But I still have to go to school like every other 12 / 13 years old tender kids. Except, I have to attend the ESL session after school.

But I’m not going to write about what happened between me and that handsome Latino boy during the after school ESL session, or my encounter with the tall and handsome 8th grade basketball players.

Instead, I’m sticking to the original scheduled program. My PE teacher is a woman. Not surprising for a Junior High School. (In High School, the PE class are divided by sex. Girls have their own PE session with a female coach. Same with the guys.) So, what do we do during the PE class? Not much. We didn’t play much sports. Mainly focusing on exercise, running, and health education. (Health education, learn about your body, your heart, lungs, your this your that. Oh yeah, and sex education too. We saw this video tape that talked about the female and male reproduction system and where babies came from and more.)

Ms. M, what exactly about her that is worth me blogging about? Well, all I can say is, she is probably one of most interesting teachers that I’ve ever had during my student life. Ms. M has always been very supportive toward me. She would tell jokes during the class, which made the class more enjoyable. She would wrap her arms around me, when I feel ill during the class, then sent me to the nurse’s office. Like a mother, I would say.

Some of you, who have known me in person, may noticed how much hatred I had against cigarette smoking. I have slapped and kicked my ex Mr. #2 so many times because he’s an aggressive smoker. Well, I can really say it was Ms. M who influenced me.

In one of her Physical Health class, we learned how smoking is bad for our lungs. She brought in jars containing specimens of ‘polluted’ lungs to class. We saw numerous video tapes on the effect of smoking, lung cancer, bad yellow teeth, and the old man that has a big hole on the bottom of his neck. Having to learn to hate cigarette for 6 weeks. I basically became a cigarette crusader. I mean, He*l, I even won the “Create your own Anti-Smoking Calendar” contest.

Anyway, I was such a proud anti-smoking crusader, that I felt it was my duty to save the human kind from lung cancer, that I told my uncle to stop smoking. I told my dad to stop smoking during his business trip. I beat the sh*t out of my little cousin for being curious about smoking.

Then one day, I heard a rumor during lunch time.

“Do you know that Ms. M smokes?”

“No Way!”

”She does! Stacey saw her smoking in the car!”

“When?”

“Last weekend.”

Then everything that I learned from Physical Health class flooded my brain. I was really troubled by the news, that Ms. M smokes. If she smokes like there’s no tomorrow, then how can she tell us not to smoke? How can she be a role model when she can’t even do the right thing? What IS the right thing?

My tender pure gentle heart shattered. At least, a portion of it. (See how easily rumors can affect a pure soul?)

It was not until I walked pass her car, and saw packs of cigarette on the front seat, I gave up seeing her as a role model.

No offense to the smokers, but even now days, I still feel some resistant when smokers are around. The smell of the smog makes me feel ill. I’d get really dizzy…and can be easily taken advantage of. (Hint Hint) Oh, did I mention, Paw is a heavy smoker? I hope I will not die from Lung Cancer.

Near the end of the semester, after the one mile running thing, I walked into the boy’s locker room, to pee. (Yep. The urinals are located right inside of the locker room, next to the shower) Before I stepped into the locker room, I saw two boys from another class walking out, giggling at each other.

“Hehehehehe”

“Hahaha”

“Hehe”

“Hahaha”

I was puzzled.

I walked pass the two boys and into the locker room.

Step by step, I walked toward the urinal.

Then I saw Ms. M’s picture sticker.

I blinked.

Note: For the year book, every one on campus (including the instructors) is required to have pictures taken. I spent $50.00 dollars on pictures that made me looked like a mushroom. (Ahem. You now, the famous BOWL-cut hair.) For $75.00, the package include more sheets of big size photos, and a sheet of photo stickers.

Then I look at her picture again.

She smiled back.

Someone has posted the picture of Ms. M right at the center of the urinal.

“Poor Ms. M, the edge of the picture is all yellow… “ I said to myself.

Indeed, the color on the picture had faded due to the heavy golden shower. Yet, in the picture, she’s still smiling, as if she really enjoys the shower.

I untie the strings around my shorts, getting into my pissing position.

I looked down.

Then I looked up a little bit.

And I looked down into Ms. M’s eyes.

“Did you know that you are a liar?”

She smiled back.

“Maybe this is what you deserved.”

She smiled back at me. The same smile that she always give me during the class.

I didn’t pull down my shorts.

I held my pee.

I walked around the locker room and found a sheet of gum wrapper.

I picked it up.

I walked back to the urinal.

With my index finger and thumb behind the tiny gum wrapper, I grabbed the edge of Ms. M’s picture, and tore it off the pee spot.

Toss the picture along with the wrapper into the trash can.

“Now we are even.”

Then I peed.

I flushed the urinal and walked back to the class.

“What took you so long?” John asked.

“I drank too much water.” I replied.

Then we went to join other boys at the pull-up bar.

I was a hero. At least, I thought I was. But no one seemed to notice that I have saved Ms. M from the Pee-Face Voodoo curse.