Story #2: How not to talk to a teacher

My parents met while they were teaching at Proviso (I can never remember if it was east or west). While my parents had high standards for teachers, they also held them in great respect. Years ago, when I had a momentary lapse of judgement and said something…rude…to a teacher, my father told me this story.

Keep in mind this was after he calmed down.

While my parents were dating, my dad would often visit my mom’s class room. Being my father, he probably wanted to show her he cared, get her advice and–maybe to a small degree–be a bit of an alpha male. One day he shows up at her class room door to hear a male student say to her, “You bitch.”

According to both of my parents, my dad pointed at this unfortunate young man and said, “You. With me. Now.” Yesterday, I pointed out how intimidating my dad could be in his prime. He was, according to all reports, in his prime at this point.

They were gone for 15 minutes. The young man returned to my mom’s class room, in tears and visibly shaken. His apology was both profound and pathetic at the same time. She had no other problems with this kid for the rest of the year.

I should also point out that after this story, I never, ever talked back to a teacher again.

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