The perils of my becoming a schoolmaster and a little smut thrown in

schoomasterAs follows is a chapter from a sort of autobiography I have labored with for many months but have not finished and perhaps never will, but I should get back to it.

So, I became a schoolteacher. That was an odd and ironic thing. I taught for seven or eight years in the late nineteen sixties and early to mid seventies. I said it was “odd’ because I really had no ambition to become one. But after I got my lowly BA I had to do something with my life. It’s rather a lost feeling to have actually completed an education of sorts and yet to have no focus on the future.

So, I became a school teacher.

I sat through a few months in the Faculty of Education at UBC. And while I was there I mainly thought about sex a lot. After all, I was not yet in my mid twenties and coupling held huge allure.

There was a woman in one of my classes whom I’ll attest to this day was was the most sexually alluring creature i had ever encountered (and ranks still right near the top of ones I have encountered since.) She wore boots. Always wore boots of leather or suede. And her boots gave me a hard-on. She was blonde. Hailed from Kamloops. Was a little older than I was (alluring) and was a divorcee (hugely alluring). She was aloof to begin with but she and I became closer and closer as the year evolved in the class we shared. In fact, and this is no exaggeration or wishful thinking on my part, she came to like me as much as I liked her. In fact we were once actually kicked out of class for indulging in one of our lengthy interchanges rather than paying attention. The fly in the proverbial ointment was that I was (foolishly) engaged. She would not go there. She told me. Her ex had fucked around on her (why?) and she wasn’t going to put herself out as a femme fatale.

Yet, she persisted as my friend. Furthermore, it became apparent to me, that she was as sexually aroused by me as I was with her. How did I know? I could smell it. I shall go no further with this herein, though in the chapter it is a bit more graphic, but for the sake of some sort of propriety you will read a slightly truncated version.

Eventually the term came to an end. I was going off to Kelowna to student teach, and she was going home to Kamloops. To my surprise and enchantment she told me I was welcome to come and see her in Kamloops. To perhaps even spend a weekend with her. I thought I would melt. She had obviously relented in her quest to remain virginal with me.

The thing that is quite dreadful is that I chose to remain virginal with her. I’m not sure why even to this day. And once in a while I miss her and also wonder what might have been.

And that was basically my year of teacher training with a few other classes and a fair amount of beer-drinking thrown into the mix in an eight month period. And then it was off to be a school teacher. I took the Thomas More advice that Richard Rich didn’t and I did indeed “be a teacher.” Of course when Sir Thomas said that to Rich, Rich offered an expression that looked like he had just stepped in dogshit. I can understand that.

Ultimately my teaching career was abortive and hence aborted. The first few years were fine and I am not beyond saying I was a good teacher and a respected teacher. In fact I was a cat’s ass of a teacher. I have a neurosis I think in that whatever I do, I want to be the best fucker doing that thing that anybody ever saw. Probably just one of the reasons I am subject to dysphoria and assorted other neuroses. So, when I was a millhand in my university summer job, I wanted to be the best, when I taught I wanted my students to remember me always (and for the girls to fall in love with me), when I became a journalist I wanted to be Pulitzer calibre, and when I counseled junkies and drunks I wanted them all to be saved, ,thanks to me. Is that too much to ask? Later events would prove that it was.

I liked (most of) my students and still interchange socially with not a few of them. Our mutual regard is a good one.


4 responses to “The perils of my becoming a schoolmaster and a little smut thrown in

  1. Well that was short, not sure if it was to the point!!!!
    Hope you are doing well, Ian.

  2. Whoops – the whole post did not come through on my email – all I got was “Th” hence my comment!

  3. I can understand the feeling of having to do the best you can in any job good isn’t good enough has been my mantra in my business. Sometimes hard to know when to stop.

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