From the Memoir - Part Two and a Snapshot

1             1973, and I got a job! It was in a place called Plymouth, New Hampshire. I was going to be a high school English teacher! Someone told me one of the reasons I was hired is that I brought a different background to the classroom. I didn’t go to local schools; I hadn’t been graduated from the local college; I had traveled the world; I had a wide range of experiences that I could draw on to help expand students' horizons.

     On one of my first teachers’ in-service days, class schedules were handed out. A couple of the old-timers (long-time veterans of the classroom) were standing in the office and asked if they could see my class lists - which students I had. As they looked down the lists of students, they frequently offered advice such as, “This kid is trouble,” or “You’ll love him/her; what a nice family,” and the like. Of course, I would decide for myself as I got to know the students, but I thanked them. As it turns out, several of the proclaimed ‘trouble-makers’ are still my friends today.

***

     During my early years, I arranged to bring a Scholastic Book Fair to the school. Throughout the day, different classes would be taken to the book fair, browse the books, and buy whatever looked interesting.

     The day after the book fair, a student sauntered into my classroom and tossed a Garfield cartoon book on my desk. He said, "I thought you might like this." I thanked him and said I had already read it. He said, "No, you don't understand. I stole the book from the book fair, but when I heard you were behind it, I thought I should return it."

     That moment stunned me and has stayed with me to this day! That moment told me I was doing something right (and that some of the troublemakers maybe weren't). 

From the Memoir - Part 1 An Overview & Snapshot

     My story begins in 1947 when I was born - that's a long time ago! As of this writing, the year is now 2019, and I am still around, closing in on the end of my 73rd year. Every story has a beginning and an end, and as I tell anyone who will listen, I may have 30 seconds or 30 years left (we all do), so the only thing of which I am certain is the start and what has happened up until this point. We don’t know about the ending; no one really does. It’s that part that comes in between that is the story.
     I was born in a time and place far, far away from where I am now - worlds away, one might say (even though the places are not much more than two hours' apart). 
     When I ended up in rural New Hampshire, it was to get a job. The plan was stay long enough to get enough experience to return to The Flatlands where I had been born and brought up because  that was the life I knew. In New Hampshire, I discovered a whole new existence - in some ways like a Mayberry or Willoughby. As I like to say, something went terribly right, and I am still here close to fifty years later.
     The NH lifestyle is not totally bucolic, though. One of my first wake-up calls regarding how different the two places are came in 1973 during my first year of teaching. I was still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at that point. I was standing in line at a local bank, when I overheard the name of the man in front of me. When he finished his business and turned to leave, I cheerfully said, "Mr. White (not his real name). Hi. Are you Bob's father?" (Not his real name either.) When he grunted yes, I went on, "I'm your son's English teacher at the high school." 
     Getting a better look at his front side when he turned and faced me, he looked pretty rough and swayed a bit. He looked me in the eye and with alcohol-charged breath, he slurred, "Well, ain't you the lucky one!" I stood speechless for a moment and watched as he staggered out the door. 
     Maybe I had been sheltered, but where I came from outside of Boston, family was an important part of life. I was stunned!

***

     I have learned I was one of the lucky ones. In my upbringing, family and education were two crucial areas. When I was in high school, the question was not whether we would go to college but what college we would be going to. In NH, I had a lot to learn up here.

***

     

Start Here...

So.... here I am again. I am hoping this time will be different. Forget everything that came before!

Since 1976, more on than off, I have written a column called "Berman's Bits," which has appeared in numerous NH papers. The latest version had been in a local NH publication for the last several years, but the paper seems to have disappeared - poof - gone.... The website states "Permanently closed." That doesn't bode well.

A few weeks ago, I sent the owner an email asking what's happening, but I didn't receive a reply, so I decided to put my efforts here!   

My goal here is more Blog than Berman's Bits (there is an occasionally updated Facebook page for that and a www.bermansbits.com). Here, however, I have two major directions: (1) a partial memoir and (2) something I call 'snapshots' - moments that have stood out (good or bad), stand alone, and withstood the test of time.  

Snapshot 1. 

Last week, I was at an area restaurant and ran into a former student. We nodded hello, and that was that, but a memory worked its way into my consciousness - not a good memory. I will call him Brian. He was (and still is) a large person. When he was put in my class, I was told that if he ever got in trouble, I should not send him to the principal's office but instead to the Special Ed. director, whom I will call Mrs. Holt.

One day, he was fooling around in class, and after a couple of warnings, I said, "Okay, Brian. That's enough. Get your stuff and go to Mrs. Holt's office." If he had, that would have been that, and I probably wouldn't have the memory of what happened next.

He got up and slowly walked down the aisle to where I stood. I am not small, but he was bigger. I remember thinking he could probably bench press me and snap me like a twig. The rest of the class fell absolutely silent and watched. He got right in front of me and my face. With his hands in fists on his hips and his head tilted, he said, "What are you trying to get me in trouble for?" I don't think a piece of paper would have fit between us. 

Even though I was turning into Jell-O inside, I stood my ground and without breaking eye-contact calmly said, "Brian, I am not trying to get you in trouble - I'm trying to keep you out of it." A couple of hours-long seconds went by, and I could see him deflate; his shoulders dropped, his hands went off his hips, and he said, "Okay." He went back to his desk, retrieved his belongings, and left the room. Whew!

After dinner, I went over to his table, and we shook hands. I asked if he remembered the incident - he did and said he is not like that anymore. The thing that made me feel the best was when he said, "You handled it well."