Daydreaming
I was the classic type of daydreamer as a child. Whenever I'd be bored yet could not remove my self from my humdrum surroundings, escape into my inner thoughts and fantasies would provide relief. This strategy seemed to go unnoticed through much of my school days until my freshman year in high school.
In the 70s, in my school disstrict, students were selectively placed according to aptitude in higher or lower rigor English classes respectively. I must have tested well enough to be placed among Mrs. Morris' Freshman English Students. A deceptively petite, young, pretty brunette with a Southern accent, Anna Morris could display withering scorn and acerbic verbal excoriation toward unruly members of her class. I can't remember anyone ever crossing her twice.
Mrs. Morris' occasional severity was softened by her ability not to take herself too seriously. She could tell when a student was being insubordinate or just merely clueless. She would often display a kind of gentle smile, not unlike Mona Lisa, toward students who, like me, might have trouble adjusting to her more stringent studies.
Due to my penchant for spacing out in class, she nicknamed me "Walter" after the character in the eponymous popular short story (the movie version starred comic actor Danny Kaye) "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty" about a character whose vivid daydreams were full of adventure and drama to help him escape his drab existence.
But that nickname did not last much past the first half of my Freshman year. I became more engaged in my studies and Mrs. Morris had a way of challenging me to use my imagination for class assignments. She would be my English teacher all four years of my high school career. I still think of her when I read a novel or see a movie and try to examine the themes and structure of the work.
She took an interest in me and inspired me to incorporate my love for visual art into my study of Literature. My daydreams would not be needed to help me escape from doldrums in her class. Algebra, unfortunately, was another matter altogether.
I was the classic type of daydreamer as a child. Whenever I'd be bored yet could not remove my self from my humdrum surroundings, escape into my inner thoughts and fantasies would provide relief. This strategy seemed to go unnoticed through much of my school days until my freshman year in high school.
In the 70s, in my school disstrict, students were selectively placed according to aptitude in higher or lower rigor English classes respectively. I must have tested well enough to be placed among Mrs. Morris' Freshman English Students. A deceptively petite, young, pretty brunette with a Southern accent, Anna Morris could display withering scorn and acerbic verbal excoriation toward unruly members of her class. I can't remember anyone ever crossing her twice.
Mrs. Morris' occasional severity was softened by her ability not to take herself too seriously. She could tell when a student was being insubordinate or just merely clueless. She would often display a kind of gentle smile, not unlike Mona Lisa, toward students who, like me, might have trouble adjusting to her more stringent studies.
Due to my penchant for spacing out in class, she nicknamed me "Walter" after the character in the eponymous popular short story (the movie version starred comic actor Danny Kaye) "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty" about a character whose vivid daydreams were full of adventure and drama to help him escape his drab existence.
But that nickname did not last much past the first half of my Freshman year. I became more engaged in my studies and Mrs. Morris had a way of challenging me to use my imagination for class assignments. She would be my English teacher all four years of my high school career. I still think of her when I read a novel or see a movie and try to examine the themes and structure of the work.
She took an interest in me and inspired me to incorporate my love for visual art into my study of Literature. My daydreams would not be needed to help me escape from doldrums in her class. Algebra, unfortunately, was another matter altogether.
Illustration © by O. Douglas Jennings. All rights reserved.
1 comment:
Thanks for reminding me about Mrs. Morris... she was also my favorite English teacher, & inspired me to want to become one. -Alicia
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